Jackson hopped out of the truck to greet him. “Yo! Grifter. Over here.”
Griffin looked up, spied Jackson, and smiled. “Hey. You ready for this?”
“Same thing, every year. Forty-five pounds, forty-five minutes, three miles. One foot always on the ground. I’m as ready as ever. You?” He pulled his cross-trainers from the back of the cab, slipped off his boots, and shoved his feet into the bright neon green, black and white shoes.
“Same.” Griffin removed his foot from the bumper and strode to where Jackson stood. He cocked his head and studied him. “You look all cheerful today.” He chuckled. “Let me guess—Blaire, am I right?”
He clapped Jackson on the shoulder.
“You could say that.” He leaned over his shoe and proceeded to tie the laces. As he crouched, he thought about how much to reveal about their “share session” last week. Since then, they’d been going at it all week, testing the limits of their sexual endurance. Last night was off the charts. He’d gone down on her in the kitchen, finger-fucking her while he ate out her sweet pussy.
She’d sucked him off in the living room until he’d exploded into her mouth.
Then, they’d fucked all night.
If a little of his past had to seep out to get to the gold, he was down with it.
As he pushed to stand, he said, “She’s on a roll to get to know about my past.”
“Chicks and their need to know…unless…” Griffin snickered. “Is there anything you want to tell me?”
Jackson looked at Griffin, a spark of alarm lighting up his brain. Sharing with Blaire was one thing. Sharing with someone in the department was another thing entirely. He didn’t want anyone to look down on him or think him a poor fit for his duties. But a deeper rationale tugged at his consciousness like a fish on a line.
I’m embarrassed by my brother. And if he had anything to do with those kids dying, it will wreck me to admit that someone of my blood was involved.
“There’s not much to tell. It was fucked up on its good days.”
A slight frown flitted across Griffin’s face. “Sorry to hear that. I understand about fucked up pasts. You don’t hear me getting all blurty about my upbringing. It’s nothing I care to remember or dwell on.”
Jackson relaxed. “Yeah, well, you probably had more parental guidance than I did. Or, adult figures at the very least.” Jackson propped his hands on his hips.
Griffin’s eyebrows rose. “No shit?” He leaned against the bed of Jackson’s truck and folded his arms across his chest.
Jackson did the same, standing next to Griffin, staring at the growing group of Wildland team members assembling near the track. “No shit. We grew up trailer trash. Unsupervised. We had to bend the rules and be smart to survive.”
“Fuck, man, that’s harsh. Makes sense why Jake turned out the way he did. And you…someone had to be the adult in that situation. I guess you were dealt that hand.” Griffin shoved away from the truck. “Let’s go. Looks like everyone’s here.”
“Right,” Jackson said, following him.
He and Griffin approached the gathering group. He reached out to shake the hands of Cassandra and Mark.
“Yo, Hollerback,” a voice called to him.
He turned around to see Logan Wright, one of the guys from a hotshot team, striding toward him.
A wide grin split Jackson’s face. “Hey, Blaze. What’s doing? Ready for another season?”
“Hell, yeah. The fire won’t know what hit them when my team rolls in.” Logan matched his grin. His dark blond hair curled in its usual state of unkempt chaos around his scarred face, ravaged by a fire a few years back. Eyes the color of the forest regarded Jackson.
“When you going to stop pussying around and join the hotshot team?” Logan said.
Jackson snorted. “I like the life I lead. I don’t care to be on call twenty-four seven. or do the arduous workouts you guys do.”
Logan smirked. “That’s what I mean. You’re a pussy, Hollerback. Last week I tested out at forty-two sit-ups in sixty seconds, seven pull-ups, and then a one and a half-mile run in just under eleven minutes.”
Griffin made a wolf howl. “Way to go, Blaze. You’re a total stud. But when do you find time to get any with all that training?”
“Oh, I make up for it when the season stops,” Logan said with a glint in his eyes.
Jackson snickered.
Conner Smith, one of the supervisors at the Clearfall County Regional WFS office, interrupted him. “Ladies and gentlemen, could I have your attention?”
Jackson had seldom seen the man smile. Today was no exception.
The twelve men and three women who were here to test all shuffled toward him.
One of the red medical rigs from Station 43 pulled up behind them.
Jackson turned and lifted his hand in greeting to paramedics Suzy Bronstein and Sara Turner, the team on standby in case anything happened to the participants.
They smiled and waved back.
Then, he directed his attention to Conner who spewed the usual blah blah blah about the test, the requirements, and other facts Jackson had heard every year.
Conner pointed to two young women with clipboards and stopwatches.
“These two will track your times,” he said. Then he pointed to a large man named Rick who stood gripping a clipboard. “Rick, here, will be your cheerleader. He’ll call out your times each time you pass him and cheer you on. Show everyone your best cheer, Rick.”
A slight smile cracked his face, and then quickly disappeared.
Rick, the pits and chest of his t-shirt already damp with sweat, revealed a toothy grin. He turned and wiggled his generously sized rump at everyone. “Go, team!”
Jackson and the others laughed.
“God, no, Rick, don’t do it. That move will make us run, and we’ll be disqualified,” Griffin said.
“All right, all right. Everyone take a warm-up lap around the track, and then grab your weight packs and let’s begin,” Conner said, perhaps fearing what the moment of levity might do to his stoic demeanor.
Jackson and Griffin took off, side by side.
“You know I’m going to whoop your ass,” Griffin said to him.
“And you know this isn’t a competition. The only thing they care about is that we always finish on time with the required weight on our shoulders and one foot on the ground. We don’t get gold stars if we beat our time from last year,” Jackson said with a smirk as he powered across the synthetic track.
“Think that will stop me?” Griffin said, a devilish grin appearing on his face.
“Doubt it,” Jackson said, speeding up to as fast of a “one foot on the ground” walk as he could get away with. “You’re buying beer when I kick your ass.”
“Ha!” Griffin snorted. “I expect beer and shots.”
Jackson shook his head.
When they completed their warm-up lap, he headed toward the red torso packs loaded with weight. Lifting one over his head, he slid his arms in. The weight settled around him like a pile of rocks. But, since he worked out at the gym like a maniac, it wasn’t an unpleasant sensation.
“Okay, okay, behind the line ladies and gents,” Conner called from his position near the starting line.
Jackson took his place behind Mark and waited for the signal.
When Rick lowered his arm, the test began.
Jackson and Griffin pulled away from the others.
While Jackson walked, a thought kept surfacing. Yes, he and Blaire had been sharing their usual awesome sexual connection, but he kept noticing some sort of tension emanating from her when she thought he wasn’t looking. He would round the corner and catch her chewing on her fingernails while staring out the window. Or, find her huddled on the couch with her arms wrapped around her shins. She would always open into smiles and warm greetings when he appeared, but he couldn’t help but think she was putting on a brave front.
Is she still thinking we’re letting sex distract us from shar
ing? I told her I’m willing to share my past, even if I’d rather not. What could be bugging her?
He made a mental note to ask her about it. Surely, this past sharing business wasn’t a one-way street.
“Yo, Hollerback. Where you at?” Griffin said, interrupting his thoughts.
Jackson blinked his way back to the moment. “What? I’m right here, about to whoop your ass.” He grinned and increased his speed as much as he was able, given the “one foot on the ground at all times” rule. His stride probably resembled a weird duck walk.
Griffin matched his footsteps and, a few laps later, they finished the three-mile test in the lead, nose to nose.
“I won by a whisker,” Griffin declared.
“You did not,” Jackson said.
“Did, too. You’re buying,” Griffin said with a grin.
Logan strode across the finish line.
“Jackson’s buying?” he said. “I’m in.”
Jackson removed the forty-five-pound weight-filled vest and wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll buy as a gesture of sympathy, so you two don’t pout.”
Griffin snorted.
Across the track, movement near his truck caught his eye. He turned to see who was skulking around his vehicle.
Is that Jake?
He glanced over at his friends. “I’ll catch up with you later. I’ve got to go check on something.”
Griffin’s gaze slid toward the truck. His eyes narrowed. “Need any assistance?”
“Nah. I’ve got this. It’s just my brother.” Jackson paused, and then said, “Hey, so, Blaire has late clients tonight. I’ll meet you guys at six tonight for drinks. Let’s head to that wine bar we used to go to…Purple Vines.”
“You got it,” Griffin said.
“If you’re buying, I’m drinking,” Logan said.
Jackson turned toward them, absentmindedly nodded, and beelined toward his brother. As he trekked across the gravel parking lot, his trainers making a crunch, crunch, crunch sound, he fixed an icy glare on his brother.
“Jake,” he said as he reached his vehicle. “What are you doing here?”
Jake slunk around the truck bed toward Jackson. “What do you mean? Can’t a guy come out and support his bro in the pack test?”
He looked clean in a sky-blue polo shirt and jeans, and his pupils appeared normal for a change.
Jackson’s brow furrowed. “How’d you know I was even here?”
“I, uh…I followed you here. I was, uh…out and saw your truck drive by. I’ve been hanging back, watching you.”
Jackson’s frown deepened as he scanned the parking lot. “In what? Your invisible car?”
“Nah.” Jake let out a half-hearted chuckle. “I’m borrowing a friend’s car.”
He pointed toward a piece of shit black sedan, complete with a bashed-in door, parked a few spots away.
“I see. So, what do you want?” He glanced toward the track, hoping no one headed in his direction. He didn’t really want to be seen with his derelict brother.
Jake snorted. “Some greeting.”
He fished a bent cigarette from his shirt pocket and stuck it in his mouth. Then, he rummaged around in the same pocket for a book of matches. It bore the name “Atomic Joe’s,” the name of a pub in Port Coyote. He plucked a match free, struck it, and held it to the tip of the cigarette.
“Jake,” Jackson said with a disapproving sigh. “I thought you quit.”
“I did. I haven’t really started. I just found it. You can’t let a good smoke go to waste, now, can you?” His eyes sidled back and forth as he drew in on the cigarette.
Jackson folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the truck. He figured he would wait a few minutes for the real reason Jake stalked him. While he stood there, he squinted one eye and gazed at the sky. The day promised to be strangely warm. Two weeks ago, the roads were covered in ice. There was no reliability to weather or seasons anymore.
Jake exhaled a plume of blue-gray smoke through his nose and mouth.
The noxious smell drifted in Jackson’s direction.
He waved it away. “Move downwind from me if you’re going to smoke that thing.”
“Sorry,” Jake said. He took a couple of steps to the other side. He puffed on the smoke for a few minutes and then ground out the tip on the bottom of his dirty sneakers. Holding up the extinguished cigarette, he said, “I’ll finish this up later.”
“You do that. Did you want something? I’ve got things to do,” Jackson said, eying Griffin, Logan, and Mark who strode in his direction. He had to get rid of Jake. After pushing away from the truck, he walked around to the driver’s side.
“Wait.” Jake scurried to follow him.
“For?” Jackson said, yanking open the door.
“I just have a question.”
Jackson slid into the seat. “Shoot.”
“If I…on the odd chance…not that it will happen…but if I…” Jake shifted side to side.
“Say it,” Jackson growled.
“If I landed in prison, would you bail me out?” Jake blurted.
“What? Fuck, no. You’ve already put me into debt, Jake. What are you planning to do?” His jaw tensed so hard he thought his teeth might crumble.
Jake positioned himself in the open door so Jackson couldn’t shut it. “I’m not planning anything. I swear. I have no motives. I just…I just wondered, is all.”
“Christ, Jake. You’re telling me you drove all the way here from Port Coyote in your friend’s car to ask me if I’d bail you out of prison? The answer’s no, so now you’ll either have to not do what you’re planning to do or find another sap to pay your bail. It won’t be me.” He jammed the keys in the ignition.
A side-eyed glance informed him that Griffin and Logan were only a few yards away.
“Okay,” Jake said, looking about as sad as the day he had to put a shovel to Bebop’s head. “I just wondered.”
Jackson powered up the truck. “Well, you have your answer. I’ve really got to jet.”
Jake backed up and put his palms out. “I’m sorry. Never mind. Go ahead and do what you need to do.”
Jackson’s forehead creased with confusion. “You baffle me. I don’t want to get a call from the police, you hear me? Don’t do what you’re planning to do, got it?”
“I’m not planning anything, I swear.” Jake put up his hands again. His eyes looked a little wild.
As the familial bonds tightened around his chest, Jackson’s heart clenched. “Have you eaten?”
Jake’s face brightened. “Today? No.”
He shook his head.
“Well, come on then. Hop in your friend’s car and meet me at the diner we ate at the other night. You know the one—Mountain Grub. I’ll buy you lunch. But that’s it…no bail money.”
Jake nodded, looking like a hopeful child.
Jackson closed the door. He sped away, shaking his head. Setting good boundaries with Jake would be way harder than he’d thought. And not setting them might mean death to his relationship with Blaire. With his stomach in knots, he headed for the diner, praying for the strength to set things right when he took him to the woods to confront him
Chapter 10
At five-fifteen, Blaire paced back and forth in the break room at Hip, Hip, Hairay. Her feet ached from traversing the concrete floor for the last half hour.
Outside, streaky clouds stretched across the sky. A light wind had picked up through the day, heralding some sort of weather shift. Her agitation pointed toward its own “shift on the horizon” as well. I swear I saw someone lurking outside the window. I swear it. I’ve got to get the courage to tell him about Karlos.
She paused at the sound of the front door opening.
A few seconds later, Lola swished into the break room. Her matted braids had been coiled upon her head in a rather witchy-looking manner.
Dressed in her usual state of flowing red, green, and gold drama, she stopped short when she sa
w Blaire. “Whoa. Who died?”
Blaire nibbled her nail. She forced her teeth to let go and said, “I’m the one who’s going to die if I don’t tell Jackson what I need to tell him.”
“This again?” Lola swung her huge gold cloth bag onto a hook on the wall and removed her lightweight red sweater. She hung the sweater on the same hook as the purse. “I thought you’d resolved that. You told me you had a moment of sharing, and everything was back to unicorns and butterflies.”
Blaire smirked, despite her fretful mood. “I did not say everything was back to unicorns and butterflies. I only mentioned that the sexual connection was still good, and we shared with one another. So, your theory might be wrong.”
“It’s not my theory,” Lola said, reaching for a blue and brown ceramic teacup from the back counter. “It’s my mother’s. I never said she knew everything.”
She filled the cup with hot water from the electric hot water pot and pulled open the drawer underneath.
“Right. Well. I might have fudged the truth a little when I told you that everything was good between us.” Blaire’s lips pressed tight. “It was him who shared, not me.” She wrapped her arms around her midsection, hugging the purple fishnet mini-dress Lola had gifted her recently, which hung over a pretty white cotton slip. “He had a horrible upbringing, and I mean horrible.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Lola said, as she tore open the gray and green wrapper from her chosen tea bag. She dunked the bag in hot water and turned around to lean against the counter. “Some people get a shitty hand at birth.”
Blaire shuffled toward the break room table and slumped on one of the chairs. “You got that right. It makes me feel all the worse for not being able to step up to the plate and share.”
“Now, stop with the comparisons. We each have our own demons to conquer.” Lola’s lips pursed.
“Yeah, I guess.” Blaire propped her head in her hands and stared at the remnants she’d left from lunch. Glancing at Lola, she said, “Gosh, I was so busy today I barely had time to eat. I didn’t get to finish before my one o’clock arrived. And then, after that, it was go, go, go.”
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