by K B Cinder
“What if you give me my phone back, and we pretend this conversation never happened?” she sassed with narrowed eyes.
I wished daughters came with instructions as I stared at the female equivalent of myself, but with a nicer smile and her mother’s nose. She might as well be wired in Mandarin.
“I’ll make you a deal,” I offered, crossing my arms.
“What’s that?” she said with a bored yawn.
“You come with me and Izzy to get ice cream, take a self-defense course of my choosing, and you can have your phone back.”
Bingo, parenting win. I deserved a round of applause for that one.
Rage exploded in her cheeks as they reddened, but her shoulders slouched once she realized I wasn’t messing around.
“Deal,” she muttered.
“What was that?” I asked, cupping a hand around my ear dramatically, savoring the parental win.
She all but snarled as she stared me down. “DEAL!”
Strawberry ice cream deserved an F for fuck no.
Not only did it have a suspicious resemblance to frozen Pepto, but the goop in my cone tasted like lies, not strawberries.
The good kid steered me horribly wrong, talking me into the frozen abomination when I’d admitted to never trying it as we waited in line.
Uncultured palate or not — the shit was nasty.
I tossed the waffle cone in the trash as I headed in the station’s side door, earning a shout of protest from a banana split-toting Izzy as she waited behind in the truck’s passenger seat.
Cass hid from view in the back row, too busy mourning her phone loss with a cookie dough sundae to pay me any mind.
After our little phone debacle, I’d realized my ancient relic wasn’t in my back pocket as I’d thought, leading us to the station to grab it from my locker after we scooped up the icy goods.
Well, in my case, icy horror.
I had the weekend off for a change and being phone-free was a big, fat nope with my duo forever seeking the limits of my sanity.
Ornery Anya sat at the front desk, firing off one of her patented bullfrog frowns as I passed her lily pad shrouded in spider plants.
“What are you doing here, Reb?” she croaked.
Every time she called me Reb, an angel got its wings, and I gained another tally toward my ticket to hell for laughing internally at how it always came out like rib.
Ribbit. Ribbit.
“Forgot my phone.”
Anya had occupied the front desk of Honey Hills PD for longer than I’d been on Earth. Possibly longer than the Earth itself had been around, ruling the land with a webbed fist.
Rumor had it, she’d been a fox in her day, but everything went downhill when she had the town’s first female officer fired for having a vagina, basically. Ever since then, she morphed into a big ole bullfrog.
“You should tattoo a reminder on your hand,” she jabbed as her throat pouch inflated at her own joke. It was a wonder the pearls she wore didn’t strangle her to death.
“Maybe I will.” I kept going, not stopping for small talk.
I didn’t mean to brag, but it was hate at first sight, and I wore that shit like a badge of honor.
The halls were calm for the window that usually brought the post-dinner crazies, when people lost their shit once refueled for nighttime fuckery. Typically, the place crawled with officers and perps headed to the pen, some for detox and others for booking.
Figures that the evening shift would have it easy. Lucky fucks. My morning had been a three-ring circus of parking tickets, drunk bastards, and a couple arguing outside a gas station over who said I love you first.
I rounded into the locker room without seeing a soul, finding the changing space equally barren. The cleaning crew had already rolled through, the stench of bleach hanging in the air as the floor and benches shined under the fluorescents.
Most officers got ready at home and drove their squad cars to and from the station, but I kept my lives separate. Nothing against either, but I didn’t need neighborhood brats egging my place on Mischief Night.
I unlocked my locker, yanked the door wide, and found my missing phone without incident, the dated smart device tucked under my service belt.
I slid it into its home in my back pocket before shutting the door and spinning the lock.
On my way to the exit, there was a laugh I hadn’t heard in ages near Anya’s perch, and as much as I hated the amphibious witch, I had to stop.
“Dashiell fuckin’ Bane,” I called, spying the handsomest son of a bitch Honey Hills had ever seen frowning at Anya.
The beautiful man turned with a smile and offered a handshake, and as he stepped away from Anya’s desk, his wife, Juni, came into view.
Jesus.
I hadn’t seen her since their wedding, and with her hands resting on a rounded pregnant belly, it looked like the schoolteacher was ready to pop.
“Juni,” I greeted, giving her a gentle hug. “Number three?”
They were obviously busy doing more than just fighting fires and teaching kids with their time. I didn’t know how they had the energy. Two girls had me pulling my hair out more often than not.
“Four,” Dash corrected with a smirk. “This is our first little girl.”
A part of me wanted to warn them of the hell on Earth headed their way, but the rest of me vowed to keep it a surprise.
They could luck out with an Izzy. She’d always been an easy kid. I didn’t have to repeat myself usually, and she made me laugh more than cuss, which was always a plus.
“Congratulations.”
At least one of us had something to celebrate. I had a lot to be thankful for, but celebrations were scarce anymore.
“How are the girls?” Dash linked fingers with Juni, the duo turning away from Anya who looked ready to riot over their presence. For a frog, she was awfully territorial.
“Good,” I half-lied. “Cass just got her permit, and Izzy made honor roll.” Still didn’t have a damn clue where the little one got her smarts from. Her mother and I weren’t known for scoring higher than Cs.
“Little Cass is driving?” Juni’s jaw dropped along with Dash’s over the revelation.
“Don’t get me started. I already feel like Father Time. They’re out in the truck if you want to see them.”
It’d been at least a year since we’d all been together, life keeping us too tied up to catch more than the occasional beer or cookout. I still considered Dash a good friend, the two of us meeting at an accident scene when he was a newbie firefighter and I was still a rookie earning my stripes.
“Oh, my god, yeah!” Juni looked back at Anya with a frown. “As soon as we finish up here.”
“What’s going on? Putting out fires with Anya?”
Dash had made fire chief, so seeing him on frenemy turf was always amusing.
“I need the list of vendors for the police versus fireman’s tug-of-war event, but apparently I can’t have it.” Juni didn’t bother to hide the daggers she shot Anya’s way with her eyes.
I looked to the frog. “Why? It’s on the unit drive.” I barely logged on between reports and even I knew that. Anya ate, drank, and slept the system between calls, visitors, and solitaire.
“She’s not on the approved list,” Anya groused.
“Dashiell Bane is the other half of the event. He has access.”
Anya knew it, too. He wasn’t some stranger around town. He was so goddamn pretty that the fire department stuck him on all their mailers.
“He didn’t ask for it,” Anya grumbled, nodding her head toward Juni. “She did.”
Shaking my head, I mentally counted to three before responding. I really didn’t need another chat with the Chief about my temper. “That’s his wife, and he’s standing next to her.”
“Maybe he should ask then,” Anya snapped with haughty, rounded shoulders.
Rather than fight fire with fire, I let the angry amphibian man her pond in her miserable funk all by he
r lonesome. “I’ll text it to you,” I promised, meeting Dash’s eyes. I could access the cloud file from my phone and bypass Froggy Bottoms all together.
Anya’s frowned deepened, but she kept her ribbits to herself.
I gestured toward the side exit. “Let’s go see the girls. We just grabbed ice cream at Creamy’s.”
“Oh, my God. That sounds like heaven right now.” Juni’s hand slid over her belly, and she looked to Dash with hopeful eyes.
“We’ll stop,” he promised, folding without a fight. Smart man. “But we have to scarf it down before we grab the kids from your parents’.”
She beamed with a smile. “Deal.”
“Just don’t get the strawberry,” I warned as I held open the door for the lovebirds.
Juni stopped midway through the door with a look of disgust. “I’d never.”
“The little one insisted I try it,” I defended, waving at the truck where said child pressed her forehead against my freshly washed passenger window, leaving a big, round smudge. Jesus Christ.
“Cass is in there too?” Dash asked, craning his head as we neared my lifted pickup.
“Yeah, in the backseat pouting. She agreed to take a self-defense course she’s not too happy about.” Getting her to agree to it and getting her to go quietly weren’t the same thing, and I had a feeling plenty more pouts were in my future.
Dash raised a brow as he looked back at me. “Oh, really? Where are you taking her?”
I shrugged. “Haven’t looked into any yet. It’s a spur-of-the-moment thing. She’s got a new bully at school.”
It was just another thing to add to my never-ending to-do list. I still needed to take Izzy to get her braces adjusted, and Cass wanted me to make an appointment for her at the gyno in my least-anticipated waiting room experience of the year. The man upstairs owed me an eternal vacation if I I got there.
“I have a guy if you need one,” he said, squeezing his wife’s fingers. “Juni’s brother, Sage.”
“Really? I thought his gym was just equipment?” I hadn’t been there since everything went down with Jocelyn. Wearing every hat under the sun eliminated so-called me-time.
“Yeah, he’s been running it for a while now,” Juni replied, stepping in for her husband. “He’s got a good setup with a cage. They do grappling and what not too.”
“He’s still downtown?” I asked as we reached the truck.
Juni nodded. “Same place. There are more kids running around and not so many thirsty women now that he’s a married man.”
I gestured for my minions to hop out of the truck, which Izzy did immediately like a cocker spaniel.
Cass was slow to react, folding out of the back like a Slinky.
“I’ll call him as soon as we get home.”
7
Raya
A hot shower didn’t cleanse my therapy sins.
Nor did seeing my former friends at a concert in Philly while browsing Instagram.
Those failed attempts at feeling better only left me with razor burn and a bitter taste in my mouth in addition to a bruised ego.
Normally, I’d take a walk or a drive to clear my head, but with the ever-present blinking light mocking from my ankle, I settled for raiding the kitchen like a famished pirate.
I’d climbed atop the counter to sniff out the top-shelf goods and was cursing the pressure on my knee when a laugh startled me, almost sending me toppling from my cookie-scouting perch to the tile below.
“Raya, what are you doing up there?” Papa chuckled, shuffling into the room with an empty plate and his pepper hair slicked back.
He wore the fuzzy brown robe I’d given him for his birthday with the matching poop emoji pajama set that Mama hated.
“Looking for Oreos,” I admitted, grinning at the sight. “I didn’t realize you were still up.”
My parents rarely stayed awake past nine, leaving me as the lone night owl in the house. I didn’t even have the dogs to keep me company since they slept in their room like pudgy little traitors, acting like I didn’t slip them treats throughout the day.
“Mama polished those off during Wheel of Fortune,” he informed, shaking his head as he headed for the sink with a smile. “I bought half of the baking aisle at the store the other day. Why don’t you make something?”
I lowered from my knees to scoot off the counter, Papa hurrying over to steady me as I did. I might’ve disappointed him, but at least he didn’t want to watch me ping off the floor like a bouncy ball. That was somewhat comforting after the endless stretches of the silent treatment I’d endured.
“Thanks,” I muttered, grateful for the help. “I don’t bake anymore.”
“What do you mean you don’t bake anymore?” he argued, his eyes bugging out behind his glasses. “You worked at a bakery for five years.”
I headed to the fridge, moving stiffly. Kneeling always agitated my knee, but standing did too. And walking. And sitting. Basically, I existed in a constant state of ouch. “It brings back bad memories.”
Memories of being dropped like a defect. Kinda like what Rebel had done.
Dammit. I couldn’t escape him.
He frowned, watching me shuffle through the hoard of condiments on the shelves. “You loved baking, Ry.”
Shit. There wasn’t a sugary thing in the whole damn fridge. Just ketchup. Ketchup. And more damned ketchup. How much ketchup did one house need?
“Okay, well, I love other things now. People change.”
“Don’t change too much,” he warned, leaning against the counter. “A little living isn’t bad, you know? You don’t have to be so tense and hide in your room all the time. You can always come down and talk to your family. We’re not enemies here, Ry.”
“I’m not tense!” I snapped, freezing at the sound of my voice.
“How was your first day of group?” he asked, switching subjects and saving me from myself.
“It was fine. Look, Papa, I’m sorry. It’s just… I’m ready to press fast forward and get on with my life. When all this is over, I want everything to go back to how it was.”
Papa’s face fell. “Things can’t go back to how they were. That’s why you’re here.”
“I didn’t mean like that,” I objected, shutting the fridge with a thump. “I just mean not being here. I’ll be out of your hair, and you and Mama won’t have to deal with me anymore.”
“That was part of the problem. You were never here. Even when you were, you were never present. It was always the next party on your mind. The next show. The next buzz.”
I hated when he was right, even if I wholeheartedly disagreed. I missed that life, the streaks where days blended into night and morning came again before I climbed into bed. At least I felt something then rather than emptiness. “I just want to live.”
“You need to live in the present and the future. You’re always chasing tomorrow. Before you know it, tomorrow will be here, and it might not be as wonderful as you’d hoped. You’re shorting yourself, kid. There’s a bunch of life you’re missing out on.”
My natural reaction was to lash out, and as the venom churned on my tongue, I wasn’t sure why.
The man had raised me. He’d always been in my corner and cheering the loudest in the stands, even when I sucked royally at t-ball. “I need to fix this. I have eight weeks to get my life together, and I don’t even know where to start.”
My bank account was laughable. My savings were non-existent. The thought of miraculously finding a better job than the gym after the monitor came off seemed as likely as winning the lottery.
He pulled a cabinet door open, revealing fresh baking supplies, as promised. “Start where it all went wrong. You used to love the kitchen. You and Lita always ran over to the Mullens’ house to cook with Mabel.”
I smiled at the memory, missing the simpler days when Mabel Mullen taught us her kitchen magic. Back then, I was so sure of everything. My life had a clear trajectory. Culinary school. A bakery of my own someday.
> At some point, that ship had sailed into the horizon and never came back for me.
Papa looked just as lost as that ship as he stared at me. “I’m trying here, kid. Sometimes I have no idea what’s going on in that head of yours. It’s like you’re hellbent on running away from us. Hell, from yourself.”
I eyed him before heading to the door. “I don’t know either.”
8
Raya
“You’ll handle membership sign-ups and renewals, mostly,” Sage explained as he waved at the front desk he’d just finished giving me a tour of. “Sometimes equipment salesman roll in hawking new gear, but just page me or the assistant manager, Kev, if I’m not around.”
I nodded, following him toward the back wall where his office sat, tucked away from the birthing noises and bumping music.
All around, clients huffed and puffed through workouts—women dotting the treadmills and ellipticals, while men grunted at the weights. A handful intermingled and broke the unspoken fitness battle of the sexes, while a pair of beefy athletes sparred in the fighting cage at the rear.
I preferred the ellipticals back when I hit the gym, but that was before my knee sang Ave Maria if I pushed it too hard.
Weights were fun here and there, but the ring definitely wasn’t for me. The grappling class I took back when Sage taught me self-defense was a disaster.
They don’t tell you that while you do enjoy rolling around on the matts with hot men, they’re also physically hot—as in temperature—and drip sweat like a faucet all over your face. Disgusting.
“We’ll arrange your PT on Tuesdays and Thursdays if that works for you. It’ll give your leg time to rest between sessions.”
“That’s fine.” It wasn’t like I had anything better to do, and honestly, I welcomed the thought of PT in a move I never saw coming. Helping Mama weed the front flowerbeds probably had something to do with it. Especially when she started talking about laying manure.
