One Night Flame

by Beverly Evans

  “Deenie!” Mom calls, waving from behind her new car. Her SUV is generic as all get out, so it’s no wonder I didn’t see it right away.

  We rush toward each other and hug. The scent of vanilla and sugar overwhelms me, and I bury my face in her shoulder. It’s been too long.

  The passenger side door opens, and my warm reunion moment goes ice cold. I recognize the man. Rather, I recognize who the man spawned. He and his son share the same square jaw and imperfect masculine nose, and rich brown eyes. Under any other circumstance, I’d be super pumped for Mom bagging a hottie, but I can’t help but feel rage bubbling up inside of me that I can’t control.

  Joseph. As in, Joseph Egan.

  My mom is marrying Noah’s father.

  Noah, who I embarrassed the hell out of myself with by taking him up on his offer to deflower me like some desperate, love-sick puppy. The same Noah, who drove me up the wall when we were kids and tossed me aside like trash after our night together. The same Noah, who still makes it into my dirty dreams against my will.

  Now I understand why Mom didn’t want to tell me. Because I sure as hell don’t want to see Noah Egan again. But I guess I don’t have any choice now, do I?

  Chapter Two

  Noah

  Even though I co-own a gym, I still have days when I don’t want to set foot inside of it or move a muscle. Today’s like that, even though I should be stoked that it’s Friday. I stumble in around six-thirty, nod to the new kid on the front desk, and hit the treadmill before my brain comes fully online. I start off with a walk, staring blankly out the big windows.

  Why does today already feel so shitty?

  I already dropped off my dog, Mabel, at dog daycare. Usually, she’s with me whenever I’m not at work, my little shadow. Maybe that’s why — a strange sense of loneliness, mixed with fatigue.

  Or maybe it’s because of what tonight might bring.

  Yeah, it’s definitely that, even if I don’t want to admit it.

  I drag myself through the rest of my workout in the weight area, even though I’m definitely not at my best. But at least it’s done. I shower and get dressed, then head into town to The Roast, my favorite coffee place. Since it’s early, I get a good parking spot right next to my best friend Andy’s spot.

  He has a really douchey car. Loud as hell, fire red, and a gas mileage that isn’t worth shit, but he loves the thing. And he’s a good guy, his taste in vehicles (and honestly, a lot of other shit) aside. I’ve known him long enough to trust him with things I don’t trust to anyone else. We drifted apart for a while in high school and college, mostly because of my own issues, but stayed friends. I made some great friends in college that I’m still close with like Adam and Braxton, but Andy was my friend long before I met them. I’m glad that we’re close again since we’re going to be stepbrothers pretty soon. He’s always been chill and easy to hang with, which I’ve learned is hard to come by.

  Though with Andy comes the girl I’ve been trying to forget for five long years: Nadine, who hates my guts for seemingly no fucking reason. Well, no rational reason. I get not liking me since I was an ass to her when we were growing up (and she was to me if I’m being honest). But hating me so much that she’s never returned one of my emails or calls or texts asking to talk? Not even a ‘fuck off?’ That’s what I don’t get. We had an amazing night, and as far as first times go, hers must have been pretty damn good. I know I had a good time; even better than nights I’ve had with women who knew what they were doing.

  I must have done something awful for her to totally ice me out, but I can’t think of what that would be. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m the first guy she ever slept with, even though she’d been dating a guy for three long years. Clearly waiting for marriage mattered to her, or she wouldn’t have done it. But she wanted me to take her virginity off her hands. So I did.

  Am I still that much of an oblivious jerk? I consider myself a reformed asshole, but maybe there’s still work for me to do. The guilt and confusion are still eating at me. I’ll just be sitting there minding my own fucking business, and out of nowhere, I’ll remember that I was probably shitty and want to die a little bit.

  But then I get pissed. Sure, I might have been shitty, but she’s done exactly nothing to fix the problem or at least tell me what's wrong. That pisses me off so much that it obliterates any cringing I might do.

  I lock my car and sigh. I’m happy for my dad, seriously, but I don’t think he knows how much baggage is coming along with this marriage. I can’t do shit about it though since I’m not the one getting married after losing his wife to cancer and more than a decade of being single after that. I have to suck it up and pray that Nadine stays the hell away from me at all costs.

  When I head inside and get in line, I see Andy already stretched out in one of the big cozy chairs, nursing a coffee and a half-eaten breakfast sandwich. He nods to me and goes back to reading on his tablet. I order the biggest coffee they have, black, and a breakfast sandwich that’s almost the size of my head. The sandwiches are the main reason we come here for breakfast at least once a week. My job is a five-minute walk away from my house, so it takes a damn good reason for me to make another stop on my way home from the gym.

  When my sandwich is ready, I flop down on the plush seat across from Andy. He’s wearing a pale purple polo tucked into his khakis, and boat shoes. If he hadn’t gotten rid of his favorite baseball hat, didn’t have a beard, and hadn’t gotten a better haircut, he probably would look the same as he did in high school — peak bro.

  “What’s up?” He shakes my hand and follows it with a fist bump.

  “Fuckin’ tired.” I dig into my sandwich like a savage. I wish I could cook something like this at home, but I can’t cook worth shit. I’m the biggest stereotype of a bachelor.

  “Yeah? It’s Friday, though.” He takes a long sip of his coffee.

  “Long week.” Which is true — it’s not just my nerves. I’ve been a firefighter for five years and only recently became a fire investigator. My work life used to be based around twenty-four shifts in the fire house, mostly answering various calls and doing work in the community, but now it’s an office gig with being on call in the evenings twice a week or so. It’s a normal schedule for everyone else, but I’m still adjusting to going somewhere most days.

  Andy just nods and goes back to his coffee. We sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, the frenetic energy of the morning rush picking up inside the shop. Our town isn’t huge by any measure despite being the county seat, but sometimes it feels like it at times like this.

  “You still on for dinner? We’re going to that steakhouse, the good one near that new mall the next town over.” He says it casually, but I can tell he’s itching for my reaction.

  Trying to keep my face neutral, I ask, “Is Nadine still coming in?”

  “Yep.”

  My delicious breakfast sandwich suddenly feels less good in the pit of my gut. “Yeah, I guess I’ll be there.”

  “That’s gonna be — “

  “A shit show? Yeah, maybe.” I close my eyes and rest my head on the seat.

  I’ve never told Andy about sleeping with Nadine because what guy wants to know his best friend fucked his sister? But he’s not an idiot, so he can sense that something’s happened between us. I don’t think he knows when it happened, though. He might think it’s just an old childhood enemy situation that’s carried on for more than a decade.

  When we were in middle school, I teased Nadine about the stupidest shit, like enjoying Twilight or girly anime or whatever, and she would snap at me for being bossy or snarky. It was like the stereotype of cats and dogs fighting—she was the cat, reserved and introverted, and I was the dog, always extroverted.

  But I backed off when, well, she abruptly got hot as a freshman. I wish I would have stopped being a jackass because I realized I was being a jackass, but no. I’m fully aware that I was a dumb teenager.

  Anyway, I went away to camp for a summer and
came back to find actual boobs behind Nadine’s anime t-shirts. And great hips and legs when she wasn’t hiding them. I knew right then and there that I couldn’t hang around her much anymore because I’d make a damn fool out of myself. I couldn’t go from being a dick to asking her out. At least I wasn’t that stupid. So I started hanging out with some other guys more than Andy, and that took care of that.

  “She hasn’t talked shit about you in years,” Andy says. “So maybe it’ll be fine.”

  “She talked shit about me?”

  That’s surprising. She’s always been sweet — not just nice, but sweet. Even when I teased her, she mostly pulled annoyed faces and went after me for legitimate reasons (namely, me being a dick) in a way that was mature for the situations. Well, most of the time. Hell, I had to goad her into talking shit about the guy who cheated on her and the friends who didn’t even have the balls to speak up about it. I can’t see her doing something like that. But then again, it’s been a while since we’ve interacted in a normal, non-emotionally charged situation.

  “Not serious shit. Just like, ‘ugh, Noah?’ and stuff like that. You know, Nadine level shit talking, which is like kindergarten level for anyone else. So less of shit talking and more of just not wanting to be around you.”

  “Well, thanks. That makes me feel good.”

  “Sorry.” He crosses one ankle over his knee and shrugs. “Just saying, dinner might not be as awkward as you think. She’s changed a lot.”

  I wonder what he means by that.

  “When did she stop doing that? The shit-talking, I mean.”

  “I dunno.” He started drumming his fingers on his knee. “Maybe about five years ago. After that fuck-wad cheated on her.”

  “Oh.” That might be a good sign—that’s when we had our night together, so maybe she doesn’t hate my guts entirely. But then again, why would she talk shit about me if she hasn’t seen me in five years? Or maybe it was so bad that she can’t even bring herself to mention me?

  “It’ll be fine.” He shrugs and runs his hand through his hair. He used to adjust his ever-present baseball hat as a nervous tick but fiddling with his hair is his replacement. “Also, the food’s good. And my mom’s treating us.”

  “For a guy who makes good money, you love free food.” I snort.

  “Hey, I can’t turn down a free steak.” He grins and checks his phone. “Damn, my morning meeting got pushed up, and there’s probably going to be traffic. I gotta run.”

  “Alright, see you tonight.”

  He gives me another handshake and leaves, pounding the last of his coffee. I lean back in my seat again, resisting the urge to fiddle with my phone.

  Maybe it won’t be that bad. Andy’s one of the most optimistic guys I know, so sometimes my pessimistic ass takes what he says with a massive grain of salt. But he wouldn’t blow smoke up my ass that hard.

  I finish up my sandwich and coffee, then head to work. My office is attached to the firehouse, so the transition to fire investigator hasn’t felt hard in that regard. I’m one of the younger full-time fire investigators, but I’ve never felt like anyone’s talked down to me for that reason. Unless they’re dicking around and ragging on each other, which happens all the time.

  “Happy Friday, Red,” James, the fire chief, yells across the station when he sees me. A few years back one of the paint bottles I was using to repaint a fire hydrant miss fired and covered my face in red paint. He found it hilarious and started calling me Red. Even after all these years, the name has stuck.

  “Morning.” I give him a smile. James is a great guy. He’s really been a steady presence in my life since my Uncle Jackson died.

  I sure as shit haven’t been steady.

  Everyone’s doing their daily gear check, and they all say good morning too. I’m running a couple of minutes behind, so I don’t linger and chat, just head to my desk. The office is the home to all the non-firefighter or EMT staff, like admins and investigators like me. The energy’s different, even though there’s just a wall between here and the station, but I would never want to be anywhere else.

  Well, most of the time. When I have to slog through emails and working on building inspection paperwork for my boss, I’m less excited. Unfortunately, that’s mostly what today is. The upside is that the tasks take just enough concentration for me to ignore the anxiety bubbling in the back of my mind and the weird empty feeling that sneaks up to me at work lately.

  I know exactly why I feel that emptiness, but unlike my anxiety, I can’t just get tonight over with and feel relief. Every time I walk through the station, I see the wall of photos along the wall. Some of them are just the fire chief and other higher-ups, but to the left of that hangs a picture of my Uncle Jack. And above his photo is a placard that reads ‘Rest in Peace’.

  On the one hand, I hate being reminded that he’s gone, but on the other, I want everyone to know he died saving lives. The fire — well, more accurately, the fire that led to the mansion collapsing on him — that took his life happened a little over two years ago. Nothing’s felt right since. I can’t get past the unfairness of it, the injustice. It was easy to tell that the fire was arson, and the homeowner and her ex didn’t have an amicable divorce. We connected the dots and put up the homeowner’s ex as the main suspect, but we couldn’t get firm forensic evidence.

  The guy’s still free, and my uncle — basically my second father — is dead. The only good thing to come out of the situation is that the homeowner and her daughter got out, and they’re doing okay.

  Uncle Jack and I were close. Anyone could see that. But he was a part of basically all of my life, every last area. He was the one who got me into fitness, the one who helped me and my dad out while my dad dealt with his depression after my mom’s death, the one that paid for me to go to college, and eventually, he was the one who encouraged me to become a firefighter after I got my associate degree in Criminal Justice.

  Hell, he was the one who suggested I adopt Mabel after we rescued her from a bunch of stray puppies from a box on the side of the road. She’s my best friend, to lean into that cliché. He even left me the rest of his fortune, passed down from my grandfather, which allows me to live a really comfortable life with money to spare. It even let me and my friend Ray open the gym he dreamed of owning.

  I glance at Jack’s photo and sigh. He was a seasoned firefighter, yeah, but I’m still haunted by how he died. The fire was so intense; still the most intense I’ve ever been through. I can’t believe the homeowner’s ex — okay, or whoever did it — was able to take a home that was built with the safest, newest material and turn it to ash with some well-placed accelerants and some luck. It’s shitty, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I have access to the case files, but I doubt my boss would want me to devote time to a case that’s considered closed.

  So I’ve been turning my attention to all the other potential arsons we get. I don’t want anyone else to suffer knowing the person who turned their life upside down is walking free without consequences.

  I finish up my work and shut everything down, saying goodbye to everyone. Most people are out on a call, so it’s quiet. I haven’t been hanging out with the guys in the station much, but I wish someone could distract me from the shitstorm I’m about to drive into.

  I head out to pick up Mabel from dog daycare, then home to change into a more casual outfit for dinner. Once Mabel’s settled in her favorite spot on the back porch near her dog door, I spray on a little cologne — not sure why, since I haven’t worn it since the last time I seriously dated anyone — and hop back into my car.

  Please let there be traffic.

  I crank up some music, a playlist with a lot of car-rumbling bass and try to psych myself up. It’s just dinner. And it’s not going to just be me and Nadine. Andy’s always a good buffer in awkward situations, and my dad will probably want to talk about the wedding. I wonder what Uncle Jack would think, seeing his little brother getting remarried. He’d probably be so excited for him. A p
ang of sadness hits me in the gut. Jack never married — he’d sworn off dating for reasons my dad won’t tell me about — but he supported my dad’s attempts at dating.

  The steakhouse is a half-hour drive away that, of course, takes twenty minutes today. I park at the far edge of the lot and text Andy that I’m here. Apparently, I’m the last one to arrive. My dad and Babs’s punctuality is biting me in the ass.

  The steakhouse, like a lot of fancy restaurants, is weirdly dark, so it takes my eyes a second to adjust. When they do, my eyes immediately land on Nadine. My breath catches a little bit. She looks different, but in a good way, even in profile. A really good way. Her body was great the last time I saw her, but now she’s clearly been working out — her arms are cut but feminine, and her posture is a lot better. And her ass. Damn. I want to grab it like I did the night we spent together and pound into her until she makes those little cries that I still think about regularly.

  I blink rapidly, which hopefully makes it seem like I’m taking a while to adjust from being outside and drag my eyes up to her face. Again, still beautiful, especially with her hair pulled back the way it is. Her olive-toned skin looks a little paler than I remember, which makes her ink brown eyes even more piercing.

  Especially since she’s looking at me like I’m the biggest piece of shit she’s ever seen. Like I’m literally a walking, breathing turd, strolling into the restaurant.

  It’s almost shocking, so much so that it pisses me off. I know our history is messy and that there’s probably something I missed in our interactions with each other, but nothing so bad that she has the right to look at me like I’m the scum of the Earth.

  Any hopes I had of being okay with her evaporate immediately. If she’s going to be an ass without giving me a reason, then I don’t want to put up with that shit.

  Or at least that’s what my brain is saying because my dick is thinking of his own accord. If my brain got shut off and my dick started calling the shots, I would fuck her without hesitation if she let me.