American Heroes: The Complete American Heroes Collection (A Contemporary Romance Box Set)

by Teagan Kade

  “Don’t knock it,” she says. “You totally need to come by and try some when you’re off-duty, see how tasty they are for yourself.” She smiles flirtatiously, taking care to shift her upper body towards me to show me her faded blue bra strap.

  I recoil in disgust, curling my upper lip as I do so, not particularly caring if Little Miss Hipster gets offended by my revulsion.

  “Thanks for the offer, but I’m good,” I say curtly.

  She doesn’t take the hint and continues to move closer to me until her hands brush slightly against my cock.

  “I’ll make it worth your while,” she says, smiling from ear-to-ear and exposing her buck teeth. “I’ll bet you’ll love what I can do in the kitchen… and bedroom.”

  Ugh, I think to myself. If the BBQ is anything to go by, the bedroom’s bound to be a fucking disaster zone.

  I look over and see that Mike and Tim are extinguishing the fire completely, giving me the perfect chance to escape.

  I pull away from Hipster A, rushing to join Mike and Tim as they head back towards the truck.

  “Nice meeting you, ladies,” I say politely but dismissively. “Glad you’re all okay.”

  Neither Mike nor Tim say a word as we board the truck, but once we pull away and start peeling down Sunset Boulevard they begin guffawing with laughter.

  “Ay, Ricky,” says Mike, between gasps of laughter. “Ay? Ay Did I really just see you turn down some pussy, Ricky?”

  “Shut up, Mike,” I mumble, looking out the window.

  Tim picks up where Mike left off. “I mean, yeah, that was certainly some ugly pussy, but shit, the Derek I know would have scooped that up without a problem. What did you used to say? ‘They all look the same upside down,’ right, Derek?” he says, laughing and slapping my shoulder.

  I sigh. “Yeah, Tim, they do,” I say solemnly, “but they don’t all act the same right side up now, do they?”

  For a moment there’s silence yet again on the truck. I take the opportunity to process my thoughts peacefully.

  But soon the buffoonery begins again, Tim and Mike trading barbs and insults, making lascivious remarks about my cock and reminding me not to fall in love with “that crazy bitch.”

  I manage to tune most of it out, mostly because I don’t care what they’re talking about, but also because I prefer to be lost in my own thoughts these days, especially since all my thoughts increasingly involve Beth.

  McAllister notices my change in temperament. He turns around and stares at me, searching for the right words to begin a reasonable conversation.

  “Deep thoughts by Derek H?” he asks, in a lame attempt to make a joke.

  “You could say that,” I reply dryly.

  McAllister, undeterred, continues. “And I guess you’d call this love, wouldn’t you?” he asks gently.

  “You could say that,” I reply, again dryly.

  “Listen, kid, if there’s one thing I know, it’s when a man is in love,” McAllister says. “And, I tell you, I haven’t seen someone so deeply in love since… well… me and Kathleen.”

  I look at him and smirk. “Your wife?”

  “Sure,” he says, this time turning to face the road. “Did I ever tell you about that? I met her when she was in the bar with her friends. All her friends wanted to get with me—hose chasers, every one of them—except her. She couldn’t give a shit if I lived or died.”

  I furrow my eyebrows. “Kathleen? Really? The same woman who comes to the firehouse with peach pies and demands to know if any of my former side pieces are yours?”

  McAllister laughs heartily. “Yep, one and the same. Kathleen was the one who didn’t even want me to buy her a drink. The boys in the house all warned me about her back then. ‘She’s crazy,’ they would say, and I would say that one fine day, I was gonna make an honest woman out of her.”

  “So, what happened?” I ask, still lost in my own thoughts.

  “Whattaya mean, ‘what happened?’ You think any woman can resist all this?” he says, pointing to his thickening waist. “In six months, I married her, we had four beautiful kids, and to this day I go home, she cooks for me, then fucks my brains out.”

  He begins laughing hysterically, as though he imparted some profound sentiment about his dear, sainted wife and how I should apply that sentiment to my current situation with Beth.

  Not satisfied with any reasonable solution, other than taking the veil, I turn back to the road, sigh heavily, and check my phone one last time.

  No missed calls. No messages.

  And the last text message still left on ‘read.’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  ELISABETH

  I stand outside my house staring at it like it’s a stranger. I almost can’t believe I’ve been allowed back. It covers over my biggest mistake and seals my most painful regret.

  From the exterior it looks remarkably unscathed save for some scorching around the living room windows. There’s still police tape on the ground.

  This space has caused me so much anxiety, worry, and guilt. Now I’m willingly walking back to the front door, opening myself to feel it all again.

  I know I should be relieved or even excited to get back into my home, knowing I didn’t burn completely to a crisp. But what I did, am still doing, claws at my insides. It makes me sick.

  Before I decide to head inside with my suitcase, I divert and go to the mailbox. It’s been a while since I collected mail.

  I pull out what seems like a pound of mail consisting of magazines, fliers, and bills. I shuffle through them and dispose of the stuff I’ll never use.

  But then I see an envelope with my name scribbled in the middle and Lucinda’s name written at the corner. My heart stops. All the air from my lungs escapes me. I’m paralyzed.

  It’s another handwritten letter from my mother. What the hell does she want now? The last time I received a letter like this, my whole world went up in flames. Literally.

  Which is how I know this can’t be good. I haven’t heard from her since our last phone call, when I threatened to confess everything, to give up on her, and to release myself from the prison of guilt and shame I’ve been residing in.

  I rip the letter open before I make it to the front door, my patience getting the better of me. I scan over it first, trying to get a feel of it, seeing if it’s worth my time and concern.

  Travis. Warning. Sorry. These are the key words I see repeatedly, written in her handwriting.

  What’s going on?

  I look around me to ensure no one’s watching, suddenly feeling vulnerable with these words staring back at me. I run back into theroom, closing the door and locking it securely.

  I lean against the floor and slide down to the floor clutching onto the letter. I re-read the first few lines of the letter out loud, hoping my mind is playing tricks on me and that the letter doesn’t really say what I think it does.

  Beth,

  Please forgive me. I don’t know what else to say, but I’m sorry. Travis made me do it. He would’ve left me if I didn’t make you do it.

  I’m not sick. I’m not dying. It was all a part of his plan—to fake a terminal illness, convince you I’m dying and that I needed money for my treatments. It all seemed so easy at the time. But, I promise, baby, it was all his idea.

  Panic rises in my throat. I start to hyperventilate, choking on the air that’s supposed to be keeping me alive. I might throw up or pass out, or both. How is this happening?

  I re-read the words again and again, wanting the letters to rearrange themselves into a message less cruel or at least less infuriating.

  I drop the letter next to me and put my head between my knees, needing the sudden spell of dizziness to go away. The world I thought I knew has been ripped out from below me, violently.

  It might not have been on steady ground, but at least I had an idea of the cracks and holes I was standing on. Now, as it whips around me, I try to grasp onto something for balance, to make some sense of what’s happening.
/>   I sigh loudly and prepare myself for another onslaught of words.

  I have to read on. I can’t go on without knowing everything, without trying to understand why my mother would do this to me, her fucking daughter.

  After our phone call, I knew I really screwed up. I never wanted to put you in this position, Beth. It hurts me more than you know. You’re going through all this guilt and anxiety, putting yourself on the line, both personally and legally, and I made you do it. I did this to you, I know.

  But I was afraid. Travis threatened to leave me if I didn’t go through with it.

  Are you fucking kidding me?

  All I see is red, the buried anger I’ve stored away towards my mother electrifying me. Furious doesn’t even begin to describe it.

  But really, why am I surprised? It’s not like she’s ever put me first when it came to her boyfriends. They always reigned over me, pushing me to the back-burner. Hell, not even that close.

  I was the scum in the toilet she never cleaned. She never cared for my well-being unless it got in the way of whatever boyfriend was in her bed. Like now.

  But this… this is a new low. Even for her.

  I continue to read on, despite the hate I feel for her.

  We needed money. We still do, and this was Travis’ plan to get some easy cash. He threatened me, Beth. I had no other choice. Please, believe me.

  Like always, she pleads innocent, blaming it on someone else, as if she didn’t have a say in the matter.

  “Yes! Yes, you fucking did!” I scream at the letter. Anger consumes me, thrashing through my body, boiling my blood. I picture steam rising from my skin. It takes every ounce of my restraint not to rip the letter into shreds.

  There’s some semblance of common sense poking at me, though. I realize I could use this as evidence on my behalf.

  I can now prove I’ve been forced, somewhat, into doing this.

  Maybe my sentencing wouldn’t be so harsh then?

  So I smooth out the letter and release my iron-clad grip.

  He made me believe you deserved this. Travis told me because you left the house, leaving me the way you did, you deserved to be taken advantage of. And I believed it. I was so angry at you for so long, and this was my revenge, my way of getting back at you.

  “Angry at me?” I yell.

  But after we last talked, reality struck me. I have been a terrible mother to you. And this is no exception. I should’ve never blamed you for leaving home. It makes sense to me why you did.

  You had to leave to make a better life for yourself, one that wasn’t dictated by a man who can’t keep a roof over his, or our, heads.

  The red I’ve been seeing slowly fades.

  I re-read her admission, wanting to feel the relief of her taking responsibility and admitting she’s a terrible mother. I almost feel vindicated, justified, like all the pieces of my fragmented and screwed up life are being taped together.

  Although it’s not a pretty picture, I begin to feel whole again.

  She continues to spill her guts. You left and got away, and I’m so happy you did. A part of me is jealous, not going to lie, but a bigger part of me is proud of you.

  However, this letter is more than an apology. I’m writing you now to warn you. Travis overheard our last conversation, unbeknownst to me, I promise. He took my phone, and this is only way I can contact you and warn you. I hope you get it.

  My stomach drops. Fear singes my nerves.

  I jump up from the floor and take a step forward, the wooden floor creaking under my shoes. The sound startles me, but I shake it off. I don’t think I have anything to fear just yet, but her warning puts me on edge.

  I continue to read the letter as I walk around. It seems endless.

  Travis knows you’re not going to go through with the insurance claim. He’s pissed and he’s threatened to come to LA to make you go through with it. I don’t know what that entails, but I know it won’t be a friendly visit. I’ve been trying my hardest to convince him to leave you alone. So far, my stalling tactics have worked, but I know he’ll get bored of them soon.

  I sink to my knees, anxiety overtaking my senses, piercing though my body. It’s hard to stomach all this information.

  Travis is after me, and he knows everything. I don’t know what he’s capable of, but the fact he came up with this shady idea, convincing my mom to lie about a sickness and forcing me to set my house on fire, tells me he’s capable of so much worse.

  My mouth goes dry as the reality of my situation sinks in. I’m in danger. I might not have been before, when Derek thought I was, but now I am.

  This is my warning. As I said, I hope you get this before it’s too late. It was the only way I could warn you without him knowing. Again, I can’t stress this enough: please be safe and careful.

  I’m sorry. So sorry. I never wanted this to happen, I never planned for this, but I was between a rock and a hard place. I hope you can understand that someday.

  I know it’s too much to ask for right now, but one day in the future I hope you find it in your heart to love me again. I have been a terrible mother, I realize that, and it pains me to no end I’ve done so wrong by you. But, hopefully, there’ll be a day when you can trust me.

  And with that gravely hopeful ending, she ends the letter signing it with a simple Love, your mother, Lucinda.

  I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding. This letter is both my redemption and my demise. I hold it in my hands as if it were the most precious thing I’ve ever touched. Who knew my mother could be so damn eloquent?

  I don’t move, immobilized by the apology, the confession, the admission, and most of all, the warning.

  How did I let this happen? Where is Travis? And, most of all, what in the hell do I do now?

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  DEREK

  The boys and I unload the truck, mostly in silence.

  Finally.

  I relish this rare moment of peace and quiet.

  We strip off our gear and I rid myself of the hipster’s avocado grime. Ugh.

  Then, like clockwork, my peaceful moment is interrupted.

  “Ay! His dick got so bored of normal pussy he had to go for some crazy snatch to keep him hard,” Mike wails in laughter, hitting Tim in chest. I ignore him, walking past the assholes. “Ay, did we hurt your feelings, wee Derek?”

  “Shut up, Mike,” I shout back at him, walking up the stairs to the clubhouse.

  I ignore them as they continue their colorful commentary. They never cease to amaze me with how creative they can be about Beth and, now, my so-called crazy dick.

  I pull my phone out, checking it for the umpteenth time, and am met with the same message: Read.

  I twirl the phone around in my hands, feeling more restless than before. I don’t know why I keep checking it other than pure impulse and instinct.

  I’d know if she contacted me. I’d hear it or feel it, at least.

  Pathetic.

  There’s still a strange, unfamiliar part of me that’s holding on to a sliver of hope, ridiculous as that might sound.

  God, I’m so out of my element with her.

  My irritation quickly evolves into dread as I lock eyes with Officer Brady.

  What in the hell is he doing here?

  I slide my phone back into my pocket and clear my throat, preparing for another joyful interaction with the Officer Brady. He really is relentless.

  A part of me admires his tenacity to get the job done and figure out the cause of Beth’s fire—if it has to do with Beth and her safety, I support it, but I also have a feeling he’s looking for something that’s not there. Like, he’s trying to find something that doesn’t exist.

  “Officer Brady. What a pleasant surprise,” I say, forcing my greeting through gritted teeth and a strained jaw.

  “Derek.” He nods and drops a folder and pen on our makeshift kitchen table.

  “Have you been here long?” I look around the clubhouse to see if anything’s o
ut of place or missing. Everything seems to be in order, but the ominous way in which he showed up, out of the blue, rubs me the wrong way.

  This whole encounter seems… off.

  “Not too long. Are you busy?” He jumps right to it, avoiding any conversational decorum.

  “The boys will be right up, so whatever it is it’ll have to be quick,” I say.

  “Do you have a more private place to speak, then? It’s urgent, and I think you’ll be interested in what I have to say. It’s regarding Beth and her fire,” he presses, each word coming out more curtly than the next.

  I sigh, rolling my eyes slightly. Of course it has to do with Beth and her fire. Why else would he be here?

  “Sure.” I glance behind Brady to see if McAllister’s office is open. “Follow me. We’ll take the Chief’s office for now. But again, he’ll be needing it soon,” I warn him.

  He trails behind me. I close the door once he’s in the office. He looks around him and then, he does what everyone does their first time in the Chief’s office—examine the wall of fame. At least, that’s what we like to call it anyway.

  It’s a wall dedicated to the Chief’s numerous certificates and associations, plus pictures of his family and random community members who eye him as a local celebrity.

  “Impressive, huh?” I nod in its direction.

  “So, you went back to Beth’s house?” Brady cuts me off.

  Well, that’s direct—and not at all what I was expecting him to ask. It takes me aback a moment and, before I open my mouth to respond, I stop myself, knowing if I go off pure instinct I’ll say something I’ll regret.

  “Why?” he asks me again.

  “Are you interrogating me or something? Don’t you have to arrest me first?” I ask cautiously, and take a sit in the Chief’s chair behind his desk. I already need some distance.

  “I’d like to know why you were snooping around an active crime scene.” His expression is stone-cold, impenetrable even, but if I tell him the truth, I’ll be screwed.

  “Have you found any leads?” I ask. Not only do I not want to the answer, I want to create a diversion and get him off my fucking back.