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

by Teagan Kade

  Why didn’t he say something?

  I jerk my head around, looking to see if he’s still in the building.

  I need to ask him. I need to know if my suspicions are correct.

  I jump up and sprint after him, hoping to make it to him in time.

  But when I reach the front of the firehouse, he’s already driving away, waving at me while he passes. I wave back, and, with this simple gesture, the weight of the past leaves me.

  I stop reeling and ground myself, letting a heavy breath out.

  It’s time to turn over that new leaf.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  ELISABETH

  I’m forgetting something, I know I am. I always forget things when I pack, and it’s always something vital like a toothbrush or underwear. I glance at my two suitcases, packed to bursting, and grimace. I really don’t want to have to unpack everything to figure out the mystery item. But I don’t want to have to come back for it either. Travis has been arrested, and I’m not under investigation for insurance fraud anymore, but this place still gives me the creeps, especially when I’m alone.

  I’m standing in the hallway between my bedroom and the living room. I try not to set foot in the living room more than I have to. It still stinks of the gasoline Travis doused me in. My chest feels tight whenever I smell it. Even going to a gas station is a test of willpower.

  I am not okay right now, but I will be soon. After all, I’m not doing this alone.

  Derek has insisted I stay with him until I decide what to do with my insurance check. The people down at the claims office gave rush processing a whole new meaning so I could get this check. I’m pretty sure Officer Brady had a hand in speeding that along.

  When Derek first suggested I stay at his place, I turned him down. I didn’t want to seem needy after putting him through so much crap. I mean, objectively, our situation is pretty insane. Most guys I know would turn tail and sprint away after just a taste of the craziness that followed me from the trailer park. But Derek is different. He’s been different from the beginning.

  The first night back in my house after the fire department approved it (again) was a literal nightmare. I didn’t think the living room would still smell. I didn’t think I would be so paranoid. Every tiny noise made me jump. Every shadow I thought I saw in the corner of my eye made my heart jump into overdrive. When I finally did go to bed, I was alone in the dark for all of five minutes before I called Derek and begged him to come get me.

  I’ve spent every night since sleeping in his bed, cradled in his arms.

  It’s funny, I was so determined to make it on my own once I left home, but I modeled my entire life after what I thought it should look like, not what I actually wanted out of it. Whenever I wake up in Derek’s arms, I feel like I’m finally living the life I want.

  Plus the mind-blowing sex every night (and most mornings) is a huge perk. His ability to stay hard pretty much twenty-four seven is nothing short of a superpower.

  I’ve taken it upon myself to make his apartment a little homier. I’m not going crazy, just organizing the clutter and stocking the fridge with something other than cheap beer and microwave meals.

  I actually like the way Derek’s apartment looks. The masculine feel, clean simple lines and color scheme suit my taste. I would even go so far as to it call it ‘minimalist chic’ now I’ve fixed it up a bit.

  “Son of a bitch!” I realize what I nearly forgot. I hurry back into my old bedroom and snatch the open envelope sitting on the cherry wood nightstand. My mother’s second letter, the one she wrote to warn me about Travis and to finally come clean about everything. The first letter, the one I made Derek go back in and rescue, is already tucked away somewhere safe.

  Alone in the house, holding that letter, I know I have to do the one thing I’ve been putting off. I haven’t talked to my mother since our last, incredibly unpleasant, phone call. Part of me understands why she had to speak and act a certain way on the phone. The other is hurt by it, except for the fact I was not surprised to hear her say those nasty, terrible things.

  I pull up her number on my cell. After the fifth ring, I’m afraid she won’t answer. What if Travis did something horrible to her before driving down here? I should have checked on her sooner. Why am I so bad at this? I’m working myself into a panic when the line picks up.

  “Beth?” My mother’s voice snaps me out of it.

  “Hi, Mom.” It’s all I can think to say. Suddenly, she’s a flurry of anxious questions.

  “What the hell happened? Why haven’t I heard from you? I saw on the news an arsonist was arrested in your area. They didn’t show a picture. Was it Travis?” Mom’s voice gets louder and louder with each syllable. I hold the phone away from my ear to prevent hearing loss.

  “Beth, answer me!” she shrieks.

  “I will if you stop screaming.” I talk into the phone I’m holding at arm’s length. I’m surprised to hear laughter in my own voice.

  “Fine,” she huffs. “Tell me what happened.”

  “Travis showed up the same day I got your letter. He… kind of tried to kill me,” I wince on the last words and hold the phone away from my ear again in preparation for the round of screaming that’s guaranteed to follow.

  “What the shit? What in the ever-loving fuck? Where is that lanky son of a bitch? I’m going to kill him with my bare hands!” I cover my mouth to muffle my laughter.

  “Mom! Mom, listen to me,” I say, trying to get a word in between her never-ending stream of swearing and death threats against Travis. I almost wish Derek was here to hear this. He’d get a kick out of it.

  “Someone tried to murder my baby! Let me be mad!” my mother yells back. I completely dissolve into cackles.

  “He’s already in jail. Derek took care of it,” I explain, still giggling. It feels good to laugh about this.

  “Derek? That fireman?” Mom suddenly seems quite keen to drop the whole murder topic. “I hope you know I didn’t mean all the crazy things I said about you and him.”

  “I know, Mom,” I say softly. “He’s a really great guy. He told the officer looking into my case Travis was responsible for everything. He’s the reason why the police aren’t on my case anymore. I got that insurance check because of him.”

  “Sounds like you found yourself one of the good ones,” Mom says. Her tone is wistful and melancholy, as if she’s imagining the life she could have had if she’d made a different choice. “Don’t let him go.”

  “We haven’t known each other that long.” My kneejerk response is dismissive. Guilt envelops me. Sure, Derek and I haven’t known each other very long, but we have already been through trials far more difficult than the average couple will face.

  “I won’t let him go.” Silence stretches across the line, though this time, it is not one of sadness, but contentment.

  “So,” Mom says, sucking in a breath. “Are you going to use that insurance money to remodel? If I know Travis, he probably left a gigantic mess for you to deal with. Other than the attempted murder thing,” she adds hastily.

  I understand she doesn’t know how to talk about what happened. I don’t know how to either. There is no manual for how to talk about being almost murdered. But Mom and I are talking, so I’m willing to roll with the awkward punches on this one.

  “Um, no. Actually, I don’t think I will,” I say with sudden certainty. I’ve entertained the idea of a remodel to change this place so much, I would never recognize it as the place where I almost died. It’s a silly idea, really. I will always know that, beneath whatever new floors I install, the carpet below reeks of gasoline.

  “Oh?” Lucinda sounds as surprised as I feel.

  “I think I’m going to fix it up a little. Fix the damage done by the fire and Travis. After that, I think I’ll put it on the market,” I say, growing surer of myself by the second. I can fix this place up for cheap. I bet Derek and all the muscular guys at the fire department will be willing to lend a hand. It’s a decent neighbor
hood, so it would probably turn a fair profit.

  “And then what?” my mother asks.

  Good question.

  “Well, I was actually thinking that you should take half of the insurance money,” I say in a rush, in case I lose my nerve.

  “What?” Mom stutters. “You’d offer me that after everything I put you through?”

  “I’ve been thinking about when I left home,” I say. “You needed help, Mom. You never wanted to ask, but you needed it. I had a good education and good job prospects, and I never helped you once. I knew you needed it and I didn’t help you.”

  “I don’t blame you for leaving,” Lucinda says. It’s like a weight is lifted off my chest. “If I was half as smart as you, I would have left too. And, yeah, I did need help, but I sure as hell didn’t deserve it. I made bad choices and I got stuck with the consequences. That’s how life works, hon.”

  “But there’s some extra money now, Mom. You wouldn’t have to break your back at the diner full time. I want you to have it,” I plead.

  “After everything that’s happened, I don’t think I can take it from you,” Mom sighs. I know this must be a tough call for her. “But I’ll tell you what you can do for me instead,” she continues.

  “Name it,” I say.

  “Now that I know Travis is gone for good,” she says, “I think I have a really good shot at turning my life around. I haven’t had a cigarette in three days, you know.”

  I’m speechless. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Mom without one of her signature pink lights. She’s like the female Marlboro Man. “If I can keep this up, I want to be part of your life again, the way I should have been these past seven years.”

  “I would like that,” I say. Tears prick the back of my eyes, but I blink them away. I don’t want to cry anymore.

  We talk for a while longer, Mom and me, before agreeing to make time for another chat later in the week. I tuck her letter into the front flap of one of my suitcases. That’s everything I need. I can now leave this place behind—for good maybe, if things keep going the way they have been with Derek.

  I don’t look back once I lock the door. I am overcome with a strange sense of certainty. Maybe I will come back to this house and take another shot at making it a home. Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll drive around the country with no map and no plan, getting food when I want to eat, sleeping at whatever motel I can find. Maybe I won’t travel at all. But now, I know for certain that, whatever I end up doing, Derek will be by my side for all of it.

  I’m giddy when I get into the car. I’m going to Derek’s apartment, a place that has felt more like home than my house ever did. Inside that apartment, chic as it is, is the man who made it all happen.

  EPILOGUE

  DEREK

  So much has changed in my life—and all the changes are, undoubtedly, for the better.

  I’m standing in my apartment, which is clean for the first time in what seems like forever, chopping actual, from-the-ground vegetables and reflecting on all the positive changes in my life that have occurred thanks to the force of nature named Elisabeth.

  I peel the carrots and chop the kale before adding them to the pan with hot oil, garlic, salt, and pepper.

  The wild rice is boiling on the stove, and the London broil is grilling on the barbecue outside.

  All this, combined with the freshly made baking bread in the oven and the lavender incense wafting throughout the house, is conspiring to make a beautiful scent in my previously dank, barren—definitely smelly—apartment.

  Beth has been responsible for these changes, of course.

  Before she came along, I was more than content with leaving my apartment to become a slovenly disaster. A half-stale burrito, hastily tossed in the oven and an ice-cold Pabst Blue Ribbon were more than enough for me come dinner time.

  And as for the girls?

  In and out of my life, in and out of my apartment.

  Hell, I should have installed a turnstile at the front door with the way they were coming in and out.

  But then she came along—and, yes, we’ve had our problems. Yes, we’ve had our fights. Yes, we’ve had more than our fair share of drama.

  But she came along, and the fact of the matter is, not only does she make me a better man, she makes me want to be a better man.

  That sounds fucking corny, I know.

  But it’s the truth.

  All these groceries I’m using to cook dinner for us tonight are groceries she bought for us.

  Us.

  I never thought I would feel comfortable saying that word.

  But it’s true. I love the fact that there’s an us now, not just a me.

  When it was just a me, I was careless. I would run into fires not caring if I lived or died, and be the rogue daredevil firefighter. And then I would go back to the house—or back to my apartment—and take two girls at a time with me.

  Did I care if I got any diseases? Fuck no. It was a stroke of sheer luck I never caught anything. God looks after children and idiots, as the old saying goes, and I was a little bit (well, okay, a lot) of both.

  Did I care if I got a girl pregnant? No.

  Fortunately, that hasn’t happened.

  Not yet, anyway.

  Because let me tell you, I would love to have a child with Beth.

  She’s my everything. She changed my life. Fuck it. She is my life.

  We went through a lot more than any other couple would have gone through in such a short period of time.

  We not only survived, we thrived.

  And we’re here now, together. I speak for her when I say I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else or with anyone else.

  After I broke up with Mary, but before I got together with Beth, my longest relationship was a month long, at best. That’s only if you counted weekdays—because weekends and national holidays were a totally different story, and I acted like a single man.

  In my mind’s eye, that didn’t count as cheating. Why would it? Did any of them have a ring on their finger? No, they did not.

  Now, however, with Beth, I’m talking in the long-term. Not days, not weeks, not months, not even years, but the promise of a lifetime of love and, if the afterlife exists, an afterlife of love, too.

  It certainly helps that, little by little, she’s moving in with me.

  It’s not a deliberate move, of course, but she’s leaving a bra and panties set here, a toothbrush there, a hairclip on the nightstand, and her favorite smoothie in the refrigerator.

  I believe the term for what she’s doing is called ‘nesting.’ It’s what women do when they feel they’ve found their ‘home’ with a man.

  And while this prospect used to scare me in the past, it fills me with hope for the future today.

  Home is a notion that comes with a house, a car, white-picket fences, a well-manicured lawn, two kids playing in the backyard, and a dog scampering along beside them.

  I want a dog, I think to myself. We need to adopt a dog so we can have a practice run as parents.

  Granted, houses in Los Angeles are far from cheap, and the ones that are truly worth it—the ones that are fit for me and my queen—will surely run me more than my fireman’s salary will allow.

  Of course, when I take the promotion, that worry will be non-existent.

  Yes, I said when, not if.

  The thought of taking the promotion used to scare me. Who would want to give up the care-free, reckless life I had? Now, it thrills me. Not only am I getting a sense of stability, but I’m getting a bump in pay, respect from my colleagues, and peace of mind for my future wife.

  Beth needs to know I’ll be coming home at night, that I can provide for us, and that I can be a good father to our children. I can’t do that unless I have a steady, good-paying job, and she deserves more than to have me tramping around Los Angeles with my cock in my hand.

  I don’t have to throw myself into the fire to feel like I’m doing something worthwhile. What I do for our soon-to-be family is plenty w
orthwhile. Why stoke the fires outside when I can stoke the home fires, to a much greater effect?

  I don’t need to live up to my father’s expectations anymore. He was proud of me all along. I see that now.

  And though I loved my father, I hope I am one hundred times the father to our children my father was to me.

  These are all thoughts that run through my head as I set the table and light a candle, putting the final touches on our romantic dinner at home.

  Almost on cue, Beth walks through the door and kicks off her shoes. She can barely get the door of my apartment closed before she’s flinging herself in my arms, kissing me all over.

  “Baby,” she says breathlessly, “I missed you so much.”

  I return the kisses with equal intensity. “I missed you more,” I say, desperately trying to keep my hands to myself and my dick in my pants.

  After all, I have to get dinner on the table, not us.

  But there’s something else, something more I have to tell her.

  I want her to know the truth.

  I kneel before her, and for a minute the look of shock on her face suggests she’s scared—terrified, even—of what I’m about to ask her.

  That fear is suddenly dissipated when I reach in my pocket and pull out a five-carat, pear-shaped sparkler.

  I’m putting it on the appropriate finger as her eyes fill with tears.

  I must tell her what I feel, how I feel, and why I need her to be my wife.

  “Beth,” I begin, speaking the words I’ve been practicing in my head for what seems like forever, “you’re not only my lover, you’re my best friend. You make me want to be a better man, and you inspire me to chase my dreams and reach for the stars. Before you, I only knew pain and loneliness, but now, with you in my life, I feel nothing but true, pure love and a sense of family and marriage.”

  Tears of joy are running down her face. “Marriage?” she asks.

  “Yes, Beth,” I say, pointing to the ring on her finger. “I want to marry you. I want to commit to you. I want to dedicate the rest of my life to making you the happiest woman on Earth, much like you have made me the happiest man. I only hope I can be the perfect husband for you, that I make you happy.”