Page 15 of Love Again

“I can’t believe she would even talk to you. I mean, you know what your brother did, right?”

I nod. “Yes. He’s a male chauvinist, and he kicked her off the girls’ soccer team.”

“She tried to sue him.”

“No, she did sue him and the school district. My brother suggested I not mention his name.”

Laurel puts down the dishtowel and takes out her phone. “I hope the signal works this morning, because you are so meeting Claire and Chloe.”

“What are you doing?”

“Don’t look like that. I’m only texting them.”

΅

We agree to meet again when Laurel’s shift ends at noon so she can introduce me to more of the Russo clan. I end up walking back up the hill. My legs are leaden, and I feel like I’ve run a marathon, something I used to do before I got sick. I have to stop a few times, not because I’m winded, but because the pain in my back has returned.

After the incident with Max and Devon left, I was lost. She’d written a long letter on thick paper and black ink, carefully crafted to explain why she had to go. And I got it. I understood. But in a month’s time, two of my best friends had vanished from my life, and I couldn’t understand how this could have happened.

I threw myself into work. That following summer, the fire season started in

April and extended to October. Our unit also shipped to wildfires in Utah and Montana. I was exhausted most of the time and didn’t keep my gear up the way I should have. Smokejumpers make less than seventeen dollars an hour, and we have to maintain our own suits, boots, kits—everything.

And we don’t get health insurance.

But I didn’t care. I’d parachute into burning trees. Trek for five or six days after a drop with only a four-day supply of food and water. I stayed on the ground in intense heat longer than was safe. I pushed and pushed my body until, finally, it gave out, and I collapsed in the chopper ride back to a makeshift base camp.

The diagnosis was rhabdomyolysis, or rhabdo for short. The first time, I was in the hospital for four days. The second time, it was for weeks and I almost didn’t make it. That’s when I was let go, three weeks ago. That’s when I packed up what little I had, shoved it all into my truck, pulled a tarp over the mess, and drove to the only family I have left.

When I step into the house, Keller flutters around like a mother hen. In a way, I’m grateful. I can’t really stand up straight, and he hands me two of the mason jars and nearly wrings his massive hands waiting for me to chug them down. He has me lie on his shitty plaid sofa, pulls my shirt up, and starts long, broad strokes with his hands, wiping down my back. He’s got some PT training, and he’s good at it.

“Okay, you hovering like this is not gonna work for the next month,” I try.

“Shut up.”

I flinch and he lightens his touch. “You were basically pissing muscle tissue out your prick, so you don’t get to say how I take care of you. You didn’t take care of yourself not once, but twice.” His voice drops. “It’s like you have some kind of death wish,” he mutters before he pulls my shirt back down and ascends the staircase.

I can’t help but notice he stomps on every single step.

Later, he walks in on me while I’m dressing.

“What’s with the nice shirt?” He’s eating granola out of the box with his hands.

I pull my head through a sweater, and he plucks a ball of lint from the front. “I ran into Laurel Russo at Weaver’s, and she’s going to introduce me to Chloe and Claire.”

My brother’s face offers new meaning to the word “impassive.”

“What? Don’t look like that. I told them Devon and I were colleagues in Colorado. That’s all they know.”

He sets the box down on the counter and wags a finger at me. “Those Russos—and I’ll throw Travis right in there—you don’t mess with them. They can sniff out stuff just by being in the same room as you. Why do you think I was scared shitless when Devon applied for the job here? I swear they all walk around with truth serum on them.”

“You know, I’m realizing you’re a drama queen.”

“Why are you doing this? Why take the risk?”

I shrug. “It doesn’t feel risky.”

Keller throws me a withering glance. “I knew it. Your frontal lobes have shrunk again. You can’t assess risk.”