Page 42 of Wild Fire

“How do you know?”

He pushes off the truck and heads back for the debris, and doesn’t answer me. But I guess I don’t expect him to.

When the truck is completely full, I nearly gasp at how much we were able to clean up. The yard looks so much better, but there is still a lot to do. It’s going to take a while.

AJ starts the car up.

“Thank you,” I say, softly meeting his gaze. “For... helping me.”

I’m

Not sure if I mean for the fire, or Shadows or cleaning up… or for not freaking about how I freaked out earlier.

I can’t deny whatever happened between us… it’s like a weight has been lifted.

AJ smiles, leaning out the car window.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he says. He licks his lips. “Not until the job’s done.”

Does that mean he's coming back?

The thought makes me nervous and excited all at once, and I bite my lip.

“Right,” I whisper, my heart in my throat.

My phone rings, and I break his gaze, moving to check it. It’s Lacey.

“Better get that,” AJ says.

The words come out of me far too easily.

“Yes, Sir.”

AJ murmurs a sound that goes straight to my dick.

“Good boy,” he says smoothly.

And with that, he leaves me in his dust.

Chapter Thirteen

AJ

I flip the bacon in the pan, the sizzling sound a balm to my soul. There’s a sort of rhythm to cooking that relaxes me. Chopping vegetables, mincing garlic, simmering sauces. It helps me focus sometimes. Especially if I can cook for more than just myself. Which is how I ended up being the guy who does most of the cooking when on call, and the guy everyone is always throwing requests at. But it’s been awhile since I’ve done a breakfast spread like this—like I’d done for Nate when I brought him back to my place to sleep off his inevitable hangover—for the guys, and figured now is as good a time as any. I need something to distract me, being that the anniversary of the fire that almost took my life, and my dad’s death, is barely a week away. I always get antsy, the closer it gets, but this year… this year feels different, for some reason. I feel like a ticking time bomb, and sooner rather than later, I’m going to go off. Which is why I’ve tried my hardest to keep myself busy between work and helping Nate with the house, when I can, so I’m too exhausted to think or do anything else. But it’s not working because I haven’t been able to sleep much, because every time I close my eyes, all I see is smoke. All I hear are sirens and the sound of my screams as I bang on the door, begging my father to let me in.

It’s been twenty-one years since that day. Twenty-one fucking years, the man’s been gone, and he’s still fucking up my life. I hate it.

I don’t know what Nate plans to do about the house, once the rebuild is complete. He could sell it; I’m sure there are a lot of people in this town who’d love to buy it, even if it isn’t the original construction anymore. It would probably be the smarter thing to do. But I also know there’s the possibility he could stay. I mean, he’s sort of settling in here—he and Lacey seem to have bonded pretty well, judging by how often I hear her gush about their coffee confessionals and movie nights, which shouldn’t make me jealous. After all, Lacey doesn’t even know how I feel about her roommate. No one does.

I’m not even sure Nate knows how I feel outside of my rather obvious physical attraction. But what I feel for Nate… it’s more than physical, and I think that’s the problem.

I know what it’s like to lose everything, to not know how you’re going to get from one moment to the next. I also know what it’s like to be young and alone. To not have anyone to talk to or ask for help. Which is why I’ve tried to make it adamantly clear to Nate that he isn’t alone, and that he has options. Though he hasn’t called me for anything, like I’d hoped he would.

How fucked up am I? Hoping the guy gets in trouble or breaks down somewhere just so I can swoop in and save the day?

That’s a new level of deceptive and depraved, even for you, August.

Nate is a damn enigma. One minute I think I know him, and the next he knocks me on my fucking ass, and though there are more than a hundred reasons I could think of that would be sufficient enough to not keep coming back to Mr. Bright Eyes like a trained monkey, I can’t fucking help myself. It’s like every ounce of control I’ve mastered over the last two decades leaves my body the minute Nate Barrett walks into the room.