Page 5 of Wild Fire

Maybe I just need some sleep—real sleep.

Or a drink.

Matter of fact, I think that’s exactly what I need. A good stiff drink that’ll knock me on my ass so hard I won’t remember this fucked up night.

Maybe I’ll call JJ and see if he wants to get a beer or something…

Lacey smiles softly at me in that sweet way she always does, and I know that’s my cue. My work here is done. At least where Nate is concerned. She can take it from here. Still, it feels unnatural and worrisome to let him go, but reluctantly, I guide him towards Lacey. My stupid heart lurches at the sight of his sadness, his hopelessness, almost as if that look is because of me.

It isn’t, and I know that, but it doesn’t change the fact I feel compelled to make it better. That I want to make it better...

I take a step back, watching as Nate’s shoulders hunch forward and Lacey leads him over to the back of the ambulance.

Phoenix calls out my name, and I know I need to leave.

But for the first time in a long time, I don’t want to.

Chapter Two

Nate

This is by far the worst day of my life. And that’s saying something considering all the bad days I’ve had lately. But this? I don’t think anything is going to top this. Because at the end of the day, I’m still “Mister Unlucky,” as my grandparents used to call me. Though I’m pretty sure my grandfather didn’t mean it as warmly as my grandmother did. She always told me that luck was what I made it, but I’m pretty sure Grandpa thought I was the worst thing that could have happened to this family, judging by how much of a dick the man was to me. Like it was somehow my fault that my mother decided to have me and be a single mom.

Though maybe he was on to something, the bastard, because what else can I blame this shitty day on? Driving until I couldn’t see straight all the way to my childhood home, only to take a long-overdue nap and wake up in the middle of a damn fire…

Yeah, talk about bad fucking luck.

Though, I don’t know. Maybe if Grandpa would have been a little more supportive, or at the very least polite, instead of judging me and being shitty to Mom, then maybe then we wouldn’t have moved so far away. We could’ve stayed here, in this town, and then things would be different. Like maybe Mom would be alive, for one. Plus, I could’ve at least been here for Gram, and I could’ve helped her more around the house and stuff. You know, like grandkids are supposed to do. Maybe I could have helped Mom and Grandma fix up the house since Grandpa’s later years apparently rendered him unable to do much other than yell or sleep.

A deep sigh escapes me.

Fuck, I wish Mom were here. She would know exactly what to do, what to say. She always did. She was my best friend, and I know it’s probably really lame for a twenty-three-year-old man to be best friends with his mother, but it’s the truth. And now she’s just… gone.

Like Grandpa, and now Gram, too.

It should be her handling Gram’s affairs. Fixing up the house like she dreamed of doing. My mother’s words reverberate in my brain, and I can’t stop thinking about them.

“You and me, we’re going to turn that old heap into a bed-and-breakfast,” she’d say.

“A real nice one, with the fancy cocktail hours and all the good family recipes.”

Even now there’s a part of me that wants to believe somehow it’s still possible even though I don’t know the first thing about fixing up a house, especially a historic one like the Barrett Estate. But that was what I promised myself I’d do when I got the call about Gram’s passing. One way or another, I would make Mom’s dream come true. And maybe the idea of starting over somewhere new wasn’t just a pipe dream for her, but it was what I needed, too.

Especially after these last few months.

Evan breaking up with me on the same day I got the call was just the bitter icing on the shit cake I’d been served. He said we just “weren’t compatible” anymore. Which was code for he’d been fucking someone else behind my back. The entire time we’d been living together, almost eight months.

I know it was a risk to move out to Ohio—away from Mom in Kentucky, to be with him in the first place. After all, we’d only been talking online—well, okay, so we didn’t do a ton of talking, but those late-night confessional texts made me feel like I’d finally found someone who understood me, who got me. I thought maybe I’d finally found something good, something stable. Guess I fucked that up, too.

This is why you can’t have nice things, Nate.

I stare at the charred husk of what was once my family’s pride and joy. I was hoping that this would be my Diane Lane Under the Tuscan Sun moment of revival. That all the bullshit I’d been through the last few months—hell, the last decade—was just preparing me for something better. My glow-up.

That’s how it always is in the movies, right? Everything sucks, and then you meet the man of your dreams, and he sweeps you off your feet?

Hell, I’d even bought the perfect outfit and everything in hopes I’d end up running into a beefy flannel-wearing lumberjack in the coffee shop or maybe I’d end up hiring a hot handyman who wouldn’t be able to resist my unlucky black-cat vibes.

A guy can dream, too, you know!