Regan Black - Braving The Heat

“Nothing gets by you,” he said. It had been that way all his life. Myra Galway had a mysterious, maternal inside track on information involving her children. Wishing he had a better explanation for the stack of boxes near the wall and the folded linens at the end of the couch, he offered her something to drink.

“Water, please.”

He handed her a bottle of water from the fridge and waited for her to explain her visit. It didn’t take long.

“Kenzie was Mitch’s classmate all through school,” Myra told him. “You probably don’t remember her at all.”

“No.” He was tempted to ask what his mom might know about Kenzie’s dad, but that would only stoke her persistent hope that he would eventually open his heart to a relationship again. Not a chance . He couldn’t handle that kind of vulnerability again.

“Well, the poor girl’s name has been splashed all over the news lately.”

Stephen was very selective about when he turned on the news. Sometimes knowledge wasn’t power, only more pain. “Mitch told me some of it.”

“Your brother says she’s one of the best firefighters around. He’s convinced the suit will fall apart.” His mother’s gaze took in all the things that were out of place in his office. “You let her sleep here?”

He chose not to explain the precise definition of “here.” “Her landlord is fumigating or something. Her stuff was in her car.” He gestured toward the boxes. “Her car was here. It was late...” He pushed his hand through his hair. “Made sense to me at the time.”

Her smile, a mix of maternal delight and concerned tenderness, put him on edge. “You turned out all right,” she said, clearly satisfied with her parenting skills. “Here’s another bit of sense for you. Bring her to Sunday dinner tomorrow.”

No. “Mom.” He set his jaw against the persistent lance of pain searching for his heart. “She probably has plans,” he added. Kenzie at Sunday dinner was a terrible idea.

“You’ll ask and find out,” she said breezily. “There’s always room for one more at the table.”

Did she practice these careless phrases that eviscerated him? By now he and Annabeth should have been working on their first baby and joining his married siblings in testing their mother’s theory about room at the table. A lousy drug dealer had decided Annabeth had done enough good in this life, and snuffed her out with a cowardly ambush at the community center.

Three years after her death there were still nights when Stephen was convinced he’d heard those gunshots. The community center was too far from the garage for that to be possible, but the sounds haunted him anyway. I should have done more for her , he thought, though there had been nothing within his power to do. Logic seemed to have no effect on overwhelming grief.

Stephen turned away, wishing the water in his hand was a beer or a whiskey. Conversations like this one were better with a whiskey close by. Distracted by those dark memories, he flinched when Myra touched her hand to his shoulder.

“I consider Kenzie a friend of the family,” she said gently.

“Then you should be the one to extend the invitation.” Though the churlish tone shamed him, he wouldn’t take it back. She had to know she was asking too much of him.

“That is actually why I came by,” she pointed out. “Since I missed her, I trust you’ll handle it on my behalf. Politely and graciously as I would.”

“Mom.” He gazed down at her, wondering why thirty-two years hadn’t been enough time for him to build up immunity to the mom voice. She wouldn’t drop it until he agreed. “I’ll text you if she can’t make it.”

His mother’s eyebrows lifted and she tried and failed to suppress an amused smile. “Thank you.” She rocked back on her heels. “Do you have time to show me the progress on the Camaro out there?”

He knew she was trying to put him back on his feet after dealing a blow, and he let her. “The engine is in and the transmission came together,” he said, as he walked with her around the car. “It needs a test drive and I’m waiting on a few more original pieces I found from a dealer in Ohio. Then it’s off for the finish work.”

“Do you know what the color scheme will be?”

At some point in the past, the paint had been a metallic champagne. “Silver with black rally stripes. He’s career army.”

“Make sure you take pictures if I don’t get over here before your client picks it up.”

“Sure thing, Mom.” She ignored the fact that he had a portfolio of before and after pictures online she could access anytime, insisting that he show her in person. He knew it was because she worried he spent too much time with the quiet thoughts in his head.

If she had any idea how disquieting his thoughts were she’d have real reason to worry.

Myra made a bit more small talk, and when she seemed convinced he wouldn’t do something stupid like take the rest of the day off and wallow in grief and alcohol, she left him in peace.

Stephen closed the gate when she’d gone and set the emergency number to ring through to his cell phone. Too restless to work, he cleaned up his tools, gave Kenzie’s car another hard look and went to move more of his things out of the trailer and into the office.

It felt rude to him to keep invading space he’d given her. Better to keep as much distance as possible between him and Kenzie. His gaze landed on the denim cutoffs and T she’d worn earlier, on a corner of the bed. A vision of her long, gorgeous legs filled his mind, followed closely by an echo of that bold laughter.

Basic human nature explained why her legs got under his skin, but the effect of her laughter baffled him. Maybe the happiness of it, a sound foreign in the shop, was what bugged him. That sound shouldn’t fit in and yet something deep inside him wanted to make room for it. Damn, he needed more sleep.

He closed his eyes and brought Annabeth’s serene face to his mind. A dark beauty with generous curves, his fiancée had had a steady, pleasant outlook underscored with integrity and grit that made her someone people trusted. The kids confided in her about things they were too scared to share with anyone else. On appearance alone, Kenzie was the polar opposite, not to mention the vast personality differences, and yet he had a random, discomfiting thought that they might have been friends.

Twice he picked up his phone to text Kenzie about dinner with his family. Twice he stopped, deleting the messages before he could send them. If his mother caught wind of him taking the easy way out, he’d get a lecture and a heavy dose of that sad disappointment she wielded so effectively.

He and his siblings agreed on one thing without fail: it was always better to make Myra Galway flat-out mad than to disappoint her.

To do this right, and avoid a mom lecture, Stephen would either have to go to the club or wait up for her. Resigned, he took a shower and changed clothes to go back to the Escape Club. He considered taking the Camaro, to get a feel for the clutch and the suspension, but he was too restless to listen to the car.

Instead, he grabbed a dealer plate, put the For Sale sign in the rear window of the Mustang they needed to move, and planned a route through the city that might spin up some interest. If that particular route took him by the community center where Annabeth had worked, that was just coincidence.

Right. Not even he believed that.

The community center was a central, positive influence working persistently to keep a toehold in a neighborhood framed with rough edges. The area was hard on the eyes and residents in broad daylight. Once night fell, those rough edges turned razor-sharp and mean.

Since losing Annabeth, Stephen continued teaching the basic automotive class despite the vicious ache in his chest every time he came near the building. After her killer was acquitted, he’d picked up the habit of frequently driving through the neighborhood in various vehicles. Occasionally, he parked a block out and walked in, daring any of the local thugs to take a swipe at him.