From Air (Wildfire)

Chapter Five

Betty O’Neil runs late every day. She’s thirty-seven, has five kids from four men, and has never been married. Betty works with the mentally ill to feel normal—at least, that’s my best assessment of her situation.

There’s a lot to assess with Betty, such as her light-pink bob with freakishly short bangs. Did she wash her platinum hair with a red sock? Are the bangs a new style or a trim gone terribly wrong? Is she worried that one of her offspring might yank that silver septum piercing out of her nose?

“What’s on your shirt?” I nod while she slips on a scrubs top over her white turtleneck.

“Hell if I know. After I wash my clothes, they’re dirtier than before I washed them because I live with little monsters who keep crayons, markers, and bite-size candy bars in their pockets. Don’t tell anyone I said this, but I might have too many kids.”

“At least your scrubs top hides it.”

Betty taps her tablet. “Has Lewis Cron arrived? His wife couldn’t get him out of bed yesterday to make his appointment.”

“Not yet.” I lift my coffee to take a sip, and Betty snags it.

“I need this more than you.” Her brown eyes roll back in her head when she takes a slow sip. She shoves it back into my hand, and I frown at the red lipstick stamped on the lid.

“How’s it going at your new place? Isn’t Will the best?” She digs through her purse and pops a piece of spearmint gum into her mouth.

“He’s great. I never asked how you two know each other.” I follow her toward the reception desk.

“I hooked up with one of his friends a few times.”

“Oh?”

“Is it terrible I don’t remember his name?” She peers over her shoulder and cringes. “It was ten years ago. A smoke jumper, I think.”

“Calvin?”

“Maybe.” She pushes through the door and calls her patient.

Why on earth does she not keep track of the men who impregnate her? And what about birth control? I have so many questions. But for now, I have to get to work. I pivot and hurry in the opposite direction, pressing my lips together like I have a secret I can’t wait to share.

Did Fitz hook up with Betty O’Neil? Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure Betty said one of her kids is eight or nine.

A miniature Calvin Fitzgerald? That would be something.

When I arrive home after an enlightening day with Dr. Reichart (including a fifteen-minute Beat Saber tutorial between patients), Fitz’s truck is in the driveway. He’s been in Arizona for the past two weeks. I’ve been spoiled with just Maren and Will. Fitz is emotionally exhausting. I need my other roommates to take some pressure off me, but they’re not home.

“I shoveled a path from the driveway to your shed,” Fitz says with his back to me while stirring something on the stove that smells savory, garlicky, and delicious. “So you don’t have to track snow through the house or remove your boots only to take ten steps and have to put them back on.”

“Then you wouldn’t get to see my lovely face.” I slip off my boots and tug at my scarf.

“I’d get by.”

“Would you really? Don’t lie. You’ve missed me. How was Arizona?”

He doesn’t respond. Typical.

“I, uh ... work with Betty O’Neil. Does that name ring a bell?” I fill a glass with water just to get a glimpse of his face.

“No. Should it?” He offers a quick sidelong glance.

“She thinks she might have hooked up with you ten years ago.”

“And why does she think that?” He sets a lid on his pot of chili and retrieves a bowl.

I finish my glass of water. “Because Will fixed her up with a friend who’s a smoke jumper.”

“This might surprise you, but I’m not the only smoke jumper in town.”

“But you’re Will’s friend.” I lean against the counter.

Fitz crumples half a sleeve of saltine crackers and dumps them into a bowl while smirking. “I can see why you might think I’m Will’s only friend, but I’m not. However, it’s weird that you’re talking about my sex life at work.”

“Because you don’t have one?”

He chuckles. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Not really. I’m more concerned about Betty. She has five kids, and—”

“Five kids is a legitimate concern.” He whistles while ladling chili into his bowl.

“Is it possible that you dated Betty, and you just don’t remember? After all, it was ten years ago.”

“Absolutely not. I keep a scrapbook of all my dates. Photos, cocktail napkins from bars, bullet-pointed details, and a few locks of hair.” Fitz takes a seat at the counter and blows at the swirling steam.

He’s a freak. I thought Will and Maren were joking, as friends do, about Fitz needing a minor fixing.

He glances up from his soup. “Christ, Jaymes. You can’t think I’m serious.”

“You’re an asshole.” I tug the fridge door, fetching my half bottle of wine.

He lifts an eyebrow just before taking a cautious bite of chili, chewing slowly for several seconds. “What does Betty need? Are you coming to me for money?”

I allow myself a generous glass of wine since I’m stuck here alone with Fitz. “Depends.” I take a healthy gulp of the riesling. “If one of her kids is yours, I think you should pay child support and offer to take your kid for a few nights a week.”

Fitz’s lips part, and a small drop of chili dribbles from them. He doesn’t blink. I’m not sure he’s breathing.

“She has five kids from four men. Perhaps you’re one of them.”

Finally, he blinks and wipes his hand across his messy chin. “Jaymes, did you hit your head?”

I set my wineglass on the counter across from his bowl and rest my arms beside it. “You mean to tell me that you’ve never had a one-night stand with a woman? There’s no chance that you’ve unknowingly impregnated someone? Do you keep condom wrappers in your scrapbook as well?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. I keep the whole goddamn condom—sperm and all. I count each one of those little fuckers to make sure one didn’t get away.”

“Stop.” I snort, covering my nose and mouth to keep from spewing my wine.

Fitz does his best to hide his grin while he shovels more chili past his lips. I retrieve the remaining quarter of a baguette from my designated pantry. It’s stale. I break off a chunk, dip it into the pot of chili, and pop it into my mouth.

“Did you seriously just dip your bread into my chili?”

I glance over my shoulder and shrug, quickly chewing. “Will said we share condiments.”

His nose wrinkles. It’s kind of cute. “Chili’s not a condiment.”

“It is if you dip bread into it.” I shamelessly dunk a second chunk of bread into the pot. “Or if you pour it over a baked potato or hot dog.”

“You’re never going to make it past the thirty-day trial.”

I tear off another piece of bread. “Thirty-day trial?”

“It’s in your rental contract. It’s in all of our contracts. The six-month lease is contingent on a no-fault thirty-day trial. If you don’t like it here, you can leave in the first thirty days without forfeiting your security deposit. And if any of your roommates don’t feel like you’re a good fit, the six-month contract ends on day thirty.”

Shit.

I read the agreement—sort of. It seemed pretty standard. If I read about a thirty-day trial, it didn’t stand out to me because why wouldn’t my roommates like me?

While chewing on this new information, I ease the lid onto the pot of chili and clear my throat. “I’ll replace your chili.”

“How will you do that when you don’t know my secret ingredients? It’s a family recipe, and I’m not sharing it.”

I find a ten in my purse and toss it on the counter beside his bowl. “Are we good?”

“Ten dollars? Really?” Fitz grunts before tipping his bowl and scraping the last soggy crackers into his spoon.

“I didn’t eat even a dollar’s worth of your chili.” I cross my arms.

He licks his lips after the last bite. “If you truly believe that, what are the other nine dollars for? Are you trying to bribe me into not voting to kick you out? It’s going to take more than nine dollars.” Fitz carries his bowl to the sink.

By the time he rinses it and turns, I’m in his personal space, eyes narrowed at him. “If I find out there’s no thirty-day trial in my rental agreement, I’m going to tell Betty that you remember her, and you specifically remember not wearing a condom. And ever since that night, you’ve secretly pined for her.”

He tucks his fingers in his back pockets. “You’re going to lie to your friend?”

“I don’t know, Calvin. Am I going to find anything about a thirty-day trial in my rental agreement, or did you lie to me?” My head tilts to the side.

He scratches his scruffy jaw. “What does Betty look like?”

“Oh my god! You’re such a shit. You probably did sleep with her. What are you going to do if you have a nine-year-old child?”

He blinks several times before lifting his hand to my face and brushing a few stray hairs away from my eyes. I stiffen. It’s ... he’s ... well, he’s close. And it’s an intimate gesture. For a few seconds, I swear he’s going to kiss me.

We can’t kiss. We’re roommates. I know that’s in Will’s bylaws for this rental situation.

“I’d say it’s no fun because you’re too easy, but that would be a lie. It’s still pretty fucking fun.”

The need for revenge simmers deep in my belly because I know the answer to this question before I ask it. “You don’t know Betty, do you?”

He slowly shakes his head.

“And there’s no thirty-day clause.”

Fitz continues to shake his head.

“Watch out, Calvin .” I stab my finger into his chest. “Payback’s going to be a bitch for this one.”

A world of possibilities dances in his glimmering eyes, but I will wipe that grin off his face. I don’t know how or when, but it will be epic.