From Air (Wildfire)

Chapter Twenty-One

CALVIN

Training is in full swing—six weeks of rigorous PT, drills, and tests. When I get a day off, I help Will tear off the old deck and siding for much-needed renovations.

Today’s a rare Sunday that all four of us are home and working on the house. It’s the first time in weeks I’ve been with Jamie for more than a few minutes. I’ve found every excuse to avoid her in the evenings. It’s not that hard since I’m exhausted every night.

“Jamie asked me about your parents the other day,” Will says before cutting a new piece of siding.

I glance over at the women. Jamie’s favorite pastime is riding her skateboard up and down the driveway and street. Maren’s favorite pastime is “supervising” from her lawn chair. “What did she ask you?”

“She asked what I thought of them.” He inspects the cut.

“What did you tell her?”

He chuckles. “That I haven’t met them.”

“Why did she ask you about them?” I hold up one end of the siding.

“She said she wanted to fix you before she moved out as a gift to Maren and me.”

I study her while Will grabs the nail gun. She’s laughing at whatever Maren says as she rides by Maren’s lawn chair.

“What did she say when you said you hadn’t met my parents?”

“She thought it was weird. Then she asked about your sister. And I looked like a fucking idiot because I had no clue that you had a sister. You’re a vault, man. I think Maren and I have been generous with you. We’ve given you a wide perimeter. But you tell the new girl about your sister before telling us?”

“I haven’t met your family.” I shrug.

“My mom can’t fly, dumbass. You’ve been invited to their house for Christmas. And you know I have a sister because you tried to stick your dick in her.”

I grin. He’s not wrong. Then she confessed I would be her first, and I bolted. Will gave me a good shiner the next day.

“And Maren thinks you don’t have parents. She thinks they dropped you off in the woods, and wolves raised you. Yet you’ve met all of her family. In case you haven’t figured it out, sharing personal information with your roommates is considered normal. Instead, we’re left in the dark to speculate.”

I mark the next board. “What have you speculated?”

“I would never tell you.” Will carries the marked piece of siding to the saw.

“Why not?”

“Because if I’m right, you’ll be pissed. And if I’m wrong, you’ll be pissed.”

“Just tell me.”

“If I’m right, will you admit it?” He slips his protective glasses over his eyes.

“It would seem pointless not to admit it.”

“You’re right. Yet I somehow can imagine you not admitting it.”

“Just say it.”

Will frowns while making the cut. After he turns off the saw, he pushes his glasses onto his head. “I think you were abused. I think you ran away. And in light of recent revelations about you having a sister, I think you feel tortured every day because you left her behind.”

I knew I wasn’t going to be pissed either way, but I thought I’d have some reaction. Yet here I am, devoid of any physical or emotional reaction. “If it helps you sleep at night, I wasn’t abused.”

I only know how to interact with Will through unrelenting banter. So, I wait for a smart-ass reply. I need a smart-ass reply. He doesn’t deliver.

“It will,” he says.

No smirk.

No elaborate follow-up detailing his other theories about my past.

He delivers those two words with sincerity.

“Aliens abducted me,” I mumble as we align the siding.

Focusing on nailing it to the house, Will smirks. “They assured you Earth is as good as it gets, so you’re determined to save it one fire at a time?”

“Exactly. But this stays between us.”

Will chuckles. “Of course. I’ll take it to my grave.”

“Speaking of secrets, did Jamie ever talk to you about her boss?”

With a raised eyebrow, Will shoots me a look. “What about her boss?”

“Dr. Reichart.”

“Yeah,” he says slowly, setting the nail gun on the ground.

“Did you happen to take something of hers?”

“What are you talking about?” He crosses his arms while I grab my water bottle and take a few gulps.

“I’m talking about her virginity.” I set the bottle on the bumper of my truck.

“ Who told you about that?” He squints.

“Jamie.”

“And she found out how?”

“Dr. Reichart, I believe.”

His lips twist.

“There’s a lot of standing around going on,” Maren chirps before sipping her coffee.

“As opposed to sitting on one’s ass like ...” I clear my throat. “Some people?” I rest a hand on my hip.

Jamie hops off her skateboard and hands me her insulated mug of coffee. “You need some caffeine to soothe your mood.”

“I don’t want your germs.” I shake my head.

She presses her lips together, taking back her mug. We have a silent exchange, and my dick gets hard remembering her saying Kiss me lower. We’ve swapped a few germs, but Maren and Will don’t need to know I’d happily stick my tongue anywhere on her body.

“Jamie, did Everleigh tell you I took her virginity?” Will leans against my dirty truck.

Her eyes widen, gaze aimed at me.

I shrug. “I assumed you told him. It’s been weeks.”

“Yes. She told me. And she wanted me to tell you she’d like to get coffee sometime. It slipped my mind. Sorry.”

“You ... t-took Dr. Reichart’s v-card?” Maren chokes on her coffee. “When was this? Last week? How old is she?”

Will frowns. “She was in medical school. I was in California for the summer.”

“Was she legal?” Maren prods.

“She. Was. In. Medical school.” Will huffs an exaggerated breath.

“I heard you.” Maren claps her hands with each word. “Was. She. Legal?”

Jamie chews on the inside of her cheek, gaze ping-ponging between Maren and Will.

“Fuck,” he mumbles. “I don’t know. Who the hell gets into med school before they turn eighteen?”

“Everleigh Reichart.” Jamie cringes when Will eyes her with a scowl. “And can I add that she thinks you broke her heart? So if you meet for coffee, just be careful.”

“How did it get brought up? Did you two have a little extra time between patients and decide to compare notes and names about your first times having sex?” Will’s failing miserably at containing his frustration.

“I can speak from experience—as a victim, that is—that Jamie talks about other people’s sex lives a lot at work,” I say.

“Fitz!” Jamie shakes her head. “That is not true.”

“She tried to get me to raise one of the other nurses’ kids as my own.”

Maren and Will snort.

“I have to pee. I may or may not be back.” Jamie’s eyes shoot daggers at me before pivoting and stomping her sneakers toward the door.

“How did she not kill you in Florida?” Maren scolds me with a tsk ing noise.

“Luck,” I mumble. “I’m grabbing coffee. Want any, Will?”

“No thanks. Maren, come hold this while I mark it.”

I no sooner get my K-Cup in the machine than Jamie comes downstairs whistling.

“I need you to stop thinking you can fix me. I’m not broken.” I retrieve a mug from the shelf.

Her jovial spirit dies, and she runs her hands through her hair, untangling it. “Where is this coming from?”

“From you asking Will about my family.”

“Fine.” She slips her hands into the pocket of her hoodie. “Then I’ll ask you: Are you estranged from your family?”

“Yes. Satisfied now?” I focus on the coffee dripping into my mug.

“Why?”

“You’re not my therapist. You’re not even a therapist.”

“I’m not trying to give you therapy.”

“Great. Then drop it.” I sip my coffee and turn toward her.

She steps beside me with her hands on the counter’s edge while watching Maren and Will cutting the siding by the garage. “Do you think about our weekend in Miami?”

“What are you doing?” I don’t want to think about Miami. And I definitely don’t want to talk about it.

“I do. And I think, for someone who keeps all used condoms and counts every sperm, you dropped the ball in Miami. What would you do if I were pregnant? Did you go to your follow-up appointment after your procedure to see if you’re truly sterile? Would you never tell me about your family? Would our child never know his family?” She turns with her chin up and expectant wide eyes.

I face her and sip my coffee while weighing my words. There’s no way to sugarcoat this. “I’d tell you to get rid of it.”

She flinches.

“You think you know me, but you don’t. I’m not an open book. I will never be an open book. Not for you. Not for Will or Maren. Not for anyone.”

No tears escape, but I see them in her reddening eyes while she grits her teeth. And I’m sorry, really fucking sorry, but I won’t mince words. I can’t let her think some door to my past has been cracked open when it hasn’t.

“I’m not trying to be cruel. I’m being direct and honest.” I grip my coffee tighter and slip my other hand into my pocket to keep from touching her.

She swallows hard. “You said I’m your person. Your best person. You said I’m yours.”

“You are.”

Her whole body deflates.

“So you can imagine how personal and completely off limits this part of my life is when I won’t share it with my best person, when I would tell my best person to get rid of a child if something like that happened. I will not let my existence, or lack thereof, be a significant part of another human’s life.” I glance out the window to ensure Maren and Will don’t sneak in on us.

“What are you afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid of anything.” I sip more coffee and set the mug on the counter.

“Then you have no reason to keep things from your friends.”

“I’m not afraid. I simply don’t want to share. Fear implies I feel threatened by the possible consequences. I don’t. I just don’t want to share. It’s that simple. What are you afraid of?”

Her head jerks backward. “Nothing. Why would I be afraid of something? We’re talking about you.”

“No. We’re talking about your need to know my business. Why are you afraid of not knowing?”

“You’re deflecting, Fitz.”

“You’re prying.”

“I’m not prying. You brought it up.”

“You asked Will behind my back.”

“You put your dick in me!” She stabs her hands into her hair. “And I’m not pregnant, but I could have been. And I wouldn’t ‘get rid’ of it. I’d want your blood type, medical history, and every goddamn branch of your family tree. But all I need right now is not to see you. So fight your fucking fires. Go live your pathetically lonely life. I’m out of here in eight weeks. So, do me a favor. Don’t talk to me. Don’t look at me. Pretend I’m dead to you like you pretend everyone else is dead to you.” She spins away from me and stomps toward the back door.

I grab her arm and drag her into the laundry room, shutting the door behind us.

“What are you doing?” Wriggling her whole body, she tries to escape my hold. “Stop manhandling me!” She flails, breaking free and pounding her fists into my chest. “You’re a stubborn bully, Calvin Fitzgerald!” She lifts her chin and scowls before kicking my shin.

I wince.

She’s. Fucking. Killing. Me.

I want to tell her, so she can fix the broken pieces of my life. That’s what she does; she makes everything better. But not this. She won’t understand my grief, my fears, my need to control what’s left of my life.

When she reaches for the door handle, I hug her back to my chest, pinning her arms to her side. With my lips at her ear, I whisper, “I don’t pretend they’re dead. They are dead. They’re all dead.”