It was absolutely horrible dealing with the press who showed up unannounced and uninvited at our house this morning. Jett handled them while I tried to stay in the car, but that didn’t stop them from trying to talk to me through the window. Some people were just local journalists reporting for Lawson news, but a couple people were absolutely there to see Jett, the famous former professional motocross racer. I was so close to bursting into tears, but then Dad arrived and told them to go kick rocks.
The fire marshal thinks the fire was caused by faulty wiring in the attic, which is where they believe the fire started. It’ll take longer to figure out all the details, but at least it wasn’t from the oven being left on or a stray candle like I had feared. At least it wasn’t my fault. I did hear the fire marshal telling Jett that some homes in our neighborhood have failed inspection because of the wiring.
Jett is in contact with the home insurance, getting all that paperwork started. I don’t know how he keeps it all together, managing a million phone calls and emails. I’m just grateful he’s here.
But I also feel terrible that his three day charity race was cut short. We haven’t had any time to talk about it, and we certainly haven’t had time to discuss what Marcus had said on live television. And to think, that night I had thought the worst part of Jett coming home would be talking about what Marcus said.
Turns out that’s nothing compared to what actually happened. We spent the morning carefully looking through the burnt rubble of our home and then we went to our family business, The Track, where Jett spent time in his office talking to the insurance people.
Being here at work feels surreal. I can almost pretend that it’s a regular day, but not even thirty seconds go by before I remember that our house is gone and we don’t know where we’re sleeping tonight. Actually… I should probably figure that out.
”Where are you going, Mommy?” Harper asks when I stand up. We’re watching a cartoon in the playroom at work.
“I’m just going to Daddy’s office for a minute.”
She shrugs, then turns back to the TV. Oh, to be a kid with no cares in the world except what’s for dinner and which TV show to watch. I would give anything to be able to tap into that youthful energy, to feel that kind of content happiness right now, even for thirty seconds. Because all I feel is dread. All of our stuff is gone. Our home, the place we sleep and cook and laugh and take shelter from bad weather days. It’s all gone. My clothes and Christmas decorations and memories and Harper’s baby book and?—
I swallow. My throat hurts. My chest hurts. My fingers even hurt, but that’s probably because I’ve been clenching my hands together without realizing it. In the same moment that I am totally freaking out, I am also so beyond grateful to have The Track and my parents and in-laws. There is at least a roof over our heads right now. There is somewhere to sit and rest. I didn’t always have that guarantee growing up.
Down the hallway, I tap on Jett’s open office door. He’s sitting at the edge of his office chair, brows pulled together while he looks at the computer screen.
“Hi babe,” he says, still concentrating on the screen. “The insurance claim is officially filed. They’re sending people out to see the destruction tomorrow, then they’ll start the clean-up efforts, which might take a couple of days to get the lot back to a clean foundation of concrete.”
“Only a couple of days to clear out an entire house?” I say, walking into the office. The walls are filled with championship plaques and framed photos of Jett’s motocross career. A couple of framed jerseys in shadow boxes hang just behind him. Taped around the edges of his two computer monitors are pictures of Harper and me.
Jett’s arm moves on instinct as I approach, wrapping around me as I sit on his lap, resting my cheek on his shoulder. I don’t want to talk about any of this house stuff right now. I just want to be held and feel like things are normal again.
”What are we gonna do?” I ask softly. “I am freaking out.”
”We’ll be okay.” He kisses my hair. “We’ll figure it out and get everything taken care of with the paperwork and crap. It’ll be okay.”
“No, I mean tonight. In a few hours. Where are we going to sleep?”
”Hmm,” Jett says, like this is the very first time he’s thought of the sleeping situation. “Our parents’ place? A hotel?”
”My old bedroom is too cramped,” I say. “And I don’t want to live in a hotel.”
”I’m sure my parents won’t mind,” he says. “We’ll have the whole upstairs to ourselves.”
”Just like old times,” I say. Memories of those days flood into my mind. Jett and I met as teenagers and grew into adults together. A lot of that time was spent on the second floor of his parents’ house, and also in their swimming pool.
“That actually sounds pretty fun,” he says, squeezing my hip. His voice lowers. “We can do the things we used to do in my old bedroom.”
”Um, not with your parents home and our daughter there,” I say, playfully smacking his chest. “And how can you think of that when we’re in this situation?”
“You’re in my lap, of course I’m thinking of that.” He kisses my neck which sends a shiver of goosebumps down my shoulder. I close my eyes, leaning into his touch, once again wishing this was just a normal day at work and that we had our normal house to go back home to at the end of it.
His hands slide down my butt, tugging me closer to him. I shudder a quick gasp when his lips exhale on my neck.
“Mmm,” he says, breathing me in. “I wish my office door locked.”
I giggle, lacing my fingers behind his neck as his hand slides up my thigh. “Okay, well now I’m thinking of that…”
“Good,” he growls against my neck. “We can suffer together.”
I get lost in him for only a few moments and then the sound of Bayleigh, my mother-in-law’s voice floats down the hall. “Jett? Key? Are you guys here?”
I leap off his lap faster than a rocket ship. My heart pounds, my skin feels flushed, and my cheeks burn like I’m some kind of teenager about to get caught making out with a boy I snuck into my room. Jett laughs, covering his mouth with his fist, and shaking his head.
