“Arsonist?” Brody asks, coming to stand beside me. Close enough to hear everything but far enough to maintain the respect of Nate being the lieutenant and her addressing him first.
She nods solemnly, holding a folder out to Nate. “You know we’ve linked fires from four districts to him, but there’s something more concerning starting to emerge.”
Nate opens the folder and scans the top page. His eyes dart up. “The last three fires were all within our district.”
Tina nods, the rest of the crew joining in a semi-circle around her. “That’s not the worst of it.” She pauses, meeting Nate’s gaze again. “The last three were all while you guys were on shift.”
“Fuck,” Liam breathes.
Tina’s lips form a grim line before she delivers the final blow, “Your crew may be a target.”
Chapter 24
Bryn
“Don’tyoulooknice,”Gran says as I come into the kitchen from the mudroom, ready for work. She’s perched in one of the island’s chairs like she was waiting for me.
Glancing down at myself, I run my hands over my hips since I don’t want to fidget with the hem of the cropped shirt, even though my fingers long to do so. “I look how I always do when I go to work, Gran.”
“Rubbish,” she says, sliding a plate of muffins in my direction. Gran’s friends have been dropping food off ever since the accident. “Have a snack with me before you go.”
Unable to deny her, I walk over and take a seat, pulling one of the muffins from the plate. The scent of banana hits my nose, the chocolate chips on top telling me it’ll be delicious. My favorite kind.
“Why are you all dressed up?” she asks, gesturing to my outfit.
Peeling the paper from the muffin, I shake my head. “My uniform has always been a black top and jeans of some kind.”
“Bryn, I’ve never seen you wear that skirt to work before. And that top…”
“What’s wrong with it?” I ask, glancing down.
It’s a simple bohemian-style, mid-sleeved black top. Off the shoulders, with a square neckline that cuts straight across my cleavage so not much is showing. Though, I suppose the ruchinghelps make my breasts look plumper than they are. And my exposed midriff showing makes it a little sexier than what I might normally wear.
“Nothing, it’s just pretty.” Her tone has gone from inquiring to casual, like she thinks the change will somehow bring about an answer.
I see the side eye she gives me as I cross my legs, and the way her head tilts to look at my cowboy boots. Not my normal ones. The ones that I don’t usually wear to work. Black with white stitching, they come up just past my ankles. Between them and the skirt, there’s a lot of leg showing, and I know it. Just like Gran does.
“It’s my first night back,” I explain, shrugging to indicate it isn’t a big deal. Because it isn’t. “I wanted to wear something nicer than sweats or my massage uniform. It’s nice to get a little dressed up.”
“Uh huh.”
After Gran’s hospital visit, I took two weeks off from 10-42. It didn’t put Nate in much of a bind since I’m only part time these days, but I still felt awful, and it feels good to be going back. Even if part of me feels sick about leaving Gran for most of the evening. I’ve had to remind myself that I’ve been around all day because I didn’t work at the massage clinic.
Going back to the clinic a few days after she was home was hell. I spent every session filled with anxiety that something would happen while I was gone. That I would come home and find her dead on the floor or in her bed or the shower. As soon as I would get home, I’d simultaneously want to rush inside and take my time, the need to see her battling heavily with the dread of seeing her hurt. The last couple of weeks have been an exhausting rollercoaster of emotion.
Peeling away the top of the muffin from the bottom, I tear itinto three more pieces, and then pop one into my mouth. Maybe I should be grateful for that anxiety, though. It’s kept my mind semi off Wyatt. The moments he does infiltrate my thoughts, which is every second Gran doesn’t occupy them, my heart aches. I miss him. He’s sent me a few memes, but I haven’t had the heart to do anything more than like the messages.
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay tonight?” I ask after swallowing the chunk of muffin and eating another piece, this one from part of the bottom.
“You need to stop asking me that every time you leave the house. I’m fine. I make sure I don’t get up so fast after not eating enough. My blood pressure is good.”
Giving her a long, piercing stare, I take in her warm face. The face I’ve loved since I was old enough to remember her. It’s got more wrinkles these days, especially in the last two weeks, but the bruises are mostly healed. The laceration across part of her forehead is still red and scabbed over. The stitches are gone, but the mark won’t go away any time soon. The cast on her arm remains, too. Though she’s doing pretty good with it.
I swallow again. “You worried about me when I was younger, it’s my turn to worry about you.”
“Now that I’m older?” An eyebrow quirks, the sass starting to emerge.
“I didn’t say it,” I laugh, eating the last piece of muffin bottom. Now I can get to the good parts. Not that I’ve tasted much of the muffin to begin with, lost in my thoughts, but I’m pretty sure it’s good. Okay at the very least.
