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“Fun’s over. Time to go.” I can’t even look at him.
“Babe, I’m not leaving.”
“Yes, you are.” He reaches for me, but I back up. “Whatever this is, it’s not going to turn into what you think it is. I’m not—I can’t right now. I have a lot of shit going on, and being with someone is not. . . Just get out.”
“Mak, I’m not leaving—”
“Get out!” It takes me yelling at the top of my lungs for him to finally stand down. I know it’s not without a fight because his brows are furrowed, and his jaw looks ready to snap. He opens his mouth, about to say something, then decides against it. Without another word, he shoves his legs into his jeans and barely has his shirt over his head before turning and storming out my front door.
I hate Chris for making me this way.
I hate Ben for wanting something from me I can’t give.
Chapter17
Makayla
My hips swayback and forth to the music blaring out of my earbuds as I scrub the dishes. I sing every lyric since I’m obsessed with this band. I almost fainted when Hannah invited me to the concert tomorrow night. Never in a million years did I think I’d get the opportunity to see them live.
What am I even going to wear? Hannah said I can borrow something of hers. I don’t want to wear any of the worn clothes I have, and anything fancier, Daddy will suspect something and stop me from going.
I’m hoping her brother lets us get close to the—
The music suddenly stops as my hair is pulled back. The earbuds fall out of my ears. I shriek out at the throbbing radiating from my head.
“I’ve been calling you for five damn minutes.”
I try to slap at his hands. Tears prick my eyes at the pain. “Daddy, you’re hurting me.”
“Good. Teach you to listen.” He tugs my ponytail back and shoves me. I fall sideways, my ankle twisting the wrong way. I cry out as I hit the floor, and my elbow smacks against the vinyl tile. “When I call you, you come. Think this is a house for freeloaders? You can get the fuck out if that’s the case. Nothing’s free, girl. Now, get me a beer,” he says, then walks out of the kitchen.
I stir awake, not that I got any sleep. My dreams are trying to push me over the edge. But they’re not just dreams. They’re my past haunting me.
I spent half my adolescent life staring up at that band’s poster, daydreaming about the day I would meet them. In every dream, the lead singer would whisk me away to a better life.
I never made it to that show. My ankle was severely swollen, if not sprained. My father refused to take me to the hospital. He was smart enough to know they’d ask too many questions. I called Hannah and told her I came down with some bug. Stayed home from school for three days, nursing it myself until I could walk on it again.
I throw my legs over the side of the bed and get up. I bury my head in my hands, embarrassed at the way I acted last night. Every girl begs for a guy who’s against cheating. WhenIhave one who actually is, I get all heated because he thinks I’m cheating and kick him out! Point for him being honorable. Point deduction for me for being an irrational spaz. I should have been happy at his reaction. But nope. . . definitely not how it played out. I sigh.You suck, Makayla. No wonder he looked like he wanted to throttle me when he left. He should have. And I should have let him. One thing’s for certain, I need to tuck my tail between my legs and apologize. I was honest when I said I can’t do this with him. I’m not in the right headspace. That was made clear last night. Between the divorce and my dad, I should be researching loony bins, not ways to amp up my sex life.
Being home is doing crazy things to me. It’s causing memories I’ve fought so hard to bury to resurface. I feel like I’m juggling my childhood issues with my father, my past, and mycurrent issues with Ben. The problem is, I suck at juggling. It’s only a matter of time before my life starts falling apart.As if it’s not already. . .“No need to rub it in,” I gripe to myself.
As much as eating crow is not in my diet, I need to apologize to Ben. But after coffee. Lots and lots of coffee.
* * *
Ben
I groan as the hot spray hits my shoulder blades. That fire was a close one. I hate when children are at risk. I seehimevery time I run into a burning building. As if he’s going to be there, waiting for me. Jackson Taylor was six years old and trapped in his bedroom on the second floor. The house was seconds from collapsing, and my father still ran inside. That’s what a chief did. His team called out, but he didn’t listen. The communication went dead. Then the boy’s bedroom window shattered, and my father reappeared. He held the little boy through the opening just long enough for another firefighter to reach for him. It was a miracle he made it to that room. Even more so that he knew to break the window and the ladder would be there.
What he didn’t plan for was the roof collapsing seconds after handing off the small boy. He chose to endanger his life and save that child. He knew the risks and still chose to run inside that house. Until the day he died, he stood by his motto of ‘people needed saving.’
Because of my father, Jackson Taylor got to grow up. He went off to college and is studying to become a doctor. My father would have been proud. He would have said he made the right decision that day. Because that’s who he was.
I shut the water off and get dressed. After filling out paperwork, I’m gonna try and sneak in a power nap. These kinds of fires always wear me down mentally. I throw my shirt over my head as my name is yelled.
“Wallace, there’s someone here to see you.”
“Another damsel in distress?” Mitchell chirps, walking in from his briefing with the chief. “It’s gotta be that babyface. Everyone wants a piece of that smooth, shaved—”
