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Chapter Two
XAN
Pain sears across mybody like flames crawling across the forest floor, the hangover gripping my brain and my gut in a way I can’t ever remember feeling. I take a long drink off my pint of IPA hoping for the ol’ hair of the dog to help the two painkillers I popped back on the way into the bar. The buzz of my phone cuts through me like a chainsaw blade and I see a flash of the time.
I’m supposed to be in a therapist’s office right now. I’m supposed to be talking about my feelings. Instead I’m sitting in a bar at ten fifteen in the morning, drinking.
The phone rings again, vibrating against the worn wood of the bar and one of the regulars gives me a slanted look of annoyance. I tip my beer in his direction letting him know that I’m with him. Turning the fucking thing off would be smart but sometimes I wonder if there isn’t a sick side of me that likes the irritation. That maybe I like being hounded by the therapist the department hired to assess my wellbeing and determine if I’m fit to return to my crew. Every time she calls it reminds me of why I deserve this.
“Answer your damn phone, Xan,” the bartender—who happens to be my little sister, Delilah–huffs at me and rolls her big silvery eyes the same way she did when she was six. “You know this is the only way to get back on the job...and outta my frickin bar.”
It’s been ten months since I last worked a fire with Wildland Fire Management crew. Ten months since the Creston Ridge Fire that took one of my team before the fire was harnessed. Ten months since the suits in charge told me that I couldn’t come back to work this season until some pointy bitch who’s never seen a flame bigger than a candle asked me questions about my feelings. Some woman who doesn’t know me at all holds the fate of my career in her hands. She has no idea that I was Alexander Ryker. The trash of Raston, the troubled kid that did a stint in Juvie for beating the shit out of his own father in middle of main street, the man who raised my siblings when my mother was too high on Jesus to do it herself.
I can fucking handle myself. That’s the last thing I said to Miss Uptight before she scribbled unfit to return across my file and told me we’d reschedule for the fifth time.
The buzzing starts again, and I’m admittedly impressed by her tenacity—my sister not so much. Delilah snatches my phone and jumps back out of my reach. The sharp movement makes my stomach lurch and my temples throb.
“Hello?” Del says sweetly, like only she can. In a flash of a moment her face twists into confusion and then she bursts out laughing. “Oh hey, Jet. Yup, he’s here being a stubborn asshole like usual.”
Del tosses the phone to me and shakes her head, going back to shining the old bent up silverware before the lunch rush starts.
“Hey,” I say, polishing off the last of my beer and hopping off the bar stool. “I’m just heading over.”
“Dude are you drunk? It’s like ten in the morning.” Jet’s voice sounds muffled through the haze of my brain.
“I’m not drunk...anymore.” I heave the heavy wooden door open and the sun cuts through my vision like a freshly sharpened axe blade. Using my hand as a shade I let my eyes adjust to the light. It’s one of those perfectly clear days with barely any wind. I fucking hate the wind. My gaze is drawn to the opposite side of Main Street and a woman standing with her three kids outside the grocery store. I know it’s Nicole. I know she’s back in town. I know I should go talk to her but what the fuck would I say? I’m sorry your husband is dead. I’m sorry I didn’t go back for him. I’m sorry. I’m just fucking sorry.
“Weren’t you supposed to head into Kelowna today?” Jet’s voice fills with understanding but that’s as far as he’ll take it. Jet sighs, which is all he ever really does. Not a chatty guy to begin with. He’s the closest to me in age, a little under a year between us so he knows the deal.
“Nicole’s back with the kids.” She glances across the street and we lock gazes, her mouth hardens and my stomach lurches. I heard she was back last night when I came in for one beer.
“Yeah I heard,” Jet answers his own tone dipping low into that way I’ve come to hate. All my siblings talk about Gus like this now. Hushed and tentative like talking about him around me is like breathing too hard around a house of cards.
“Are you at the office?” I change the subject, slipping into my truck like a coward, and a silent awkwardness fills the line.
“Nah, man. I’m at the Marchand Acreage. Just pulled up to check out a job.”
“For Lucas? No fucking way.” I huff in disbelief, turning the engine of the truck. “Wait? Do you need me out there?”
There’s this moment before walking out in front of a blazing forest fire where all my energy collects in my chest and my heart works overtime to pump the hyperawareness throughout my entire being, charging my brain and body with adrenaline fuelled nerves.
The thought of having to go out to the Marchand Acreage has the exact same effect. Because standing in front of Lucas Marchand’s burning hatred of me is a very similar experience to a forest fire. The man spoke less words than Jethro but it’s never hard to understand that my simple existence is bothersome to him.
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need you. Matty is home doing the new Dad thing. I know you need the money.” Jet draws out into a long pause to allow me time to run through every reason why I swore I’d never even turn my truck down that road again. Never mind help the man fix his house or whatever he wants to hire my brother for. Lucas Marchand is the reason I lost the only girl I ever loved.
But Jet’s right. He wouldn’t ask if he didn’t actually need the help.
“Fine,” I say, low and noncommittal, grabbing a bottle of water from the passenger seat. “I’ll head out now.”
#
AsI turn up the Lorry road my phone buzzes again, but I leave the device face down in my passenger seat where I tossed it. I hate that stupid thing anyway. My siblings finally sat me down and forced a phone on me for emergency purposes. I still never check it because why should I be available to everyone at all times. It’s absurd watching people wander around with their noses pressed to the thing. I dropped my old cell in a lake eight years ago and never replaced it.
I roll down the window to catch the fresh spring air and the crunch of tires on gravel road. It doesn’t take long to get to the Marchand Acreage and the tightly packed trees begin to thin out until I see the driveway. This is a driveway I know intimately. I used to park my dad’s car at the edge and sneak in through the shadows until I met Briggs. I can’t stop the image of her hair streaming behind her as would run at me the moment she saw me, leaping into my arms, legs around my waist, lips on mine with no other word.
No one had ever lit up at the sight of me like she did. Like I was the center of the universe. The thought used to motivate me to believe in more, now it’s a harsh reminder of my naivety. Guys like me have a place in this world, and it’s not with girls like her.
With a growl, I scrub at my face with my palm as if I can actually peel away the memories playing behind my eyes. I was actually getting good at not thinking about her, granted my racing thoughts moved from Briggs to Gus and now they’re both hammering me. Nothing about the last twenty-four hours has gone my way and nothing I’ve done has dampened this low-level dread that lingers in my gut.
