Читать книгу Charming the Firefighter - Beth Andrews - Страница 10

CHAPTER TWO

“YOU GOING TO lie there all day?” James Montesano asked, tossing the basketball from one hand to the other.

Rolling onto his back, Leo Montesano squinted at the people peering down at him, their heads shifting as if they’d been detached from their bodies. Huh. Floating heads. That would make a great name for a rock-and-roll band.

James kept up with the ball tossing. Back and forth. Back and forth.

It drove Leo nuts.

He wanted to tell his brother to knock it the hell off, but the breath had left his lungs when he’d done his face-plant, and he couldn’t speak.

Next to James, their brother, Eddie, wiped his forehead with the hem of his T-shirt, dislodging the frayed brim of his black Pittsburgh Pirates baseball cap. On Leo’s other side, their younger sister, Maddie, smirked.

All three had dark hair, heavy eyebrows and deep, end-of-summer tans—traits Leo shared. About the only resemblances between him and his family. Because if the situation had been reversed and one of them were flat on their back, he’d be offering a helping hand.

They just waited for him to get his own ass up off the ground.

You’d think there would be a time or two when the odds were even among the Montesano siblings, but more often than not it was three against one.

Them against him, usually.

That was what he got for following his own path, being his own person. Freedom, yes. But also a lot of grief.

“Well?” James asked, as if Leo’s being bruised and sporting a possible head injury was ruining his entire day.

Leo squeezed his eyes shut, but as soon as he did, flashes of memory from last night’s accident scene bombarded him and he opened them again. At least when he did, everyone’s heads stayed put. And the images disappeared.

He shot James the middle finger.

“Guess he’ll live,” Eddie said before walking away.

James gave the ball extra spin as it moved from hand to hand, his dark eyes hidden behind a pair of aviators. “Too bad. I was hoping we could find a sub for you.”

“Your concern is touching,” Leo muttered as he shifted into a sitting position, the blacktop burning the palms of his hands, the bright sun warming his bare shoulders. He and James were both shirtless—no big deal when it came to playing a game of shirts versus skins, but not so great if you were pushed to the freaking pavement. His knees and palms—which had taken the brunt of his weight when he’d gone down—were scraped and stinging. He rubbed his hands against the sides of his shorts and glared at his brother. “Really. Warms a man’s heart to know his family cares so deeply for his well-being.”

“You want concern? Stop trying to turn a fun pickup game among family and friends into a grudge match.”

“Hey, don’t blame me. I’m the innocent victim here.” He jabbed a thumb in Maddie’s direction. “She’s the one who tripped me.”

“I’m not sure what you’re accusing me of,” Maddie said with a sniff and a lift of her chin, all affronted and lying through her teeth. “I was merely setting a screen.”

Eyes narrowing, Leo got to his feet. “You’re not supposed to move when you set a screen. Or stick your foot out.”

She lifted a shoulder and sent him a small, evil grin. “Oops.”

“You could at least try to pretend it was an accident and not a blatant act of aggression.”

James’s eyebrows rose above his sunglasses. “Blatant act of aggression? What have we told you about watching CNN? It’s only for grown-ups.”

Leo snatched the ball from James, and considered—briefly and with much relish—shoving it down his brother’s throat. Instead, he took three steps and heaved it over the ball hoop into the yard.

“I’ll get it!” called Max, Eddie’s eight-year-old son, scrambling after it.

Leo lifted a hand but couldn’t risk having his attention diverted. Not when Maddie, wearing a pair of cutoffs and a red Montesano Construction T-shirt, was sauntering closer and closer to him, her stride aggressive, her long dark ponytail swinging in agitation.

She was moody, unpredictable and capable of turning on a man at a moment’s notice.

“An accident?” she repeated, her tone cold, her shoulders rigid. “Like you ‘accidentally’—” she made air quotes, her brown eyes flashing “—rammed your elbow into Neil’s stomach when he went in for that layup?”

Now it was Leo’s turn to grin, although he was pretty sure his was way more charming and, yeah, even more smug than hers had been. “Incidental contact.”

“That is such bull.”

“I was guarding my man. A little jostling for position is part of the game.”

He didn’t know what she was bitching about. Her boyfriend—or whatever title she preferred to give Neil Pettit—played in the NHL. He got pushed, rammed into and hit for a living. Now he couldn’t handle someone playing tough defense on him in a friendly game of three-on-three?

Was it any wonder Leo couldn’t stand the arrogant bastard?

“How about we save this discussion for another time?” James asked in his calm, big-brother-to-the-rescue way. “Let’s finish the game before it’s called on account of darkness.”

Leo broadened his smile, knowing it would irritate the hell out of his baby sister. “Truce?”

He held out his hand. She looked as if she’d rather bite it off at the wrist and slap him with it a few times than shake it. “Do you really think I’m dumb enough to buy that?”

“That hurts.” He slung his arm around her shoulders. “I’m nothing if not sincere—”

“A sincere, and sweaty, pain in the ass,” she said, shoving his arm off.

He put it right back on her shoulders. Squeezed her to his side.

“And,” he continued, having learned early on it was best to ignore much of what his sister said, “I have nothing but the highest regard for you and your intelligence. You’re one of the brightest people I know.”

All true. But her taste in men sucked.

This time she ducked out from under his arm and stepped back. “Save it. I’m not one of your brainless bimbos—”

“Bimbos?” He laughed, hoping it didn’t sound as forced as it felt. “Did we time-travel back to 1952?”

“Yes, bimbos. Who hang on every word you say, simpering and sighing and batting their lashes.”

“I got it!” Max called, his round face red, his breathing heavy as he ran to the edge of the driveway, the ball clutched to his chest. “I got it, Uncle Leo!”

Leo held his hands out and neatly caught Max’s wobbly pass. “Thanks, bud.” He spun the ball on the tip of his forefinger. Winked at Maddie. “Can I help it if women think I’m amazingly witty and incredibly charming?”

“That’s only because they don’t know you,” she grumbled before walking to Neil and accepting the bottle of water he held out to her.

Leo let his smile slip. He bounced the ball twice—hard—then forced himself to tuck it against his side instead of winging it through the air again. Made sure his movements were easy and casual as he grabbed his own water and drank deeply.

He wished it were a beer. Or better yet, the slow, smooth burn of a Jameson. After the night he’d had, he could use a drink. But he had to report to work in a few hours.

And he was afraid once he started drinking, he might not stop. At least not until he had a decent buzz, one that blurred his thoughts and dimmed his memory. Until he could no longer remember the pain in Samantha Coles’s eyes. Could no longer hear her voice pleading for him to help her.

His fingers tightened on the bottle, the sound of crushing plastic loud to his ears. He finished the water and tossed it aside. Pushed all thoughts of last night from his head.

A drop of sweat slid from his hairline and down his temple before disappearing behind his ear. He wiped his forearm across his brow. The bright, late-afternoon sun burned the tip of his nose. It was hotter than usual for Labor Day in southwestern Pennsylvania, and his parents’ picnic was in full swing.

Family, friends, neighbors, coworkers and even a few college coeds—his mother’s classmates in her pursuit of finishing her degree—littered the wide, open yard, and spilled out of the two-story house and onto the large deck. The air smelled of grilled steaks and burgers. The muted sounds of Foreigner’s “Head Games” could be heard under all the conversation. The occasional good-natured cheer and burst of laughter rose from the group playing volleyball in the side yard.

Another successful party. Even though she was now a full-time student, having enrolled in Seton Hill University in Pittsburgh last year, Rose Montesano still found the time to entertain the masses.

Which was why Leo went to more than his fair share of gatherings, picnics and mandatory Sunday dinners. Having a large family who all lived in the same town had its share of perks—free meals being at the top of that list.

Across the driveway, Maddie and Neil stood so close together, you couldn’t get a breath between them. She rose onto her toes and said something in Neil’s ear. He grinned at her, then slid his hand to settle on her ass.

Leo’s right eye twitched. Having family close by also had more than a few drawbacks.

Such as watching your baby sister get back together with the loser who had broken her heart.

“Are we playing ball or what?” he called.

Facing him, Maddie readjusted her ponytail. “Just waiting on you, Princess.”

They resumed play, Maddie, Neil and Eddie against Leo, James and Ryan Pyatt, one of Montesano Construction’s employees. After fifteen minutes of hard play, the score was tied, twenty all. Whoever made the next basket would win the game. Maddie dribbled, looking for an open player while James guarded her.

“Switch, switch,” Leo told Ryan when Neil set a screen on the kid.

Ryan veered left and blocked Eddie while Leo spun right to guard Neil. They fought for position under the basket, pushing, shoving and bumping.

Maddie passed the ball to Eddie, who shot. It bounced off the rim. Leo went up for the rebound, shoulder to shoulder with Neil. He had a few inches more in height, but Neil had the advantage of being a professional athlete. He came down with the ball and pivoted and Leo knew he was going up for the shot.

The restlessness, the edge of frustration and anger Leo had tried to keep contained since last night built, bigger and bigger, until he was afraid he was going to explode with it. His muscles tensed, his body shook. He wasn’t going to lose. Not today.

Not to Neil.

Leo leaped up and with a low growl, spiked the ball out of Neil’s hands.

That he almost took Neil’s head off in the process was, to Leo’s mind, merely a bonus.

Breathing hard, Leo sent the son of a bitch a cocky grin. “You should stick to hockey.”

As he walked past him, he bumped into Neil’s shoulder with enough force to knock him back a step.

Leo grabbed the ball, then jogged over to the edge of the driveway. He bounced the ball at Maddie. “Check.”

“What the hell is your problem?” she asked, which was a neat trick seeing as how her lips barely moved.

“No problem. Just playing the game.”

“That how you want it to be?” She gave a sharp nod, then got into a crouch, her mouth set. “Fine. Don’t say you didn’t ask for it.”

And she shoved the ball into his stomach.

She’d always had a mean streak.

Eyes on her—because despite popular opinion, he wasn’t a complete idiot—he dribbled, keeping the ball low to the ground, his knees bent. James and Ryan worked to get open, James lifting his hand.

Maddie swiped at the ball, but Leo sidestepped. She was fast, he’d give her that. What she lacked in finesse and actual talent, she more than made up for in grit, determination and aggression.

They’d taught her well.

He faked left, then went right. Maddie stuck to him like a second skin, bumping and shoving as he made his way to the basket. He went in for the layup. Maddie jumped to block him.

And punched him in the jaw.

His head jerked back. His teeth snapped together and he landed awkwardly on the side of his foot. He stumbled, then caught his balance, juggled the ball, but it was too late. Maddie snatched it and sent Neil a beautiful bounce pass as he ran to the basket.

The show-off dunked it.

Bastard.

“Foul!” Leo waved his arms as if to erase the point from the imaginary scoreboard. “No basket. That was a foul.”

Maddie blinked at him innocently, which he didn’t buy for a minute. “Was it?” She made a show of looking around the driveway. “Funny, but I don’t see a ref here. And I certainly didn’t hear any whistle so I guess you’re wrong—which, as you know, is one of my very favorite things to say to any of my brothers, but right now I’m taking extreme pleasure in saying it to you in particular.” She patted his cheek. “You lost. Deal with it.”

He edged closer. She, of course, wasn’t the least bit intimidated. “You punched me.”

“I wouldn’t call that a punch,” James said as if he had the right to stick his fat nose into their conversation. He turned to Maddie. “If you’re going to jab, keep your elbow in. And don’t tuck your thumb under your fingers or you’ll break it.”

Something they’d told her at least a hundred times.

She was just too stubborn to listen to them.

She stretched and bent her fingers. Shook out her hand. “Everyone’s a critic. Should I try again? I promise to have better form this time.”

Leo gingerly touched the tip of his tongue to the cut on the side of his mouth. Tasted blood. “You deserve a broken thumb for that sucker punch.”

She wrinkled her nose in faux concern. “Looks like it hurts. A lot.”

“It does.”

“Great. Then my job here is done. Now maybe you’ll stop being such an ass.”

“I doubt that,” James murmured.

Leo bit back a snarl and kept his focus on Maddie. “If I need stitches, I’m going to be pissed.”

“It’s a scratch. Suck it up. Although it would be a real shame, messing up that pretty, pretty face with an unsightly scar.” She edged closer and lowered her voice. “But nothing less than what you deserve for trying to antagonize my boyfriend all the freaking time.”

“Just because you’ve forgotten what he did, how he treated you, doesn’t mean I have.”

“Yes, I’ve completely lost any and all memories from the past thirteen years,” she said drily. “Look, Neil and I both made mistakes. It’s not forgetting. It’s forgiveness.”

He couldn’t believe someone as smart and self-assured as Maddie was willing to put herself in the same situation she’d been in at sixteen. Loving Neil Pettit. Trusting him to be there for her and Breanne, their twelve-year-old daughter.

“Maybe I’m not in a forgiving mood,” Leo said.

“You don’t have to be. Neil didn’t ask for your forgiveness. And if you don’t stop acting like such a jerk, Neil, Bree and I will be forced to skip these family get-togethers.”

“Blackmail, Maddie? That’s beneath you.”

She nodded, not looking the least bit guilty. “And you acting like some overprotective brother is getting old. It’s awkward and irritating to listen to your snide remarks and put-downs to Neil every time we get together. Don’t think Bree hasn’t noticed, too. Or that it doesn’t bother her.”

Leo’s shoulders wanted to hunch so he jerked them back. But he couldn’t stop himself from glancing toward the deck, the last place he’d seen Bree. She was still there, her chubby legs curled under her as she read a book, the sun glinting off her short cap of dark hair.

Though many, many women had fallen hard for him, there were only three he could truly say he’d ever loved. His mother and his sister were near the top of that list. But the number-one spot was held by the only female who’d ever had him wrapped around her little finger.

His niece, Breanne.

Ever since he’d held her as a red, squalling newborn, he’d been hooked. He’d been eighteen and she’d been his first in many ways—first baby he’d ever held. First bottle-feeding and diaper change. First time losing his heart.

He’d do anything for her.

Too bad she didn’t need him any longer. She had her father back in her life.

For now.

“Do you really think Neil’s going to stay this time?” Leo asked harshly. “Just because he’s stuck it out this long doesn’t mean he won’t change his mind or take off again.”

It had been over a year since Neil and Maddie had reconciled, but nothing had really changed. Neil still played professional hockey. Sure, he’d recently been traded to the Blue Jackets, but they were based in Columbus—a three-hour drive from Shady Grove.

“I know he’s going to stick,” Maddie said.

Leo shook his head sadly. “I feel sorry for you for believing that.”

Her eyes got all squinty. Never a good sign. Swear to God, if she hit him again, he was dumping her crazy ass in the pool. Luckily, she kept her hands at her sides.

“I trust him and what we have,” she said. “Neil and I are together and we’re going to stay together so I suggest you grow up and get over this stupid, adolescent rivalry or whatever it is you have with him. Or be prepared to lose me and Bree.”

She stomped off, headed directly to Neil and into his arms. He kissed the top of her head.

Leo wanted to punch something himself.

“He abandons her and Bree,” Leo muttered when James joined him, “and I’m the one she socks in the jaw?”

“Quit whining,” James said. “It’s a scratch.”

Leo jabbed a finger at his injury. “Does this look like a scratch?”

“Yes. Rub some dirt on it and we’ll start another game. Get some of our pride back.”

“Easy for you to say.” Leo carefully ran his tongue over his bottom lip, wincing when he reached the gash at the corner. He bent and retrieved his T-shirt from the grass. “You’re not the one bleeding.”

“You deserved it.”

Leo snagged James’s water bottle and took a drink. Swished it around his mouth while Eddie joined them.

Leo spat onto the grass. “Deserved to be viciously attacked?” Eddie rolled his eyes. Leo narrowed his own. “You have something to say?”

“It was a foul,” Eddie said, like some freaking Zen master brushing aside Leo’s dark scowl and low growl with his own calm expression and quiet tone. “Not a mugging.”

Leo’s free hand fisted. “Who asked you?”

“What are you?” James muttered. “Thirteen?”

Eddie’s mouth turned down, his shoulders rigid. Maybe not so Zen, after all. “You asked, you idiot.”

Stepping between them as he had so many times in their lives, James made a tsking sound. “Name calling.” He faced Eddie, tossed him the ball. “Just walk away. You know this isn’t about you.”

“Maybe not,” Eddie said, “but he’s obviously jonesing for an ass-kicking. I’m happy to oblige.”

Leo shifted to the left, but so did James. He peered around James’s shoulder. “You want to go, Eddie?”

“That really something you want to do in front of Max and Cassidy?” James asked Eddie.

Eddie glanced at Max, who sat cross-legged on the grass raptly watching the unfolding scene, one small, grubby hand petting Zoe, James’s German shepherd/husky mix, the other holding a dripping red Popsicle.

“Cass is in the pool with Harper,” Eddie said, the latter being his girlfriend, Cassidy her three-year-old daughter. He spoke in his usual irritatingly slow way, as if thinking through each word before letting it out of his mouth. “And I could always send Max into the house for a few minutes.”

Max scrambled to his knees, and the action had Zoe jumping to her feet as well. “You always send me somewhere when you fight with Uncle Leo. Why can’t I watch?”

“Because you’ll lose respect for your uncle when you see him cry.”

Leo stepped forward. “We’ll see who ends up crying.”

Though he was honest enough with himself to admit there was a chance it would be him. Eddie was built like a tank, had fists like bricks, and could take a sock to the nose and keep coming at you.

Without so much as a glance Leo’s way, James slapped the back of his hand on Leo’s chest, stopping him in his tracks. “I’ll talk to him,” he said to Eddie. “See what bug is up his butt.”

Frowning, Leo glanced at Max. “Did I suddenly turn invisible?”

Wide-eyed, his dark hair in a newly minted Mohawk, his mouth stained red, the boy shook his head. “I can still see you.”

With one of his laconic shrugs, Eddie turned and walked away.

Leo sneered. “Wuss.”

James sighed, and before Leo could evade, wrapped his arm around Leo’s neck and squeezed. Hard. “Let’s chat.”

Leo struggled, but it was no use. James may have been the poster boy for mild-mannered good guy, but he knew how to put a headlock on someone and make it stick.

“James,” their mother said in the exasperated tone she’d perfected raising four children—Leo figured it was the teen years that had done her in, “what are you doing?”

James turned, dragging Leo along. Leo raised his head as much as possible to see Rose staring at them from her vantage point on the deck, her hand shielding her eyes from the sun. A small crowd had gathered around her, including James’s wife, Sadie; Sadie’s sister, Charlotte Ellison; and Breanne.

“Just going to have a heart-to-heart with Leo,” James said, sounding way too cheerful for the situation.

Then again, if their positions were reversed, Leo would be feeling pretty damned chipper himself.

“You,” Leo spat out as James sent their audience a jaunty wave, “are a dead man.”

James whirled them around, forcing Leo to scramble for balance or wind up on his knees. With his free hand, James gave Leo a noogie. “Actually, I’ve never felt more alive.”

As if to prove it, he started whistling and didn’t stop until they turned the corner behind the garage.

Leo shoved James, stumbling when his brother’s arm suddenly loosened. “What the hell is your problem?”

“My problem? You’re the one going all rogue on the basketball court. Far as I can tell, I just saved you from getting your fat head beat in.”

“I can handle Eddie.”

“I wasn’t talking about Eddie.”

“Neil won’t do anything.” That was the problem. No matter how much Leo baited the other man, he never lost control.

“Neil’s not the one I was talking about, either. Maddie’s pretty pissed at you.”

Leo twisted the lid onto his empty water bottle. Untwisted it. “She’ll get over it.”

She couldn’t stay mad at him. No one, especially not anyone female, ever could.

“You’ve been acting weird ever since you got here,” James said, watching Leo carefully. “What’s going on?”

He began to pace, but couldn’t rid himself of the edginess riding him like some howling monkey. “Nothing’s going on.”

Christ, couldn’t a guy have an off day? Just because he wasn’t all charm and humor didn’t mean something was wrong.

“Charlotte was telling me and Sadie about that car accident on Langmaid Lane last night. The one involving those two college girls.”

Leo’s stomach pitched. The water he drank threatened to come back up. His brother’s tone was neutral, his expression clear, as if they were discussing something as irrelevant as the Steelers’ chances of making the playoffs this year.

“She mentioned how upset she was, how upset everyone in the E.R. was that they lost the driver.”

A cold sweat formed between Leo’s shoulder blades. He pulled his shirt on, but still felt chilled. Sick with unnamed emotion. With regret. “Char’s an E.R. nurse. She understands they sometimes lose a patient.”

As a firefighter and EMT, Leo knew that as well.

But knowing it sure as hell didn’t make it any easier to accept.

“She said you were at the scene of the accident,” James continued, drilling for information, trying to get inside Leo’s head, inside his thoughts. Wanting Leo to spill his guts—as if that would do any of them any good. “First one there, actually. And you stayed with the victim the entire time.”

Leo’s hands shook. He curled his fingers, once again hearing the crackle of plastic from the water bottle while his nails dug into his other palm until he felt the bite of pain. Victim. That’s all she was to James. All she’d be to most people who would read about the single-car accident in tomorrow’s edition of the Shady Grove Times. A faceless victim. A tragedy.

“She had a name,” Leo managed to say, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat. “Sam. Her name was Sam.”

Samantha Coles. She’d been young, barely twenty-two, her cheeks still holding the softness of youth. When he and his partner had arrived on scene, she’d been trapped, the front of her crumpled car wedging her between the steering wheel and her seat. Leo had assessed her injuries, and kept her calm while the rest of the team had worked to free her.

Blood had stained her clothes, her brown hair. Her face had been bruised, her body cut and broken. But her green eyes had been clear. Through it all—the horrible noise and her own pain—she’d kept calm.

Had trusted him to help her. Had believed him when he’d said she’d be okay. That he’d save her.

“I wasn’t with her the entire time,” he continued, his voice strained, though he fought to sound casual. “Once we brought her to the hospital, the E.R. staff took over.”

“Charlotte also mentioned that when you heard Sam hadn’t made it, you punched the wall.”

Leo opened and closed his fist. It still ached.

There had been no censure in James’s tone, no judgment. Only compassion and pity.

And that was even worse.

“You ever see someone die?” Leo asked quietly, knowing the answer before James shook his head. “I have. More than a few. It gets to you sometimes, but you deal with it. Compartmentalize it and move on to the next case, the next person who needs help.”

It was what he did, what he lived for. It was what made him different from his siblings—carpenters, all three. What made him who he was.

James clapped a hand on Leo’s shoulder. “Want to talk about it?”

Hell, no. What good would talking do? It wouldn’t turn back time so that they reached Sam and her friend earlier. Wouldn’t stop Sam from checking her phone or taking that curve too fast. Wouldn’t bring her back to life.

No, rehashing it wouldn’t do anyone any good. Least of all Leo.

“Can’t,” Leo said, stepping back so James’s hand fell to his side. “I need to get home and grab a shower before I go to the station. Tell Mom and Dad I had to leave for work, would you?”

Without waiting for James’s response, Leo walked away, kept his stride unhurried and relaxed, though he wanted to run, wanted to escape as quickly as he could before James tried more psychobabble crap. Or worse, dragged a few family members in on his attempt to get Leo to open up to them, tell them all his thoughts and feelings.

A young woman had died last night. He’d witnessed it. How the hell did they think he felt?

He passed Maddie’s truck and pulled his keys from the front pocket of his cargo shorts. The only reason he’d even come to the picnic was because he hadn’t wanted to be stuck at his place alone with his thoughts and memories. He’d figured being surrounded by people and conversation, laughter and food, would help settle the unease rolling through him, the tension, the feeling that, while he’d done all he could for Samantha, he should have found a way to do more.

He slid behind the wheel of his car, turned on the ignition. And wished he’d stayed home.

* * *

WHEN ANDREW BOUNDED down the stairs, Penelope was sitting at the dining-room table. His hair was still damp and curling at the ends, a tiny piece of toilet paper stuck to a cut on his chin. He’d changed into loose gray shorts and one of the clean T-shirts she’d hung in his closet, his favorite sweatshirt slung over his shoulder.

“It’s curious to me,” she said, her voice sounding surprisingly loud to her own ears, “how anxious you were to leave and yet it took you over an hour and a half to get ready.”

He gave her one of his ill-mannered shrugs. “Car keys.”

Raising her eyebrows, Penelope took off her reading glasses. “Is that a declarative comment? Or an inquiry into the keys’ whereabouts?”

“Can’t you talk like a normal person instead of a librarian? Curious. Anxious. And no one says declarative. Or inquiry.” He frowned and scratched his cheek. “Except for judges and lawyers and stuff.”

“Thank you for that.” She picked up her wineglass only to discover it was empty. Well, that would just not do. She leaned forward, the edge of the table digging into her sternum, the tips of her fingers grazing the bottle of chardonnay. Grunting softly, she stretched and snagged the bottle by its neck. Dragged it toward her, then waved it in her son’s general direction. “It is so enjoyable to be critiqued on my vocabulary by a child who calls everyone dude—including his mother—and uses the word duh as an answer to most questions, as well as a pithy response to any conversation someone beyond the age of twenty might attempt to have with him. Next you can educate me on the finer points of eye-rolling, sarcastic comebacks and a general disrespect for authority. It’ll be such a good time.”

He went still. Studied her. “You’re acting weird,” he finally said. “I mean, you know, more than usual.”

Lovely.

She started to roll her eyes, but then realized she couldn’t very well lecture him on the disrespectful gesture if she did it herself, so she pretended to find the ceiling extremely fascinating.

“I’m fine,” she said, feeling no desire to assure him when, in all honesty, he didn’t sound worried, but more...put out. Then again, when was he ever concerned about her feelings?

She poured wine into her glass, the bottle significantly lighter than when she’d opened it not thirty minutes ago. How had that happened? She’d only had a glass...or had it been two? She gave an inner shrug. And took a healthy sip.

Having lost her appetite knowing she’d be dining alone, she’d opted to catch up on some of the work she’d brought home. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been able to concentrate, not with her out-of-control emotions clouding her thoughts. Wine was a surprisingly effective remedy for what ailed her.

Even if the numbers on the laptop screen were now a bit blurry.

It was an interesting discovery, and one she could have made years earlier had she ever allowed herself to have more than one glass of the wonderful stuff.

“Mom!”

She jumped and, horror of horrors, had wine sloshing over the edge of the glass and onto her hand. She sucked it from her fingers. “Why are you yelling?”

Andrew gaped at her as if she were the one who’d lost her ever-loving mind. “Because I’ve asked you the same question twice and you haven’t answered me.”

She blinked at him. Why was he so upset? Teenagers. Lord only knew what got into their heads sometimes. “I already told you, I’m fine.”

Better than fine. She actually felt...good. Light and floaty and sort of free. As if all her worries had simply drifted away. Although oddly enough, for all her floaty feelings, her eyelids were becoming heavy. It was increasingly difficult to keep them open.

Andrew’s narrow gaze flicked from her, to the glass, to the bottle. “Are you...are you drunk?”

She whipped her head around and leaped to her feet, but had to grab the table so she didn’t topple over. Just a rush of dizziness from standing too quickly, she assured herself. “Of course not. I do not get drunk. I have never been drunk. Not once in my life.”

And why she was speaking so slowly and carefully, she had no idea.

Andrew smirked—oh, how she hated it when the boy smirked. “Whatever.”

She bristled and straightened, lifting her hands from the table as if to prove to both of them she was not only capable of maintaining her balance, but sober enough to do so. “Andrew, you know how I feel about drinking to excess.”

“I know how you feel about everything. Every. Damn. Thing.”

What was wrong with that? She made her expectations clear, let him know her thoughts, views and opinions on the matters that were important. Her views on drinking—especially underage drinking—smoking, drug use and sex may be conservative, but there was nothing wrong with making good, smart, responsible choices and respecting your body.

“Why all this concern about my sobriety?” A thought occurred to her. “Will there be drinking at this picnic?”

“You caught me,” he said as he flipped his sweatshirt from one shoulder to the other. “I’m just trying to divert attention from the fact that Luke’s mom bought a keg so her son and all his friends can get wasted. Too bad she drew the line at hiring those strippers we asked for.”

“The scary part is I’m not entirely sure you’re joking.”

His answer to that was, yes, one of his impressive eye rolls. “Keys?”

“On the hook by the door.” Where they always were. Well, where she always put them. He, on the other hand, seemed to have a hard time remembering to hang them up after using her car. One time she even found them in the freezer.

She prayed he remembered to brush his teeth every day. No need to worry about him using deodorant, though. Or aftershave. The child splashed the potent stuff on like it was some sort of muscle-building, beard-growing, girl-catching elixir.

The room spun. Which was incredibly strange as she hadn’t actually moved. Maybe wine on an empty stomach hadn’t been the best idea. Lesson learned.

She’d always excelled at learning her lessons. And not making the same mistakes twice.

While Andrew texted someone, she pulled the raw turkey burgers from the fridge, then crossed to the double doors and stepped out onto the patio. Inhaled the warm air. There. That helped. A little food, a little fresh air and her head would clear right up.

She set down the plate, then knelt and turned on the gas to the grill.

“Bye,” Andrew said, stepping outside.

“Hold it.” She straightened—too fast, it turned out, as the world pitched and spun. “Were you born in a barn?”

“Seeing as how you were there, you’d know that better than me.”

“Ha-ha. Close the door.”

While he did, she shut her eyes for a moment, got her bearings. “I don’t recall you asking for permission to take the car.”

“I figured you wouldn’t mind,” he said, jiggling the keys, “since you’re not going anywhere.”

Irritation pricked her, dimming some of her previous glow. She couldn’t fault his logic—after all, she had nowhere to go. But did he have to rub it in? Her foot began tapping in agitation as if of its own accord. She wasn’t jealous of him. That would be ridiculous. She was thrilled beyond measure he’d made friends. That he didn’t have her shyness, her awkwardness around others. And it wasn’t as if she was a complete social pariah. There were a few women in the office she chatted with. Sometimes.

When they initiated the conversation.

“I’m not going anywhere, but seeing as how it’s my car, it’d be nice if you asked first.”

She winced. That had sounded close to...well...whiny was the only way to describe it. She pulled her shoulders back. She wasn’t a whiner. She was a doer.

A doer with absolutely no social life whatsoever.

How wonderful.

Andrew shifted, impatient to be gone. “Can I take the car?”

She wanted to say no, but that would be petty. Besides, if he didn’t drive himself, she’d have to take him. And she was seriously considering a third glass of wine, since what she’d had already was making her feel...not quite happy...but certainly no worse for the wear. “I suppose.”

He brushed past her. “See ya.”

“At nine,” she reminded him, since he’d had a hard time lately remembering when his curfew was. He didn’t even acknowledge she’d spoken, just descended the two wooden stairs and crossed to her car in the driveway. He climbed in, buckled up, then, with the sound of the radio thumping much louder than was necessary, he carefully backed into the road.

“You’re welcome,” she muttered. So glad to see he appreciated her letting him go to Luke’s, use her car and avoid her company for yet another day.

Didn’t matter, she assured herself. She was fine on her own. She’d have a nice dinner, catch up on her work and maybe even finish the bottle of wine. Why not? Everyone else seemed perfectly content to indulge in bad behavior once in a while.

Maybe it was time she joined the party.

Besides, it wasn’t as if she had to worry about giving her teenager the wrong impression since the child preferred to spend his time anywhere and with anyone but her.

Frowning, feeling more than a little sorry for herself, she jabbed at the grill’s ignition button, though something in the back of her mind told her not to.

Too late. There was a loud boom and the lid flew open as a wall of flame engulfed her.