Bad Boy's Kiss (Firemen in Love Book 2) (19 page)

“Man, I gotta go. Just think about what it is you really want from her. And for the love of God, don't be selfish. If you're not gonna stick around, don't lead her on.”

He hung up. I was alone again. I stuffed the phone back in my pocket, since I was out of people to call who'd help me. Maybe my buddy Carter would, but he hardly answered my calls. The two of us moved in different circles these days.

I'd had quite enough of this. My leg had started to throb, too, and I was tired of popping opiates for it. There was one solution – my girls in the RV.

Thank goodness I had the upper-body strength to haul myself out of the chair, up the steps, and into the vehicle. I crawled along the floor to the back, where I kept the two marijuana plants Jayce had given me.

“There you are, girls. Not looking so good, though.”

I didn't have any idea about growing plants. Just water them, he said, and they would live.

Right. The wispy leaves were turning yellow and crispy around the edges.

I managed to wriggle back out of the RV and into my chair with the plants in tow. Then I went to the back porch, rolled myself a nice joint, and lit up.

Anna didn't have any idea about my smoking. I didn't partake as much lately, ever since my band of friends stopped partying every few nights.

Somehow, I doubted she'd be pleased. She sure as heck wasn't the kind of girl who'd smoke with me.

I was soon nice and relaxed, and the pain in my leg stopped bothering me so much. While I puffed away, ideas came to me about all the things that needed doing around here.

There was a loose board on the porch, and the garage door could use an oiling on the squeaky hinges.

Anna talked about converting a room to a nursery, too – painting the walls, decorating, and filling it with everything her baby would need.

I couldn't do any of that currently, though. What, then? I had to think of something to impress her. That always got girls into my bed before. Except Anna, well... She didn't seem like the sort that impressed easily.

A chicken flapped its wings and landed on the fence post. I glanced at the hen house. She'd said it was due for a cleaning, but worried about the effect animal feces had on her kid. It smelled awful, she said, and what if the fumes hurt the baby?

If that was an excuse to get out of cleaning up bird crap, it was a pretty damn good one, I had to admit.

I wheeled myself over to the house. The hens huddled together, eyeing me warily.

“Yeah, you should be nervous, birds. If it weren't for Anna, I'd pluck off those feathers, fry you in bubbling oil, and enjoy some hot wings with a cold beer.”

The smell coming from the hut was nauseating. No way could poor Anna handle this; not when she had trouble keeping her food down already.

“Okay, I can do this. Rubber gloves, bristle brush, hose, sanitizer. No gas mask, though. Here's hoping the stench of ammonia doesn't kill me.”

The birds waddled away in a hurry as I rolled into the house. I'd seen Anna do this once before; it couldn't be too hard, just disgusting.

First, I scooped the used hay bedding off each shelf. Some of the nests had eggs in them, which I collected and put in the basket outside.

Then, with the shack empty of hay, I turned the hose on full force. This wasn't a normal hose, but a high-pressure one designed to blast off paint, chemical spills, and other stubborn messes. It worked a treat, and soon, things were looking and smelling a lot cleaner.

It was a filthy job, but doing it made me feel good. At last, I wasn't sitting idly around doing nothing with myself.

Picking vegetables was okay, but it wasn't enough. I wanted to move my body, to use my muscles that I'd worked so hard to build. I wanted to feel like a
man
again.

Suddenly, the water cut off all by itself.

“Shit. Now of all times; really?”

I had almost finished rinsing the floor down, too. Back outside I went to see what was the matter. That's when I spotted the crack in the hose, all the way down where the spigot was. Water gushed out of the slivered cut, making it impossible to keep on with my task.

I felt like kicking a chicken across the yard to vent my frustration. Stupid birds were lucky my legs didn't work right then.

“Hope you're happy, Anna.” Then the pond caught my attention. “Ah. Perfect.”

The little pond, full of catfish and ducks that skimmed the surface for a meal of bugs or whatever they ate, was quite close to the chicken house. I just needed a little more water to finish the job.

Feeling pretty clever, I took an empty bucket with me down to the water's edge. But leaning over to fill the bucket was harder than I thought it'd be.

“C'mon... Just a little bit closer...”

Being high as a kite, I'd forgotten to set the brake on my wheels. The chair started rolling down the slope, and it happened so fast I couldn't react.

The chair hit a rock; I went flying into the mud. It kept going, careening down the embankment until finally coming to a stop in the water with a tremendous splash.

I clutched my throbbing leg as the chair sank into the murky depths. My wheelchair, the only method I had of getting around, was gone. No way could I swim out there to get it.

My stupid leg hurt something fierce, too. That probably meant I'd be spending an extra few weeks off my feet. Damn it!

“So much for avoiding pain pills.”

I reached into my pocket, pulled the bottle out, and downed two of them without any water.

I called Anna's phone next. It rolled over to voice mail. Trey, then. No answer. Rachael?

Forget about it. After she ran out of the house crying the other day, for reasons not even her boyfriend could figure out, I wasn't gonna mess with her.

Instead, I lay on my back in the dirt and closed my eyes. Didn't take long for some fire ants to come along and bite me on the back.

While I cursed and slapped the bastards away, a chicken must have decided I was worm food. She waddled over to me and nipped at my face with her beak, squawking like she'd just gotten her revenge.

So much for feeling like a man again, huh?

Chapter 14 - Anna

The doctor frowned. I could tell he was trying to keep the mood cheerful, but as he studied my charts, even I knew something wasn't quite right.

“Your weigh-in last time was one twenty seven.” He adjusted his glasses and flipped the page. “This time, you're sitting at one twenty nine. You've only gained two pounds in a month?”

I shrugged. Who knew? I thought it was fairly impressive given all the junk food I'd been devouring. I guess when you're pregnant, you're supposed to gain weight, not almost lose it.

“Now, Anna, you know the importance of a healthy diet right now.” His tone was stern, like that of a concerned father.

“You don't need to tell me, I promise. I eat plenty. My mother actually told me I was getting fat.”

I laughed. He didn't.

“Is there something wrong, doctor?”

He stacked my charts neatly and typed some numbers into the computer. “No, nothing
wrong,
exactly. It's just that we like to see a bit more weight gain by this time. It's still early on, so it could be nothing.”

I peered down at my belly. To me, it looked as if I had swallowed a watermelon. Maybe there was a reason nobody had commented on the baby yet – because to them, I might have looked a bit pudgy and nothing more.

“I can assure you I eat a ton. Plenty of meat, eggs, dairy. Big salads every day with lots of dressing. Dessert daily, too. You would think a large slice of blackberry pie every night would be enough to get me packing on the pounds.”

This seemed to disturb him even more, rather than reassure him I was doing everything right.

“I'd like you to come back in again next week for another weigh-in.” He wrote the details on a card for the receptionist. “And we'll have an ultrasound done as well. Just to be on the safe side.”

As I checked out of the appointment, I grew steadily more and more worried. Why
wasn't
I gaining weight?

Come to think of it, the other pregnant women in the clinic were
much
larger than me. I thought one woman surely was about to pop, but she told me she was only six months!

I didn't want to be huge, but I didn't want to sacrifice the baby's health either. I'd eat pizza and burgers every single night if that's what it took to get my weight up.

At least Max would like that. He complained every time I put a salad in front of him.

“Oh, yeah.” I took out my phone. “Better ask if he's thought of dinner tonight.”

One missed call from him? Strange. I redialed his number, but no answer.

Max was a big boy, and I figured he could handle himself. Yeah, maybe it was dumb to leave him alone in my house. I didn't know him
that
well.

Even so, I felt this connection to him, like some kind of innate trust, in a way I never experienced with Rich. Could've been my subconscious trying to tell me something.

I went to the store, grabbed some things, and headed home. By the time I got back, the sun was setting. I hauled the groceries inside and immediately noticed how quiet it was.

“Max?”

No reply. My stomach twisted.

Fearing the worse, like maybe he fell in the shower and broke his neck, I checked every room of the house. But he was nowhere to be seen.

Okay, maybe he was on the porch. Nope. His RV was still here, and the van too, so he hadn't bailed on me. But then where did he go?

“Max!”

“Hmm? Down here.”

I could barely see him in the waning sunlight, but followed his voice to the pond.

“Where are you? I can't – ahh!”

I tripped over what I thought was a log. It was only Max, lying in the dirt. He opened his eyes and looked up at me, this expression of sadness and regret on his face.

“What the heck are you doing on the ground? Where's your chair?”

He sighed and pointed to the pond. If I looked hard enough, I could see one of the wheels sticking up out of the water.

“Do I even ask what happened?”

“I screwed up. That's what happened.” He made no move to sit. “Just like I always screw up. Everything I do turns out wrong lately.”

Somehow, in the few hours I had left him alone, he'd changed. He wouldn't look at me. He talked so softly, I could barely hear him.

“Sit tight, okay? I'll get the chair.”

He just grumbled to himself while I figured out how I was to accomplish this. I
really
didn't want to get in that water, but didn't see any other option.

I took off my shoes and waded in up to my ankles, glad that I had worn shorts today. The water was still warm from the heat of the day, at least.

“You're getting in there?”

“Someone has to do it.”

Slimy catfish bumped into my legs as I sloshed in deeper. By the time I reached the sunken chair, I was in up to my waist. Yuck; nothing worse than wet clothes.

I nabbed the chair by a handlebar and pulled it out of the mud, then returned to the shore.

“It's a mess, but still looks like it works. Let me dry it off for you.”

Max didn't say much while I toweled the chair off. Should I press him for details? Was he hurt from the fall?

“So, uh... Are you okay? It looks like you took quite a spill.”

“Go ahead and rub it in.”

I threw the towel down. “I'm just trying to be nice, you know. I try to look out for you, and you're gonna be a prick to me about it?”

He lifted himself back into the chair with a hefty sigh. “I'm fine. My leg hurt for a while, but a couple of painkillers wiped that out soon enough.”

It was dusk, and the mosquitoes were starting to bite like crazy. Figuring we could talk inside, I started to push him toward the ramp.

He grunted and nudged me away from him, then wheeled himself back to the house.

His refusal to accept my help stung. He'd been this way since the day he moved in with me, but seemed to be getting worse lately, as if sinking into a bottomless pit of depression.

Inside, he went right to the kitchen and pulled a beer from the fridge. He downed the whole bottle in five big gulps, then went for another. Worry swelled in my chest.

“I don't think you should be drinking if you're taking those pills. You could have a bad reaction.”

“Don't tell me what to do.”

I felt like slapping him. Instead, I planted myself right in front of his chair so he couldn't open the fridge anymore. He glared.

“I want to know what happened.”

He threw the bottle at the trash can and missed. “I was trying to make myself useful and failed.”

“But you
do
make yourself useful. You help me as much as you can, and given the circumstances, I'm impressed. Lots of people in your shoes would loaf around watching TV all day long. You're not like them.”