Fire and Ice: Rekindled (The Fire and Ice Series Book 2) (13 page)

Hailey

"Come on...I'm dying here. What's the big secret?"
Georgia whined as we waited for our food orders to be delivered.

"No big secret," I shrugged. Georgia raised a
brow, silently urging me to spill the beans. I sighed audibly, knowing she
would most likely blow the whole thing out of proportion. Finally realizing she
wasn't going to stop pestering me since I
had
promised to let her in on what I knew, I relented, saying simply,
"I've seen her before...at the university. I mean she wasn't all dolled up
like she is when she comes into the bar, but I'm pretty sure it was her."
I didn't bother making eye contact with her as I brought my lips to my steaming
hot mug of cappuccino.

"Like, she's a student there?" Georgia asked with
curiosity lacing her voice.

Shaking my head, I swallowed a large gulp of my frothy
drink, answering, "Huh uh...I mean, I don't
think
she is."

"Well why would she be at the university if she's not a
student, or teacher, or something?" Georgia prodded.

I gave her an 'as if' look, rolling my eyes. "She
doesn't exactly strike me as the 'college type', if you know what I mean,"
I said sarcastically.

"Ok, I'm no psychology major, or prodigal genius, or
anything, but I get the feeling you're leaving something out," Georgia
rebutted.

"I walked in on her and Michael at his office a couple
times," I said nonchalantly.

"They were
fucking
?"
she exclaimed.

My eyes went wide as I said, "Jesus, Georgia- no, they
weren't
fucking
! And keep your voice
down." I shielded my eyes, my face turning crimson at her lack of
propriety. I peeked up, humiliated, and continued in a hushed voice, "They
were...I don't know, just talking."

"About what?" Georgia questioned.

"I don't know," I said with irritation. "They
would always shut up when I walked in and she'd give me some weird look and
scurry away. Michael always jumped straight into greeting me and asking me
questions about class or how I was doing...stuff like that." I explained.

"You didn't think it was odd? How he'd suddenly change
the subject? Never introduced you to her?"

Pointedly I said, "I didn't think it was any of my
business."

She gave me an 'are you
serious
?'
look before bellowing, "Not your
business
?"

I rolled my eyes for about the fourteenth time today,
expelling a long breath as I said, "What Michael does in his private life
is
none of my business."

I was now fully aware that Georgia wasn't going to drop the
subject until she'd satisfied her curiosity itch. "Well, it's a pretty big
fucking coincidence that she and Michael seem to have some sort of
relationship, then
poof
!...Kellan
shows up back in town and all of a sudden this chick drops the baby-daddy bomb
on him," she said, her voice rising once again.

"Sorry, Georgia, I just don't see the correlation. I
mean, who the hell knows? Maybe Michael's her cousin...maybe she was inviting
him to a family reunion. Why are you looking for a conspiracy here?"

"I'm trying to look out for
you
," she emphasized.

"
Me
?" I
leaned in towards her, trying to quell my frustration without letting the
entire cafe in on our animated conversation. "Neither of them have done
anything to me- save for Leila giving me the skunk eye a few times, which I
couldn't care less about."

"See that's what I'm talking about- this could be why
Kellan left Chambers! Think about it," she pointed her finger toward me.

Throwing my hands in the air, I blurted, "What? What in
the hell
are
you talking about?"
My mind was whirling as Georgia plowed on with her vague witch hunting
theories.

"Why is she shooting dirty looks at you if she has no
relationship with Michael? If she has no idea
you
have a relationship with Kellan?" she grilled me.

"I don't
have
a
relationship with Michael! I don't
have
a
relationship with
Kellan
!
Goddamnit, Georgia
! Can we please just
drop this?" I barked.

She stared intently at the table top, chewing on her newly
manicured thumbnail. "Something's not right. Something feels off,"
she said peering up at me with concern. Georgia did have a tendency to make
mountains of molehills; however, the depth of concern I registered in her eyes
had my wheels spinning in my head. What was going through her mind? What puzzle
pieces was she attempting to put together? I had no idea. But I'd never seen
her alarmed, almost to the point of panic.

If for no other reason than to settle Georgia's mind, I
relented. "If it will make you feel better, I'll feel him out," I
stated flatly.

She gave me a single nod of solidarity, adding, "Great.
In the meantime, maybe I can have Eve do some snooping," as the young
waitress approached our table.

Her voice quivered as she looked to me, asking, "Light
Italian on the side, right?" I gave her a sincere smile as I assisted her
in setting our orders down on the table.

Chapter Twenty

Kellan

My heart
literally
skips
a beat each day as I hear Hailey enter the bar and offer up a friendly hello to
Joe as she prepares for the workday ahead. It's fucking with my head- big time.
I took the staunch attitude that I was doing her a favor...doing the right
thing by pushing her away, setting her free to find someone that deserves her,
is worthy of her, someone who doesn't have a dump truck full of baggage to
contend with.

Now I'm watching her sit with some douchey looking guy
dressed in dark jeans, with a crease ironed into them, a pink and green striped
golf polo with a breast cancer ribbon decal sewn on it (coincidence?), and a
white cardigan tied around his shoulders. It's eighty degrees outside, for
Christ's sake! Who the fuck needs a sweater when it’s eighty degrees?

I'm officially freaking out. Jesus, I have the anxiety of a
kid watching the neighbor boy ride his brand new Big Wheel because his mother
just told him 'You get to ride it anytime you want...be nice and share with
Jimmy for a bit'. Yeah...it's the riding and sharing part I'm not so keen on. I
internally pray she's taken up tennis and this...this walking Ralph Lauren
display is her coach or something. I think for a moment maybe she has some
newfound interest in sailing. This guy looks more suited for boating. No one
wears jeans to play tennis. Then again, no one wears a fucking sweater when
it’s eighty degrees. And I'm sure he wouldn't mind Hailey boarding his 'vessel'
while she learns the 'ropes'.

Rifling through my brain as my anger begins to rise, I
conclude sailing is unlikely- our sleepy little town is nowhere near a
coastline. The closest thing we have is a small local lake. Teenagers dare each
other to jump from two stories up ,while they film the inevitable screams and
flailing of arms and legs, and the stinging pain of skin slamming against the
water's unforgiving surface, only to later be uploaded to You Tube with hopes
of getting their fifteen seconds of fame. I get it, I really do- there is no
such thing as turning down a Triple Dog Dare.

The shoreline, muddy and overgrown with weeds, is littered
with fishing poles, their slack lines attached to bobbers that gently stray as
the breeze causes the slightest of ripples through the water. Dads are eagerly
showing their children how to worm a hook and accurately cast their rods for
optimum distance and placement. More often than not, the hook lands in the
nearest tree and the kids end up sitting on the cooler playing with their cell
phones while the father stares at the tree for several minutes, pondering the
best way to go about retrieving the hook without breaking the line. He
eventually ends up getting frustrated enough that he throws caution to the wind
and wrestles to free it...hook be damned. Usually the tree wins, the kids whine
about going home, and Dad gives up all hope of Little Timmy being the next Bass
Master's Champion. He cracks the lid on a beer, plops into his lawn chair, and
spends the rest of the afternoon getting a pretty good buzz on while he
aimlessly peers out at the water, no doubt trying to push the thoughts of the
bills and 'to-do-lists' out of his mind. The kids brood for the remainder of
the day, slapping at the elusive horseflies.
Man who catch fly with chopstick accomplish anything.
Regardless,
the fishing pole will probably remain untouched until it's time to pack up and
head home.

Further out, boats whiz past, water skiers trailing behind
them. Some lean left, then right, showing off their near flawless ability to
skim the water's surface with confidence and poise. Most, though, get a few
seconds in to the ride and falter, left to absorb their humiliation, their
bright orange life vests shining a spotlight onto them as they bob along in the
wake of the boat until it can come back around and retrieve them.

Many lake goers simply drift along the water in pontoon
boats; a bevy of buddies getting together for the weekend to drink themselves
silly while the designated driver plasters on a happy smile so his friends
won't think he's a dick and not invite him for the next outing.

Younger women clad in bikinis lay out on boat tops, soaking
up the sun, occasionally oiling themselves down, and completely ignoring the
data that this method of sun exposure will ultimately lead to premature aging.
Older women, women who are now noticing the forgotten warnings of said
premature aging, are lathering up their bodies in SPF kajillion, wearing large
brimmed hats and opaque cover ups, in a futile attempt to save the last
remnants of youth they are grasping at. These are the same women now heeding the
advice of professionals as they hope to stave off the chance of their children
getting skin cancer by basically bathing them in sunscreen every forty-five
minutes. Still
older
women, clothed
in one piece bathing suits with frilly skirts attached and peppered with large
exotic flower prints, determine it is clearly too late for them, they simply
don't care anymore; their skin nearly the color of rust, leathery. Dad is
scoping out the oily bikini clad blonds from the shore, trying to remain
inconspicuous.

The laughter pouring from the table that Hailey and The
Skipper are occupying breaks me out of my wandering thoughts and has my
animalistic hackles standing on end. Fuck! This is irritating as shit. Still,
inquiring minds want to know, so I search my mind for a reason to butt into
their conversation. I remind myself she's not
mine
...this was
my
idiotic idea in the first place, and as I make my way towards their table, I
repeat the mantra over and over again in my head:
act normal, act normal, cool as a cucumber
, while internally, I
feel anything but.

I step into their space; they are impervious to my presence,
so I clear my throat to get their attention. The Skipper snaps his head up
quickly, but gives me nothing other than a blank stare. I hold his gaze for a
moment, only allowing myself to break away when Hailey says formally,
"Michael, this is Kellan. He recently became the new owner of the
bar."

The Skipper partially stands, extends his hand, and says,
"Ahh, yes, I've heard a lot about you."

I snap my eyes to Hailey as she stares at me, unblinking.
Not bothering to return The Skipper's handshake, I fix an impassive glare onto
Hailey as I reply, "Is that so?" I pause a beat, then face The
Skipper as I continue, "She hasn't told me a thing about you."
Crickets...
Skip is clearly taken aback
as he retreats to his seat, but manages a small smile. An immense satisfaction
builds inside of me; I've wounded his pride.

"Michael is my psychology professor," Hailey
states, more insistent than informative.
PROFESSOR
Skipper...how artsy fartsy,
my inner smart-ass trills in a British accent,
lifting an invisible cup of tea and raising a pinky. Hailey is all pissy and
fluffing up the Skipper's feathers for him. How very valiant of her to try to
rescue the sad sap from impending domination.

My lips twist into a devilish quirk as I continue to eyeball
him. Shrugging, I say with a bit of malice, "Well, you know what they
say...those that can't
do
,
teach."
Boom bitch! I just threw the
motherfucking gauntlet in your face!

The Skipper is nearly horror stricken, and shifts
uncomfortably in his chair, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. Hailey
interjects, "Kellan!"

"What?" I half laugh; chagrined. Turning to face
her, I continue, "It was a joke. He knows I was kidding, right Doc?"
I clap my hand hard against his back just as he begins to sip his water. The
water sloshes over the sides of the glass, spilling onto the tabletop, as a
coughing fit emanates from The Skipper. You just can't buy this kind of
entertainment.

"
Jesus,
Kellan,
we're trying to have lunch here! Do you mind?" Hailey exclaims.

Of course, I mind. Some fucker with a degree in head cases
is trying to get into her panties. She may as well post an ad on Craig's List:
Vulnerable, naive female eager to be used
as a doormat. Serious inquiries only.
Christ almighty- how fucking stupid
can she be? Evidently pretty fucking stupid, so it's obvious I need to step in
here...I mean, it's like my civic duty, right?

"Mind if I have a quick chat with my manager, here, Doc?"
I say as I motion my head in her direction.

"
Manager?
Since when?" Hailey asks, clearly annoyed that I'm still here.

I shrug and thumb towards my office, replying, "I was
gonna tell you earlier, but..."

Hailey cuts in, stressing, "I don't know if that's such
a good idea."

"Why?"

Hailey leans casually back in her chair, crossing her arms
in front of herself and peers up at me through her lashes. She says in a
reasoning tone, "Well that's an awful lot of responsibility. I mean I'd
hate to put myself into a position where I would
clearly
need to be held accountable for my actions, not to mention
accept any consequences that might arise from those actions." She bats her
lashes and smiles innocently.

Stiffening, I retort, "Um...yeah, well you pretty much
already do most of this stuff, so..."

"So I don't need some sort of title if I'm already
doing it then, do I?" she argued.

She was pissing me off, but I hadn't accomplished my
objective, yet. The Skipper couldn't seem to get the hint and take a fucking
hike. Grasping at straws, I said, "Well there's a little more to it than
that." I quickly sweetened the pot, "And you'll get a pay
raise."

"Are you sure that's prudent?" she feigned
concern.

I was standing in my own fucking bar, and suddenly
I
was feeling uncomfortable. "What
do you mean?" I asked, placing my hands on my hips, my eyes trained on
her.

 
Hailey averted
her eyes, stretched out her hand and began examining her nails, as her voice
became honey coated. "I mean, no offense...I could use the extra money,
but you just took over..." Her sentence trailed off as she placed her hand
over her heart, knitting her brows together. "Like, what if something
happened that you didn't expect to? Don't you think you should reserve some
money in case there's an emergency?" she asked theatrically.

Gritting my teeth, I say with irate brevity, "I know
how to manage my money just fine."

She held her palm up towards me, as if trying to calm me
down, but the mischief in her eyes was indicating she had a bit of spice to go
along with all that sugar. "Nobody's saying you don't...it's just, well,
you never know when life is going to throw you a curveball."

Is she auditioning for
Broadway?
I'm fairly certain she had infused a southern drawl into her
voice. If she says, '
Bless your heart',
I'm
going to blow a fucking gasket. But the playfulness in her taunt has me
picturing her in pigtails, swirling them around her fingers as she chews loudly
on pink bubble gum, swaying back and forth, wearing a Catholic schoolgirl's uniform.

The picture suddenly takes a violent mood swing as I
envision Hailey in the same outfit, bent over Skip's lap in his office as he
grabs a ruler, lifting her skirt and preparing her bare bottom for a swift
lesson. I'd been so absorbed in my conversation with Hailey, I'd forgotten the
fucker was still here, and what's worse, she was toying with me. This is the
first time she's bringing up the subject...
the
subject
...and though she's not publicly defaming me, she certainly doesn't
seem to be above making me sweat a little. Quirking a brow, I ask with distain,
"A curveball, huh?"

Hailey and I hone in on one another, neither of us willing
to budge as a pregnant pause descends upon us all. Finally, The Good Doctor
speaks up, saying timidly, "Maybe I should give you two a minute..."
Maybe you should fuck off, asshole!

Hailey wasn't backing down, and as Dr. McDreamy went to
stand, I halted him, placing my hand firmly against his chest. Fuck it. Fuck
it,
fuck
him,
and fuck
her
. I was
out. I broke my gaze from Hailey's unrelenting one, saying caustically,
"Nah...don't worry about it man. I have some shit to take care of."

As I strode towards my office without a second glance,
clinching my fists at my side, Skip yelled with trepidation, "Nice to meet
you!"