Point of Origin (2 page)

“Well it’s good to see you,” Mayor Davis said. “How long has it been?”

I somehow willed my limbs to move in jerky motions, closing the file and using my left hand to grip the desktop as I slowly rose, thankful my ass managed to land in my rolling chair and not the floor. I placed the file back on the laminate desktop and then slowly let my eyes lift, taking in the tailored, black suit, the starched white shirt under the jacket that stretched across impossibly broad shoulders, and pale blue tie against the tan skin of his throat. When I got to his face, I lost the ability breathe, the air stilling in my lungs as the second hand ceased to move.

Our eyes met, his as shocked as mine must have looked for a second before he carefully masked his expression. Cool. Aloof. In perfect control.

I was anything but, lost in absorbing every detail of the stranger who stood before me. He wasn’t handsome or cute like he’d been during the short time we’d allowed ourselves to be together. No, he was gorgeous now, the sharp, angular lines of his face one-hundred-percent man, where I’d loved the boy. God, how I’d loved him.

And he’d broken my heart, shattered it into so many parts that I was still finding small pieces here and there six years later.

That stitched-up heart pounded in my chest, heavy and light all within the same moment, as if it acknowledged both the glory of our heights and the pain of our fall. He was here. After all this time, he was fifteen feet in front of me…and a world away. My bangs fell across my eye, and I blew them back, not wanting to miss a second of actually being able to see him. To breathe the same air.

“Emmy,” he said quietly, a ghost of a smile passing his sculpted lips. How did they feel now? Harder like the rest of him?

“Bash,” I answered, barely getting the sound past my lips. So much for the years I’d diligently kept myself from thinking—let alone saying—his name.

“How long has it been, Sebastian?” Mayor Davis repeated after a few of the council members cleared their throats.

“Six years,” I answered, my voice nearly breaking. Six years without a returned phone call, an email, any social media, or an explanation. I willed my anger to the surface, to overpower the shock of seeing him, or the way my body immediately warmed in his presence like he’d flicked some switch.
He left you. Cashed your V-card on graduation night and was gone before you woke up.

“Six years,” he agreed, those hazel eyes still locked on mine. They looked almost gray from here, the color they leaned towards when he was conflicted, upset. My stomach tightened when I thought of the last time I’d seen them burning green, his hands on my body, his mouth against my skin.

Holy shit. I needed oxygen. I needed space. I needed my six years back.

“And what can we do for you?” Greg answered, his voice as tense as the air between where I sat and Bash stood.

Bash looked away, and I sucked in a lungful of air. Mrs. Anderson passed me her unopened bottle of water, more than aware of the history between us. Hell, everyone in this room knew our history.
Small towns have the memory of an elephant.
My hands shook, but I got it open and took two long pulls.

“I’d like you to incorporate both the land I own and my building into the town of Legacy.”

His building. He is Legacy, LLC.

I willed my sluggish brain to catch up, and my eyes to stay the fuck away from him, but they kept going back to the strong line of his jaw, the black, untamable hair that still stood in near-spikes, the curve of his lips, the power in his stance. He’d been formidable in high school, intimidating in college, but now he was just…massive.

“Mr. Vargas, you’re prepared for the tax implications, the zoning requirements?” Mayor Davis asked.

“I am. The building has the strictest fire protection and is built to Legacy standards.” He stood tall, his arms at his sides, the only tell of his nervousness besides his eyes being the small rubbing motion he made with his thumb.

I hated that I knew that. Hated that he’d left me. Hated that after six years, I still couldn’t seem to stop my heart from crying out for an explanation.

Long distance relationships never work,
he’d told me before we’d gotten together.
I’m in college, and you’re a senior in high school, Emmy.

We can make it work. We have always been the exception to never.

Except we weren’t.

“The land borders the boundary as it is, and we have a history of accepting these kinds of petitions.” His voice was strong, deep and sure.

Mayor Davis nodded. “We do. I have no problem with proceeding with that paperwork. Anyone else?” His eyes swept up and down the arch of council-members, and everyone seemed to nod their assent.

Bash kept his eyes on Mayor Davis as they took a vote, never once wavering to mine. I wish I could have said the same, but I didn’t have the strength to look away.
Because you’re a moron.

The council voted a unanimous, “aye,” and the motion was accepted. I scrawled some notes on my to-do list, thankful that I was no longer secretary, just Mayor Davis’s assistant.

“I’m glad you’re back, Sebastian. We’ve missed you. Appropriate timing, the anniversary being in a few weeks and all.”

Bash’s expression hardened, and he swallowed, then faked a smile that looked so genuine he fooled everyone but me. “I’m not here permanently, just to get things rolling. If there’s nothing else?”

He wasn’t staying. I didn’t know if I should be relieved or devastated. The emotions ripped at me in equal strength.

“We’ll start the paperwork. You’re good to go on this end.”

“Thank you.”

I could almost feel his muscles relax, my fingers flexing with the need to touch him, to assure myself that he was real.

“One thing,” Mrs. Anderson called out as Bash prepared to leave.

He tensed, but turned. “Yes?”

“What is the building for? Just out of curiosity.”

He looked her straight in the eye. “It’s for the hotshot crew. I plan to rebuild and reinstate it.”

My breath left in a rush, my stomach plummeting to the floor beneath me as the room exploded into a cacophony of protests. There was no way the town council would approve. No way they’d reopen the wound that had nearly bled our hearts dry ten years ago.

The second hand on the wall clock behind Bash ticked eighteen times before I could draw a real breath.

Eighteen seconds. Eighteen elite hotshot firefighters. Eighteen deaths.

Twelve widows. Sixteen fatherless children.

Including me…and Bash.

He didn’t answer their outcry, didn’t fight back. He simply said, “Thank you for your time,” to Mayor Davis, turned and walked out of the room without so much as a look back. Even for me.

At least this time I’d seen him leave.

And unlike six years ago, now I knew exactly where to find him.

Chapter Two

Sebastian

Fuck. Me.

I slammed the door to my Range Rover unnecessarily hard and wrenched my tie loose as I walked into my building. It was nothing like the original, where my father’s hotshot team had operated. That building had been smaller, a little dirtier, ill-equipped, and a hell of a lot better—not because of the facilities, but who ran them.

I passed the large living room, the glass-walled gym, and finally came to my office, where my pain-in-the-ass best friend lounged.

“Bad day at work, dear?” Ryker asked, cocking an eyebrow at me from my chair.

“Get your damned feet off my desk.”

My tie hit the newly vacated space. “Who’s got your panties in a wad?”

“No one,” I barked. “Did you get ahold of Knox?” I asked, walking into the state-of-the-art kitchen I’d paid way too much money for. It was capable of accommodating the needs of two dozen people without straining, just like the rest of the building I’d spent a year designing with architects and another year having built. I grabbed a bottle of water from one of the refrigerators, cracked the top and drained the whole thing, wishing it was something a little stronger. Like tequila. Or a horse tranquilizer. Oh, who the fuck was I kidding? Nothing was strong enough to wipe out what just happened.

God, the look on her face…
Those huge brown eyes had flown wide, her lips had parted, and it had taken every single ounce of self-control I had to look away.

“Yeah, he’s finishing up a job in California, and then he’ll fly in,” Ryker answered from the doorway.

“Good. We need him. Is he bringing anyone else?” It was going to take a hell of a lot more than just Ryker and me to convince the council that it was time for another team.

“The Maldonado brothers.”

“No shit?” That was almost a reason to celebrate. Almost.

“No shit. What did the council say?”

“It’s going to be a battle for the team. I have no idea how we’ll get them to agree to that part, but they agreed to the annexation,” I said, throwing the bottle into the trashcan with a satisfying
thunk
.

“Well, then you should be happy, right?”

“She was there.”

His forehead puckered. “Who? Mrs. Anderson? She’s been on the council for years. I think it will take her dying or an act of congress to get her out of there.”

“No, asshole. I don’t give a shit about Mrs. Anderson.” I raked my hands through my hair and left the kitchen, walking over to the floor-to-ceiling windows in the wide-open training area. Legacy lay in the valley below, and if not for the clearly marked scars on the mountainsides, there would be no hint at the tragedy that had annihilated the town ten years ago.

“Okay,” Ryker said in his I’m-sick-of-your-shit voice, “well I can run through every woman’s name in town—God knows we’ve both fucked our fair share of them—or you can just tell me.”

“Emerson.” Just saying her name ripped a scab off my soul that was all-too-eager to bleed.

He whistled low. “Oh, shit. Look, Harper told me she was leaving on the first.”

“Yeah, well your sister was wrong.” I should have double-checked, but the minute I’d started asking about Emmy, Harper would have told her.

“No, she wasn’t.”

The sultry, feminine voice behind me raised the tiny hairs on the back of my neck. I hardened every defense I could against her and turned to see Emmy standing just in front of the pool table, her arms folded under her incredible breasts, inadvertently lifting them to the neckline of her button-up blouse. Tucked into that pencil skirt, she looked like a schoolteacher. Well, the kind that boys fantasized about during sex ed. And the way those soft globes crested at that last button…

Don’t look. Do. Not. Look.

Too late.

She raised a single eyebrow at me.
Caught.
“I’m leaving on the first of September, not August, and yes, Harper told me you were asking,” she addressed the last comment to Ryker, who rubbed the back of his neck.

“I think I’ll give you guys a…uh…I’m going to leave.” Ryker didn’t wish me luck, or so much as give me his condolences—not that I even looked his way—just pulled a baseball hat over his blond hair and ran.

Leaving me alone with Emmy.

Emerson.
I reminded myself. Emmy was the girl I’d grown up with, the one who tagged along at every crew barbecue, begged me to take her hiking with us. This wasn’t her. This wasn’t even the teenager that drove me crazy, the one I jerked off to for years when her curves showed up, the one I couldn’t forget about at college, the one I fell in love with.

The one I destroyed.

She was a woman now, and from the look in those deep brown eyes, a pretty pissed off one at that. “Are you going to say anything?” she asked.

“You’re the one that came here.”

She scoffed. “You’re the one who built a huge…” she gestured to the great room, her eyes catching on the open second story and the exposed beams. “Clubhouse for boys,” she finished.

“Clubhouse?” A smile tilted my lips. “What are we? Ten?”

“Oh no, you don’t get to be charming, Bash. Not to me. Never again.”

The space between us charged with an electricity that could either power this whole house or burn us both to the ground. Years had passed, and that hadn’t changed. No matter how much I wish it had. “What would you like me to be?”

“Nothing. Just like you have been for the last six years.”

“Ouch. You’re bringing out the claws pretty early in the argument, don’t you think?” I tucked my thumbs in my pants pockets to keep my hands busy, to keep them from reaching for her. That ever-present need I had for her hadn’t changed either. Fuck.

“We’re not arguing.”

I took a step towards her. “Oh, we’re not? What are we?”

She retreated, keeping our distance equal. “We, are nothing. You made that pretty damn clear.”

“Emerson. What happened between us—”

“No.” She threw out her hands and shook her head. “We’re not discussing that. Ever. Like it never happened. Any of it. That’s not why I’m here.”

Never happened? The hell with that. I could reenact every single second if I needed to jog her memory. Every time I took her mouth, from when she’d been sixteen, and I’d been too possessive to let anyone else have her first kiss, to the night I spent tangled in her arms, worshipping her until the sun came up and I had to go. Every moment was branded on my soul like a tattoo, and she wanted to act like it never happened?