Wilde Fire
* * * *
Wilde Fire
A
Playing With Fire
Novella
Copyright © 2016
Kat Austen
All rights reserved.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, bands, and/or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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Dedicated to the evil twin in us all. Stay naughty.
WHY IN THE hell was I so nervous? It was just Bree—
Bree—
my best friend’s little sister. She’d been like a little sister to me most of my life.
So what if I hadn’t seen her in six years? Or was it seven?
It was Bree. The girl who used to beg me to check for monsters in her closet as a kid. The girl I used to chase boys away from when she hit puberty. The girl I’d promised her brother, my best friend, I’d take care of . . .
It was a promise I’d failed to keep.
The metal tags I still wore around my neck felt heavier right then. Matt Chase. We hadn’t shared a strand of DNA, but he’d been my blood brother—my brother in battle. We’d fought together. We’d bled together.
Two of us left for Iraq. Only one of us came back.
My promise to Matt wasn’t the only one I’d broken. I’d made one to Bree too—to bring her brother home safe. I’d let them both down.
Maybe that’s why I’d distanced myself from her—guilt. Shame. They were powerful things.
But now she’s coming and I’d just have to figure out some way to deal with it all. The guilt I had for not being able to keep my promise to her. The guilt I had for not following through on my promise to Matt to look after her.
Shit, she was going to be here in a half hour. I had to find some way to put the past behind me, even when it felt like it’s been right in front of me every day since coming home.
Rushing through my little apartment, I tossed old to-go boxes and empty beer bottles into the big plastic garbage bag I was carrying. I should have done this last night before Bree was thirty minutes from knocking on my front door, but I’d pulled a late night working at the base and crashed the minute I got home. I should have set an alarm so I would have waken up early enough to clean out the fridge and mop the floors so I didn’t fulfill every bachelor stereotype when Bree showed up.
She was an investigative journalist now, writing for some big-time paper in some big-time city. When I heard about where she’d been hired after graduating from college, I guessed our paths would never cross again.
I lived in Alaska, about as far from New York City as a person could get and still live in the United States. I fought wildfires in the summer and was an underwater welder in Seattle in the off-season. My life went in one direction, and hers went in the opposite.
And then I’d gotten her call last week, and just like that, our worlds decided to collide.
IT HAD BEEN seven and a half years. That was almost a decade.
And I still thought about him every single day.
That had to stop. I couldn’t keep going through life measuring every guy by Jake Wilde’s measure.
At first, he was as much a big brother in my life as Matt was. Then when I hit twelve, I realized I spent a little too much time watching him at the beach and finding ways to get his attention when the girls his age descended on him. Instead of those feelings fading with time, they grew, and even though I hadn’t seen him in years—only occasionally exchanging an email or birthday card—I still couldn’t get him out of my head.
Jake had no shortage of “girlfriends” in high school. They never lasted long before he was on to the next, but as afraid of commitment as he seemed, he never had an issue when it came to me. Sure, our relationship was different, but it proved he was capable of it.
I knew the reason he’d been avoiding me had a lot to do with Matt’s death. The sixteen-year-old girl had asked believing Jake really could bring her brother home safe from a war, but the twenty-three-year-old woman understood that war was like life—out of our control.
I also knew Jake would have traded places with my brother if he’d had a choice. He wouldn’t have needed a moment to think about it. That’s the kind of man he was. That’s probably why I hadn’t been able to leave him behind me all these years later.
That’s why I might have been the one to pitch this article about the notorious smokejumpers of Alaska . . . instead of the story I’d told Jake about my editor in chief assigning it to me. I was here to see him, gather some research, write my article, and have him fuck me so I could finally move past Jake Wilde.
So I could finally realize everything I’d convinced myself I was missing out on wasn’t worth longing for. Just another guy, with another dick, willing to put it anywhere and everywhere he could squeeze it. I was here to get Jake Wilde out of my system once and for all.
I’d had boyfriends. But none of them had been him, and I was hoping that if I could just get him out of the way, I could move on and be happy with someone. Happy with someone other than him.
THE DOOR. SOMEONE was knocking on it.
She was here. Early.
Cursing under my breath, I rushed down the hall and stuffed the overflowing garbage bag inside of the closet. Then I tugged on the first shirt I came across and headed back into the living room. I was barefoot. I hadn’t showered after last night, which meant I was about to greet my best friend’s kid sister ripe from a night of work.
Not that she was going to get anywhere close enough to notice I hadn’t showered.
Cool your shit down, Jake
.
It’s Bree. Like she gives a crap about my showering habits. Or, in this case, my lack thereof.
“Coming,” I called when the second knock pounded on the door. She had a long flight and was probably beat. I had to get to work soon but she’d probably want to take a nap or something.
My bed. Shit again. I hadn’t changed the sheets or even made the bed. As hosts went, I was a failure from the word go.
As soon as I pulled open the door, my forehead creased. This wasn’t Bree. It couldn’t be. This was not the girl who used to live in ponytails and sneakers. The one who almost killed me when I caught her padding her swimsuit top once, threatening to knee my balls into my throat if I told anyone. This was not that girl.
“I know it’s easier to pretend I don’t exist, but now I’m here. And you offered me a place to crash.” The woman standing in front of me pressed a hand into her hip and blinked up at me.