Page 45 of Burn Point

The sun blazed through the windshield, heating the interior of the truck. In front of me, a family was heading to their RV, kids dragging little miniature fishing poles on the ground, no doubt something they’d begged for that they’d forget in a heartbeat. Still, it was nice seeing a family do something together, though it left me with a tinge of longing.

When I was growing up, I’d been a latchkey kid. My parents worked all the time. We never took family vacations or spent any time together. It wasn’t a surprise when my folks split up when I was thirteen. When they were together, the underlying tension, the arguments, the cold way they treated each other, the way they complained about each other… My family dynamic was different than the way my friends’ families operated.

I’d gotten used to being alone at the house for long periods of time. I’d learned to rely on myself. Learning how to cook my own meals and do laundry when most of my other friends were out goofing off. Hell, it’d been the perfect opportunity to raid my dad’s stash of porn magazines. My parents eventually reconciled, but we were never a loving family.

When Jordan moved in, it was the first time that I’d shared my personal space with anyone since the fire academy a decade ago. The short time she’d spent with me had made a difference, and I was feeling the loss. Missing having someone to share meals with. Missing working on the van. Missing having her close to talk about my day, and to hear her stories.

“Nate, are you there?” Her soft voice interrupted my thoughts.

“Yeah, I’m still here.” My throat felt tight.

“Why do you care so much about my safety?” She sounded…unsure? Hopeful?

That one was easy. “Because we’re friends? Or at least, I thought we were friends.”

Hell, she was probably my best friend.

“We are. We are friends. Good friends.” She had a smile in her voice, and what I wouldn’t give to see that smile in person.

“Okay then, Skippy. Wouldn’t you hate for your friend, your best friend, to worry?”

“Oh, we’re best friends now? What are we, twelve?”

Something about her stripped away the facade I’d been hiding behind and I found myself admitting, “I’ve never had a best friend, so maybe?”

She grew quiet, and in those moments, regret took hold. Too much, too soon, too…honest. Fear bubbled while I waited for her response.

“Really? Not even when you were a kid?” she said gently.

I cleared my throat and wiped my palms on my jeans before answering. “Nope. Parents were gone all the time. I was pretty much alone except for a few kids at school. There weren’t many kids in my neighborhood growing up, and those that were there were little assholes.” I kept my tone light, even though being this open was ripping a hole in the wall I’d built around my heart.

“What, they didn’t want to hang with you?”

“More like they’d rather do drugs and get into trouble.” It was easier to talk about the hard stuff when I didn’t have to look her in the eye. “My folks forced me to stay home, and not have anyone over until they got home. But they worked so late, usually it was bedtime before they got in. They’d let me hang out with the old man that lived next door, but that was it.”

Silence followed my admission, and I immediately regretted saying anything.

“Wow,” she said softly. “I thought you were kidding. You’ve never had a best friend?”

Shame shut down my vocal cords, so I just grunted. I knew I’d missed out as a kid, but it felt all kinds of pathetic when she said it out loud.

“Well, in that case, I’m honored to be considered your best friend. And I’ll share my location and make sure I check in on the reg and keep you in the loop.”

Her voice might as well have been a hug as relief shot through me. Having her friendship meant so much to me. More than I cared to admit, even to myself.

I talked her through how to set up the location share on her phone and then she said she was running out of battery. I let her go, making her promise, again, to keep me in the loop of her plans.

I drove home thinking of how much fun it would be to take this new fishing pole and surprise Jordan. Did she like fishing? I bet she would. She’d be the one to push me into the water. The thought had a grin stretching over my face.

When had she become so important? And why had I let myself get so deep? And what was I going to do about it?

Chapter 11

Jordan

“So, you see, you take this little thing here, and slip it down into that hole. Then you are ready to dump your grey water.”

Roger, the nice older gentleman showing me how to use the dump station, bent over and flipped a lever, and the water started flowing through the line.

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