Page 38 of On the Edge

Oh, fuck no.I was so not ready to have this conversation. “What would you do if you couldn’t be a firefighter?”

“I…I don’t know.” Dad went predictably pale and stricken. The son of a firefighter, he’d never imagined a different life for himself, whereas I’d never wanted to follow the family legacy. I’d wanted to blaze my own path, and now that was in jeopardy.

“Exactly.” I shot him a pointed look. “Riding isn’t a job. It’s my life.”

With that, we drifted into awkward silence, first me, then him fiddling with the stereo. Music made my pounding headache worse, but trying to eke out more conversation with Dad was even less appealing. We arrived back in Mount Hope as the too-early dusk settled over the town and neighborhood lights came on as folks returned home from work and school.

“You don’t have to walk me in,” I said as we exited the truck. Not for the first time, I noticed we had a similar manner ofgesturing when we wanted to minimize a conflict. “I’m sorry for being so cranky.”

“It’s okay. You’re allowed.” There it was. He made the same gesture, the same resolute expression with the addition of a half-smile. Dad always had smiled easier than me, something I’d always envied him for. Despite my protest, Dad headed up the back steps with me. “And Denver volunteered us to help Wren with dinner tonight. Almost everyone will be home, so it’s a chance to catch up and see what everyone’s been up to.”

I suppressed an inner groan because the last thing I wanted was for him to know what Jonas and I had been up to lately. “Cool.”

I would have much rather been alone with Jonas and not thought about a damn thing. But Jonas wasn’t home yet, and being alone wasn’t an option, so I suffered through my dad kissing Denver hello while I washed my hands at the kitchen sink.

“Okay, Chef, put me to work,” I told Denver. Ever since my accident, I’d been making more of an effort to be friendly with Dad’s boyfriend. Anyone who’d dropped everything to come with Dad to the hospital deserved respect. Clearly, he planned on sticking around. “What can I make?”

“Salad,” Denver said at the same time Dad said, “You don’t need to help.”

“I want to help.” I clomped my way to the fridge with my cane and yanked out a package of mixed lettuce. “Trust me, salad isn’t that taxing.”

“Excellent.” Denver had a too-hearty tone as he shot Dad a look. “Happy for the help. Here’s a cucumber you can add.”

“Sorry.” Dad came over to the island where I was chopping cucumber on a cutting board. “It feels like I’m always saying the wrong thing with you.”

“You’re not.” I exhaled hard. I would be hard-pressed to deny we’d always been an awkward pair, but I’d never once doubted his love. “Or at least not intentionally. You care. I get it.”

Right then, John, the football-playing teen, came in with a gust of chilly air.

“Hey! I was hoping you’d be here.” He sidled over to the island.

“Me?” I was surprised because, unlike Rowan, John hadn’t shown much interest in my presence.

“Yeah. A couple of guys on the team are looking to do some motocross this off-season. I told them you lived with us, and they were super stoked. Would you want to meet them?”

“Uh…” I wanted to say no, but at the same time, I had a personal rule to never be mean to fans. But hell, this was Mount Hope, and I wasn’t supposed to be famous here. Guilt crawled up my back, lodging in the base of my neck as the resurgence of my headache. I supposed I should be happy my name was still out there. The sport hadn’t forgotten about me. Yet. “Maybe?”

“Awesome.” John beamed like I’d given an enthusiastic yes. “There’s a booster fundraiser coming up. Movie night. Perhaps you could come to that? Give my friends some advice?”

“Maybe,” I said again, distracted by Jonas arriving home.

“Something smells great.” He greeted everyone with a wide smile. It must have been an administrative day because he wore dress pants and a crisp blue shirt with a tie I wanted to remove with my teeth, nibbling his neck in the process.

But I couldn’t do that, couldn’t even risk a nod or a lingering look. Jealousy joined guilt in contributing to my growing headache. Why did my dad and Denver get to corner the market on PDA? I wanted that too.

“What you smell is dinner.” Wren gestured at all the cooking prep. “Firehouse spaghetti, garlic bread, vegetables, and Declan made a salad.”

“Awesome.” Jonas darted his gaze toward me long enough for a quick, silent acknowledgment that we couldn’t wait to be alone.

“I’ll set the table.” Jonas headed toward the dining room.

Grabbing my cane, I opened my mouth to volunteer to help, but John got there first, damn his quicker feet. “I’ll help.”

Yet again, I was stuck watching Jonas from a distance, including at dinner, as I ended up between my dad and John, who kept pumping me for riding tips for his friends.

“We need them in one piece for next football season.”

“They might want a different second sport.” My mouth twisted, my tone turning old and jaded. “Injuries are simply part of motocross.”

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