Page 12 of On the Edge

It was a reckless offer, one I’d undoubtedly regret, but when Declan grinned, none of that mattered. His smile was wide and free, as happy as I’d seen him, and it transformed him from a generically handsome injured guy to the most attractive man I’d seen in a long, long time.

“I like that idea.” He continued to beam, and my stomach gave a little quiver.

“So do I.” And I liked the idea of him living with us in Eric’s house far, far too much. All that nearness? Risky. So risky. Yet I was already counting down to his moving in and more of those hundred-watt smiles.

Chapter Seven

Declan

December had already been the coldest, worst, loneliest month of my life, and I was eager to see the end of it. The month had started in the Salt Lake City hospital and continued through several weeks at a rehabilitation center in Portland. I’d been released in time for Christmas with my grandparents, and now, finally, I was literally on the doorstep of my next chapter a couple of days before the new year.

The yellow Victorian owned by Dad’s friend, Eric, with its wide front porch and white trim, was in the historic district of Mount Hope, an area I’d always found laughably kitschy when I was in town visiting my grandparents as a kid. However, with the whole neighborhood still decked out for the holidays, I could see the appeal. All the decorations looked ready for a Christmas card painting.

A bitter wind whistled while I waited for my dad to grab my bags from his truck and join me on the porch. I was far more mobile these days, using a scooter-walker with a padded seat for my injured leg, but Dad had insisted on getting me situated before making another trip for my luggage. Given that my dadlived on the property, we could have gone in through the back entrance, but the front of the house had a narrow ramp for easier access with my scooter.

I’d met Eric and his four teens a few times, but I had only vague memories of the kids and Eric’s late husband. When his husband died, Eric needed help and my dad and other friends had pitched in, which was why my dad and Denver rented the carriage house.

I tugged my too-thin jacket closer. Most of my belongings were either in Arizona, storage, or scattered only God knew where. I hadn’t been around for the wrap-up of the motocross season, so I’d had to rely on Joey and others hastily boxing up my clothes and gear.

The massive oak front door swung open as my dad lumbered up the ramp with my bags.

“Skull fracture is such an imprecise term.” A short teenager, maybe fourteen, with wild, frizzy hair and aScience, Not SpeculationT-shirt stood in front of me, blocking the entrance. “Did you know the human skull contains twenty-two bones? Also, I’ve been studying ocular migraines. How’s your nutrition? In particular?—”

“Wren.” My dad cut off the amateur teen MD, but his tone was fond. “How about you let Declan in the house?”

“Sorry, sorry.” Another teen appeared behind Wren, this one older, probably closer to eighteen. He was tall and thin with elfin features and wore pink sweatpants and a loose, cropped shirt with a peach outlined in glitter. The peach danced as he gestured at the first teen. “This is Wren. They’re a bit…enthusiastic that you’re joining us. I’m Rowan.”

Awkward handshakes were exchanged while I tried to keep my balance on my scooter as we finally entered the house. The entryway featured gleaming hardwood floors and a large staircase, and it was entirely too narrow for all of us.

Right as I was about to ask where my room was, my dad’s phone trilled with an incoming message. He set my bags down so he could fish out his phone. A lifetime of being a firefighter’s kid meant I knew what was coming even before he shook his head and exhaled a telltale harsh breath.

“I hate to throw you to the wolves…er…teens, but it’s the week between Christmas and New Year’s, and folks are calling in left and right. The station needs me to come cover a shift.”

“Of course.” I made a shooing motion. Any impulse I had to ask him to wait a few minutes had passed decades ago. When the station called, he had to go, and that was that. “Go.”

“I can help you get to your room, at least.” Dad’s mouth twisted, expression going pained.

“I’ve got it.” I forced a smile. Didn’t need him feeling guilty about doing his job. Simply a fact of life, nothing personal, and if my chest pinched, I knew by now how to ignore it.

“Love you.” Dad pulled me in for a quick hug. We were Murphys from a long line of first responders, not all of whom got to come home, and we always saidI love you,no matter what.

Dad headed out, which left me and the teens staring at each other. I’d maybe met these two in passing at a Mount Hope event when we were all a lot younger, but I wasn’t sure. I’d been hoping for more familiar faces. Okay, that was a lie. I’d been specifically hoping Jonas would be home to greet me, but like my dad, he probably had to work long hours during the holidays. It was a bit silly how eager I was to see the guy again.

Jonas had visited twice while I’d been at the rehab facility in Portland, mercifully without my dad, and we’d spent most of the time talking and eating the takeout he’d brought to give me a break from hospital food. He’d kept his word, though, and had read for a bit from the mystery book each time. Before Christmas, he’d gifted me a subscription to an audiobook serviceand a list of audio titles I might enjoy, but I didn’t know how to tell him it was him I liked even more than the mysteries.

“Could you point me toward my room?” I asked the kids. I had a pack of tween and teen cousins, but even when I’d been one of the teens myself, I’d always felt a bit removed, unsure of how to interact outside the narrow context of motocross events. Promo I could handle. Small talk, not so much.

“Absolutely. And you don’t have to worry about your bags. I’ll get them.” Rowan picked up both bags, a large black duffel and a red backpack, one in each hand. “Ooh, look at me. Weights and cardio at the same time. Follow me.”

“You sure you can lift both those?” I wasn’t sure what to make of this kid and his obvious delight, all while looking like the wind could carry him away.

“Yep. I delayed my mandatory PE credit until senior year.” Rowan gave a shrug of his slim shoulders while waiting for me to accompany him down the hall toward the rear of the house. “The only thing that fit my schedule this year was a strength training class. Semester two of torture starts after the new year. I need the practice.”

Agreeing with him would be rude, so I adopted a more pragmatic tone. “Everyone is good at something. Maybe you just haven’t found your sport.”

I wouldn’t know because even before discovering motocross, I’d been an athletic kid, Little League, soccer, all that. I had decent hand-eye coordination and good stamina, which served me well when I switched to motocross.

“Have you seen me?” Rowan paused to pirouette, a nifty trick while holding the bags. What he lacked in muscles, he sure made up in grace. “I don’t have a sport unless we’re counting dancing, and even then, it better be for a musical number.”

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