Page 49 of Burn It Down

“Ow. Fuck.”Rubbing the back of my head, I turn to my father. “Why?”

“Why do you think? They had two more busted windows this morning and someone slashed the tires of that old pickup they keep out back for hauling their goods.”

“I can’t imagine the street without them on it.”

“They aren’t the only ones. The owners of that bistro put aFor Salesign in the window this morning.”

My dad comes over to the Porsche and props an elbow on the top of the car.

“Dyl, we need to start looking at options. We’ve gotta be realistic. If things don’t turn around, it won’t be safe to stay here anymore. We’re already losing customers and with the increase to our property taxes this year and the new city rules, reducing the number of places we can post signs for advertising, it doesn’t make me excited to sink more money into this place.”

The rational part of my brain knows he’s right, but the emotional side of my brain wants to tell him to fuck all the way off.

I rub the sore spot on the back of my head as he drums his fingers on the metal car and slaps it once with his hand.

“Your sister told me she wants to make some changes. Maybe you and I should follow suit.”

Dammit, Cassie.

“I’m not saying no, but can we talk about this later? I told Mrs. Golding I’d have the Porsche done by four-thirty.

“Sure, son.”

I’m still at the shop just getting cleaned up when my phone dings. I’m fucking starving and I could use a good buzz before having to talk to my dad about the future. Wanting to finish up and head home, I’m all set to ignore the message until I see the name on my screen and remember that Jake is on at the fire station tonight.

Jake 7:42pm

Just got settled

After what happened in his kitchen, I figured I should probably change his name in my phone to hisactualname and I’m glad things have moved us in that direction even if I can’t exactly tell which direction that is.

Dylan 7:42pm

What happens next?

Jake 7:42pm

Next at the fire station or next with us?

Dylan 7:43pm

Both?

Jake 7:43pm

Can I just call you?

I call him first instead of texting him back and my smile widens when I hear the huskiness in his short greeting.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

It feels like forever since he called to tell me about the concert this morning.

“Tell me about the fire station,” I demand, not caring at all if my worry for his safety is conveyed openly over the line.

“Well, I’m on with three other guys. Knox is here tonight too, so that’s cool. At our station, the volunteers work twelve-hour shifts. Our full-time guys — that’s Phoenix — work twenty-four hours on, forty-eight hours off.”

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