Page 43 of The Fire We Crave

Maybe I can get Smoke to admit that we’re something more than two people caught up in something they don’t want to be.

Me:I’d love to.

12

SMOKE

Ilean back in the Adirondack chair, eyes closed beneath my sunglasses, and run my fingers loosely over the neck of my beer.

Everyone else seems to be out in the sun, enjoying the very last of the August cookouts we’re going to have, and I’m tucked beneath the large tree in the shade.

Because burns don’t like being burned.

Not every burn has a dressing. Some patches of skin were lightly burned and blistered, and I swear when the sun touched them, it was as though someone had touched me with a cattle iron.

So here I am, attempting to drink and sleep my way out of my funk.

Life goes on around me. Old ladies chase after kids, AC/DC plays loudly, and there’s the smell of grilling meat. But the grill is too close to the planters one of the old ladies filled. Too many cigarettes are getting stubbed out on the dirt. And I’m about to lose my ever-loving shit at the number of kids running around in the chaos near naked flames.

Meanwhile, I can’t stop thinking how Hassan, Tim, and Billy will never get the chance to enjoy a day like this. The breeze prickles over my skin and irritation grates through me, shredding my insides. Breezes become winds, winds become unpredictable, and something utterly uncontrollable can take lives in a heartbeat.

It feels wrong that I’m sitting here, allegedly enjoying a beer on a sunny day with my brothers, when those men are gone, buried or cremated. Fuck, knowing the butterfly effect, there could be traces of Tim’s ashes in the breeze.

Whether my eyes are open or closed, I can still see his face, the moment he realized he wasn’t going to make it. The moment I managed to resuscitate him long enough to tell me to let his mom know he loved her.

My hands shook as I moved them over his eyelids to close them.

They came to the hospital and took all the statements for the investigation. I’ve done everything I was supposed to. Except call my fire chief back.

Life has taken on this wild cycle where my thoughts go back to the fire, yet they’re interspersed with trying to figure out how to live a normal life again.

I take a large gulp of the beer in my hand. I’ve got no idea whether this is bottle number five or seventeen. Just that beer has been the only thing keeping me moving through the day as I think of Quinn packing up to leave my house.

And I try not to think about what happened the last time I was drunk. How I ended up in bed with Quinn. How I wish I’d been sober enough to be aware of any of it, so I could remember what it felt like to hold her against me.

Because despite all my words this morning, I needed her out so I could stamp out the flicker of feelings I have for her. Because out of sight is out of mind.

At some point, I consider getting up to grab some food. Some steak and a plate full of potato salad. But I started pouring alcohol into my system about two hours ago and haven’t looked back.

When there’s a thud next to me, I open one eye to see who it is.

“Brought you this,” Atom says, shoving a plate of the food I’d been considering at me. There are long, juicy ribs covered in a thick barbecue sauce, a steak, cooked to perfection, fresh summer corn on the cob, potato salad, more coleslaw than I can face, and a bread roll plopped on top like a cherry. “Eat it, because your alcohol-to-protein ratio is fucked.”

“Was just thinking that solid food would take up the room of at least another four of these.”

Atom tosses a fork at me. “Just eat the food instead of moping.”

I wriggle up the chair a little. The food smells good, and despite my protestations, I’m gonna attempt to lick this plate clean. “Who said I’m moping?”

“Well, Butcher said he tried to talk to you and got monosyllabic answers. Isla said she tried to talk to you, and you just ignored her. And we all know Dice is already in the back room starting up a sex train with Poppy and Karlie, and you would normally be the first to choo-choo your way to that motherfucker.”

He does the thing with his hand that kids do, like he’s pulling down on the horn of a truck or train.

I flip him the bird. “You wanna try fucking with open and oozing burns on your ribs? One thrust and something splits open.”

Atom looks down at his own plate. “Now there’s a delicious image as I’m about to eat my food.”

I shake my head and smirk.

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