Page 41 of Fire Fight
After I’d spilled my guts about how I obtained my wounds, he had some fucking nerve telling the little rat to kick me out.
I had half a mind to murder him, but that’d only provide a legitimately excuse for my arrest.
Okay, Aspen. Think. This isn’t the end of the world. You’ve been in worse situations before.
With a sigh that I hoped would expel all the furious energy brewing beneath my skin—spoiler: it didn’t—I pulled into the first parking lot I found, withdrew my phone, and clicked into the Airbnb app.
Ten minutes later, I had a new place booked, and I smiled smugly as I headed toward the adorable little cottage on the edge of town. The directions took me back by the impound lot, and I realized how truly small this town was.
I’d never lived somewhere with such a tiny population, where you could drive end to end of the city limits in under ten minutes. After nearly a month in Dusk Valley and the shit I’d endured, staying in this one longer than I had to wasn’t likely.
I was halfway to the new rental when my phone dinged with an email.
Reservation Cancelled
“What the fuck…”
Steering Black Betty to the shoulder, I put her in park and read the email.
We regret to inform you that the host has cancelled this booking…
I didn’t bother looking at the rest, merely sent it flying toward my trash folder and booked another one.
After three more attempts with the same result, I finally gave up.
It seemed the sheriff had covered his bases.
Unbidden, hot, angry tears spilled from my eyes, and though I tried to wipe them away and pull myself together, they morphed from the silent kind to body-wracking sobs in an instant.
God, I was so fucking tired.
I’d had a good life once. A beautiful apartment looking out on Chicago’s Mag Mile and Lake Michigan beyond, a job I loved, amazing friends, and parents who respected me.
The version of me from five years ago wouldn’t recognize the woman I’d become. Somehow, I thought that was for the best.Thatversion of Aspen McKay would be horrified to learn I now called home a five hundred-square-foot apartment over my office, though I basically lived out of my twenty-year-old vehicle. That I rarely wore makeup, nothing in my wardrobe contained a designer label, and I hadn’t gotten a manicure in years.
I let it all out. The hurt, the anger, the sheer exhaustion. I refused to be run out of this town so easily, but I’d be damned if the way these people shunned me didn’t sting an awful lot, like salt in an open wound.
A rap on my window snapped my eyes open, and I startled enough to smoke my head off the roof. After cranking the window down a hair, I said, “Can I help you?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing.”
The woman was likely in her mid-fifties, strawberry blonde hair chopped above her shoulders, an AirPod resting in one ear and an excited dog pulling on the leash in her left hand. A sizable square-cut diamond glittered on her finger. She looked like the portrait of a quintessential suburban housewife.
“I’m okay,” I assured her. “Just having a rough couple of days.”
“If you’re sure…” she trailed off, eyeing me suspiciously.
For the first time since I’d parked here, I took in my surroundings, realizing I’d stopped in front of a cute craftsman home in the middle of a quiet neighborhood. Along the street, curtains on front windows twitched as the residents checked me out.
“I’m sure,” I promised. “I was just leaving.”
The woman merely nodded and took off at a brisk jog in thedirection opposite of which I faced, though I didn’t miss her glancing over her shoulder periodically until I pulled away from the curb and turned a corner.
A few more random turns had me back on the main drag, and I slammed to a stop in front of the cafe, an idea forming in my mind. A visit to a certain firefighter was exactly what I needed to distract me from the hellscape my life had become.
The bell above the door tinkled soothingly as I pushed inside, an intoxicating blend of sugar, coffee, and freshly baked bread wrapping me in a warm hug.
“Welcome to The Spout,” the younger girl working the register said. “What can I get for you?”
