From Air by Jewel E. Ann
- Alisha Eadle
- May 6
- 24 min read
From Air
by Jewel E. Ann
Self-Published
Book 1 in the Wildfire Series
When Jamie Andrews moves in with a house full of firefighters, things start heating up fast.
Battling the wilderness of rural Montana, these guys are always charging into danger—for a living, for duty, for the rush—and since Jamie is a psychiatric nurse, they fascinate her analytic mind. She can’t help but fixate on Calvin, a grumpy, enigmatic smoke jumper ten years her senior. She makes playfully tormenting him her pet project, trying to get him to open up. It turns out he gives as good as he gets.
When something smoldering between them sparks, they’ll have to keep it quiet, which makes Jamie start to wonder about Calvin’s secret, the one he won’t explain. She’ll learn more after life pulls them apart. But as she follows the truth like a trail of flame into the dark, will it lead her to hearth and home with Calvin…or will it all go up in a blaze?
Genre
Triggers
Forest Fires, Plane Diving, Trauma from losing family in fire, Nurse who specializes with patents that suffer with mental illness, learning a family member did something terrible.
I've been on a Jewel E. Ann kick lately, and going through her catalogue of books. While the series isn't yet complete, I decided to download From Air.
I really enjoyed it.
It's not my favorite of her books, but I really, really enjoyed it.
How can I not? The main male character is grumpy and sarcastic. SO MANY of his lines, felt like they could have come out of my own husbands mouth.
I love a grumpy MMC.
I loved Jamie's sunshine demeanor and her witty comebacks with Fitz.
Their banter was so much fun to read, and had me smiling like a loon on my commute to work.
But it isn't a Jewel E. Ann book if she doesn't tear your heart to a million pieces. There was some really sad parts of this story, and it all comes together in a way I honestly didn't predict.
That is one of the things about Jewel E. Ann's writing that I love. I go into something, so sure its going to turn out a certain way, and it doesn't.
While From Air isn't my favorite of her work, it's definitely a great book. I can't wait to continue the series.
Fitz: “I officially feel violated,”
Peeling my gaze from his bare chest, I swallow and smile. My lips tremble, so I press them together.
Jamie: “I have a friend. An herbalist. She makes oils and salves that help scars fade. Good ingredients like, uh . . .”
I hug my clothes tighter as Fitz lifts an eyebrow.
Jamie: “Calendula, lavender, salvia . . . I think some sort of nut oil.”
Fitz: “A nut oil?”
My cheeks burn.
Jamie: “I think it’s a European filbert or hazelnut.”
I stare at my feet, briefly closing my eyes. Shut up, Jaymes!
Fitz: “For my scars, not my nuts. Correct?”
Will and Maren were right—Calvin Fitzgerald is an asshole. He’s feasting on my embarrassment.
Jamie: “I can ask my friend if there’s anything in the salve that might help you grow a pair, but no guarantees.”
I lift my chin and smirk, enjoying this triumphant feeling.
Fitz: “Sucks being homeschooled.”
Jamie: “Why?”
He cinches the tie on his sweatpants.
Fitz: “Because you’re given a copious amount of information—Jeopardy!-level miscellaneous information. And while it might make you the most interesting person in the room, it’s not usually in a good way. What starts as an herbal salve recommendation becomes an awkward conversation about testicles.”
Jamie: “I’m a nurse, Fitz. I can talk testicles all day. What do you want to know? Need me to see if yours have dropped yet?”
I mentally air punch—the right words at the right time. I can tell Montana is a perfect fit for me. Fitz confirms this by rubbing his fingers over his lips to hide his grin.
Fitz: “Welcome to Missoula, Jaymes Andrews.”
Fitz: “Yeah, speaking of your legs. You should lift with them when you shovel. Your back’s going to hurt like a motherfucker in the morning.”
Jamie: “Oh? Did you make that observation while you watched me dig out my Jeep?”
He opens the book he brought down.
Fitz: “I did.”
Jamie: “You could have helped.”
I stir my reheated soup.
Fitz: “And I probably would have, but rumor has it I’m broken. Maybe you can fix that, and then I’ll have the mental and emotional capacity to recognize when a damsel is in distress.”
Jamie: “Did I look like a damsel in distress?”
I glare at him. He focuses on his book.
Fitz: “I don’t know what you looked like. I just know it was painful to watch.”
Fitz: “I shoveled a path from the driveway to your shed,”
Fitz says with his back to me while stirring something on the stove that smells savory, garlicky, and delicious.
Fitz: “So you don’t have to track snow through the house or remove your boots only to take ten steps and have to put them back on.”
Jamie: “Then you wouldn’t get to see my lovely face.”
I slip off my boots and tug at my scarf.
Fitz: “I’d get by.”
Will: “Are you sleeping with her? You’d better stay out of her pants, or Maren and I will fight over who’s going to kill you. It’s a rule. A hard line that can’t be crossed.”
I keep my head bowed to my phone.
Fitz: “Why would you ask me that?”
Will: “Because she’s been cordial to you—dare I say flat-out thoughtful? If you’re not giving her regular orgasms, then it makes no sense.”
Fitz: “Sometimes I do push-ups in the kitchen and let her watch.”
Will: “You’re an idiot.”
Will laughs.
Jamie: “Calvin Fitzgerald, if you think for a single minute that you can make me go weak in the knees and manipulate me into forgetting about what you did and what you have coming, then you are delusional.”
Walk away. Nope. I can’t. Instead, I grin, but I don’t speak. I step closer to her, but I don’t touch her. Her chin inches upward in defiance.
Fitz: “If you’re so immune to me, so steady in the knees, then why did you moan when I sucked your finger?”
Her nose wrinkles.
Jamie: “I did not.”
Fitz: “You did.”
Just when I think I have her, she takes the last step between us and uses the same finger I sucked to jab into my chest, reminiscent of the thing that started all this.
Jamie: “If I made a noise, it was a groan, not a moan.”
Fitz: “Is there a difference?”
Jamie: “Yes. A moan indicates pleasure. A groan indicates distress or suffering. Fitz, you could never make me moan.”
Fitz: “You blushed.”
She shakes her head.
Jamie: “It was anger . . . distress and suffering. You can suck all of my fingers and all ten toes if that’s what does it for you, but it won’t ever make me weak in the knees.”
Fitz: “I bet there’s somewhere I could put my mouth that would make you weak in the knees.”
Why THE FUCK did I say that? A plume of embarrassment spreads from her neck to the tips of her ears. Oh, yeah. That’s why I said it.
Fitz: “Look.”
I run my knuckles along her neck, and she shudders. Although I’m sure it’s a frightened shiver.
Fitz: “You’re red again. I’d better leave you alone before you get any more hot and bothered. I mean . . . angry and distressed.”
Todd: “Well, are you going to give her the tour, or am I?”
Todd addresses Fitz with a grin.
Jamie: “I really should get back to work.”
I peek at my watch.
Todd: “It won’t take that long,”
Todd promises, grabbing another cookie and shoving half of it into his mouth.
Jamie: “Well”
—I corkscrew my lips—
Jamie: “I suppose I have time for a quickie.”
Gary covers his mouth and coughs a laugh while Todd perks up with a face-splitting grin.
Fitz: “Christ,”
Fitz mumbles, stuffing the last part of his sandwich into his bag.
Todd: “A quickie it is.”
Todd begins to stand. Fitz grabs his shoulder.
Fitz: “Just sit your ass down.”
He jerks his head in the direction from which I came.
Fitz: “Let’s go, Jaymes.”
Fitz: “We’re even now. Understood?”
He shoots me a hawkish expression.
Jamie: “Even? Whatever do you mean? I brought you and your friends cookies.”
Fitz: “And I’m giving you the quickie you suggested. We’re even.”
He nods to the room with sewing machines.
Fitz: “That’s where we sew shit.”
We parade a few more feet, and he points to the right.
Fitz: “That’s the ready room. And over there is the loft, and the rigging room is beyond that.”
He turns abruptly, and I bump into him. When I take a step back, he gives me a tight grin.
Fitz: “There was your quickie. Thanks for coming by.”
I snicker, offering him an easy nod while wetting my lips.
Jamie: “Was it good for you? I’m not gonna lie—I didn’t climax this time. Perhaps Todd would have been more effective.”
I peer toward the rooms we didn’t visit.
Jamie: “You barely gave me the tip. Maybe that’s all you have to give. A dickhead of sorts.”
He crosses his sinewy arms.
Fitz: “Are you done?”
I bounce my head noncommittally.
Jamie: “Are you?”
He blinks several times before he surveys the entire length of my body. I hold stone still and think of gross things like vomit and nasty flatulence, anything to keep from blushing. Fitz feeds off my uncontrolled vulnerability.
Fitz: “How deep do you want it?”
he asks in a throaty voice, reaching for my hand and pulling me toward the tall room with hooks hanging from the ceiling. I try to focus on the surroundings since I’ve never seen a room like this one. However, all my focus goes to my hand in his. Mine’s cold but soft. His is calloused but warm. And despite our size difference, my hand fits nicely in his. That notion sends me down another rabbit hole. Would other parts of our bodies fit this well?
In the next breath, he drags me through another door, leading to a room with lengthy tables and walls of cubbies with packs. He drags me to the far end at a vicious pace and stops, releasing my hand and spreading his arms like the Christ the Redeemer statue.
Fitz: “We went all the way. Did that do it for you?”
I hold his gaze, and we have a stare-off. Then I mutter,
Jamie: “I could use a cigarette.”
Fitz’s facade cracks, and he grins.
Fitz: “Get the fuck out of here.”
I bite my lower lip and pivot, retracing my steps to the exit.
Best I’ve ever had, I mouth as I peek over my shoulder.
Jamie: “He’s never brought anyone here for the night?”
She shakes her head, bending the tab of her LaCroix can.
Maren: “Have you seen Lars and the Real Girl with Ryan Gosling?”
Jamie: “No.”
I tear off a paper towel to wipe my hands.
Maren: “Well, he plays a character in love with a life-size doll named Bianca. Will’s waiting to meet Fitz’s Bianca doll.”
Fitz: “What did you do to them?”
He sets the empty cookie container on the counter.
Jamie: “Do to them?”
Fitz: “Yes. What did you do to them?”
He steps past me, snatching a kombucha from the fridge.
Fitz: “Poison? Pubes?”
Jamie: “Pubes?”
I suppress my laughter.
Jamie: “I’ve spent my life in a bikini, Fitz. I don’t have pubes to spare for your pizza.”
Jamie: “I heard you’re dating a blow-up doll. That screams abandonment. Are your parents still alive? Did you get dumped by your one true love? Did your family dog get hit by a car?”
There’s a pregnant pause. No words. Not even a blink. It’s just me and Fitz’s unreadable expression. Finally, he blows out a slow breath and stares at his feet.
Fitz: “She’s not inflatable. Her name is Mrs. Wilke, after my parents’ old neighbor who touched me inappropriately the summer I turned fourteen. She invited me over to discuss payment for mowing her yard. She told me to sit on the sofa while she fetched her purse. When she returned, she asked me if I liked her dress. I shrugged. Then she said it was made of the softest cotton her skin had ever felt. And she asked me if I wanted to feel it. I shrugged again. In the next breath, she grabbed my hand and guided it up her arm and then down the inside for some serious sideboob action, holding it there. And she said, ‘How does that feel, Calvin?’”
I can’t move. Can’t breathe. And Calvin’s frown deepens with each word as his eyes narrow at the floor between us.
Jamie: “I’m sorry.”
He shrugs one shoulder and sighs.
Fitz: “So I named my sex doll Mrs. Wilke. And when I fuck her, I say, ‘How does that feel, Mrs. Wilke?’”
What the hell? Calvin finally glances up at me and scratches his chin beneath his barely restrained grin. And that says it all—everything is a lie.
Jamie: “Sucks being homeschooled.”
I wink and saunter toward the door for my boots and coat.
Jamie: “Fitz, if you and Mrs. Wilke are ever open to a threesome, let me know. It’s been a fantasy of mine for years.”
She eyes my reflection in her mirror while applying lip gloss.
Jamie: “Are we fake dating or just best buds? How much alcohol are you allowed to have? And do I prevent you from having sex or just make sure you’re properly fitted with a condom?”
Jamie: “Oh, look. A full moon.”
She tips her head back and grins in the crisp air of the windless night as I descend the driveway to the desolate street.
Jamie: “Did you know that a white moon cycle results in higher rates of boy babies? That’s when you’re ovulating during a full moon.”
Fitz: “I haven’t ovulated during a full moon, but sometimes I turn into a werewolf.”
She giggles.
Jamie: “I would love that so much. Calvin the werewolf.”
Jamie: “I’m working on my profile for this dating app. What would you say are my best qualities?”
He stops midchew and lifts a brow at me.
Jamie: “Fine. I’ll go first. If I were helping you with a dating profile, I’d say you’re adventurous, funny, and loyal.”
Fitz: “Sounds like a profile for a dog,”
he murmurs behind a brown paper napkin.
Jamie: “News flash. Most women love dogs. If you could channel your inner canine, you’d be an immediate swipe right.”
Jamie: “You’re killing me, Fitz. If that’s not true, the only explanation is that you don’t like me enough to ask me about myself. My family. My hobbies.”
I tuck my fingers in the back pockets of my jeans and position myself a foot from him.
Jamie: “When Maren and Will speak unfavorably of you, I defend you. I’ve never visited them at work with cookies. I don’t bake their favorite brownies. I haven’t accompanied them to any parties. I’m your person, but you’re not mine. And that’s okay.”
Jamie: “Thank you,”
I murmur before scraping my teeth along my lower lip and averting my gaze.
Fitz: “Anything for my person.”
Jamie: “You kissed me, Fitz. Twice. Why did you kiss me?”
Fitz: “Because not kissing you became too exhausting.”
When I race past the entry, I find Jamie standing on the kitchen counter, one hand gripping the top of the fridge and her other hand cupped over her mouth. Eyes wide. Legs shaking. I don’t smell smoke. Is someone in the house? I can’t get a read on the situation other than that she’s paralyzed with panic.
Jamie: “Run!”
She points toward me. A mouse runs past my boot and hides under the sofa. I follow the mouse’s path, inspecting every kitchen corner before glancing at Jamie.
Fitz: “Where is it?”
Her brow lines with as much confusion as I have in mine.
Jamie: “You just watched it run under the sofa.”
Fitz: “No. Where is the rattlesnake? The bear? The mountain lion? The escaped convict? Where is the scary thing that was chasing the mouse?”
She scowls.
Fitz: “Tell me you’re not on the counter screaming your lungs out at a measly little mouse.”
Jamie: “Did you see it? All”
—she wiggles her fingers—
Jamie: “fast and twitchy. Beady little eyes. A horrifying critter spreading disease, stealing food, and chewing through the furniture.”
Fitz: “Get down.”
I hold out my hand. She shakes her head, pulling down the long sleeves of her fitted white T-shirt to hide her hands.
Fitz: “It’s under the sofa. Get it.”
I try not to laugh, but she’s quite the sight.
Fitz: “Maybe I need to get on the counter too. Will might show up soon. He was looking for it the other day. Why should I risk my life if you’re unwilling to risk yours?”
Her frown deepens.
Jamie: “I’m irrationally scared of a mouse. I need you to be my hero today and get rid of it. Is that what you need to hear?”
My lips corkscrew, and I nod several times.
Fitz: “That works. Be right back. Keep an eye on Mickey.”
I spread peanut butter on the mousetrap and set it.
Jamie: “No. Nooo way.”
I place the trap by the sofa.
Jamie: “Fitz, no. You can’t kill it.”
Fitz: “Sorry, Jaymes. We don’t have a choice. When bears attack humans, they have to be put down because they’ve tasted human blood, which means they’re more likely to attack humans again. Mice are no different.”
I return the peanut butter to the fridge.
Fitz: “That mouse has heard your terrified screams. Now it craves that reaction and will dedicate its life to scaring the shit out of you. If I don’t eliminate the mouse, it will hunt you down, run across your bare feet, and burrow into your shed.”
Jamie: "Most days, I can’t decide if you like me or can’t stand me.”
Her lips turn into a pouty frown. I rest my hands next to hers on the edge of the counter.
Fitz: “I like you too much.”
Jamie: “I’m not having sex with you, Fitz,”
she whispers when my gaze drifts to her neck and lower to the outline of her nipples beneath her tight shirt.
Fitz: “If I had a dime for every time I heard that”
—I lean in until my nose touches her neck, inhaling her floral scent while my lips skate along her collarbone—
Fitz: “I’d have zero dimes.”
I retrieve the trapped mouse and hold it in the air. Maren doesn’t flinch.
Maren: “Will’s going to be thrilled.”
Fitz: “Unlike Jamie.”
I smirk. Maren laughs, shrugging off her brown wool coat.
Maren: “That did look suspect for a moment. Is that why she was holding on to you for dear life?”
Fitz: “No. She suddenly felt really horny. I tried to push her away, but—”
Maren snorts.
Maren: “I’m not buying that one.”
She collapses onto the sofa and checks her phone. Good. I don’t want her to buy it.
Fitz: “I’m going to toss Mickey in the trash and make sure our new roomie isn’t stuck in the corner of the shed in the fetal position.”
Fitz: “Seeing if Mickey has a family?”
She flips her head up, kneeling on the bed, and flicks the hair out of her eyes.
Jamie: “Fitz, you killed that mouse. I swear I heard it scream. Did you hear it? And, oh my god.”
She covers her mouth for a second, eyes wide.
Jamie: “We. Almost. Got. Caught.”
I acknowledge her with an easy nod.
Fitz: “We should stop.”
I 1,000 percent don’t mean it.
Jamie smiles, but it looks forced.
Jamie: “Well, there you have it. You’ll have more time for Mrs. Wilke now that you’re not kissing me.”
She stands at her mirror and brushes her hair.
Jamie: “I hope I haven’t driven a wedge between you. If you need me to apologize for my behavior, I’d happily help get you out of the doghouse.”
It’s impossible to hide my grin.
Fitz: “I’ll handle her. I’m quite good at it.”
Jamie’s cheeks turn red, but she giggles and throws my favorite line back at me.
Jamie: “Get the fuck out of here.”
Jamie: “You knew I’d be worth the wait.”
Fitz gives me a sidelong glance.
Fitz: “Yeah. You’re worth a two-minute wait.”
He returns his attention to the road.
Jamie: “Five minutes?”
He bobs his head in contemplation.
Jamie: “Ten?”
Fitz: “No.”
He shoves his fingers into a ball and picks it up.
Jamie: “That’s a little too much ball for you. Size down,”
I say, picking out a pretty six-pound green ball with sparkles.
Fitz: “I don’t know how to handle anything but big balls.”
Jamie: “Stop,”
I snort, returning to Gary and Evette.
Fitz: “You started it,”
he mutters behind me.
His head slants to the side, eyes narrowed a fraction.
Fitz: “Death is the bane of my existence. Not you.”
What? Fitz’s confession grips my heart and squeezes hard. Where the hell did that come from?
Fitz: “You’re an illusion.”
He messes with my backpack strap, giving his gaze a new place to focus.
Fitz: “A distraction. I can’t stop looking at you. And I can’t stop navigating closer to you, even though I know you’re unreachable.”
Jamie: “Be—”
I start to speak, but my thoughts trip over his words. I don’t understand.
Jamie: “Because we live together?”
His lips bend into a sad smile when he returns his gaze to mine, and his knuckles brush my cheek.
Fitz: “Because death is the bane of my existence.”
He drops his hand and continues toward our gate.
A woman’s heart is woven from equal parts strength and vulnerability. Its love knows no boundaries. But it demands accountability. I’ll never ask Fitz why he broke my heart. I’ll simply insist upon him acknowledging that he did it.
With him at my back, I give her a tight smile and wide eyes.
Jamie: “Be cool. Okay?”
Her gaze remains glued to him.
Melissa: “Pfft. My middle name is Cool.”
She shoulders past me.
Melissa: “Hi. I’m Melissa, Jamie’s BFF. You must be the gift she brought me.”
Yep. She’s so cool.
Jamie: “Calvin, this is Melissa. Mel, this is my roommate, Calvin.”
Her merlot-painted lips twist as she offers him her hand.
Melissa: “Sex Dream Calvin?”
Please, God. Just let me die. His smile swells in increments, right along with his ego. I think he’s two inches taller than he was just moments ago.
Fitz: “In the flesh,”
Melissa: “I put clean sheets on my bed. You two can have it, or—”
Jamie: “I’ll sleep with you. Fitz will sleep on the sofa.”
Fitz clears his throat.
Fitz: “Or, I can sleep with Melissa, and you can sleep on the—”
Jamie: “Stop!”
I giggle.
Jamie: “Mel, you have to promise to ignore everything Fitz says. Bullshit is his native language.”
She blots her brow.
Melissa: “What? Sorry. I didn’t hear anything after Fitz suggested he sleep with me.”
Fitz: “Do you sleep on the right or left? Top or bottom?”
he asks with a smirk. Melissa bites her lower lip.
Jamie: “Go.”
I push my roller bag in her direction.
Jamie: “I just said to ignore him."
Jamie: “Can you behave?”
I cross my arms. He wets his lips, barely hiding his grin.
Fitz: “I thought the point of coming here was so I didn’t have to behave.”
Jamie: “I thought the whole point of you staying at a hotel was because you know you can’t behave.”
Fitz: “No.”
He steps to the window and peers out at the busy street.
Fitz: “The hotel was for your benefit. You knew you couldn’t keep from jumping me.”
Melissa: “Who’s jumping who?”
Melissa rejoins us.
Jamie: “Nobody’s jumping anyone.”
Fitz: “Jaymes, you’re my favorite kind of wrong. And I want to watch you come again.”
Jamie: “I’m com . . . I’m . . .”
Each breath chases the next as I come undone beneath him.
Fitz: “Of course you are,”
he says, just as the legs of Melissa’s sofa decide to whine in protest of his vigorous movements.
An uncomfortable silence settles around us.
Jamie: “I’m on the pill, in case you were wondering.”
Fitz: “I’ve had a vasectomy, in case you were wondering.”
My head pivots toward him.
Jamie: “Because you were tired of counting sperm?”
He smirks.
Fitz: “Exactly.”
My lips twist for a few seconds.
Jamie: “But I do have genital herpes.”
Fitz: “I have crabs,”
he says, glancing at me with a serious expression.
Fitz doesn’t respond with words. He rests one hand on my back and the other on my butt. My person.
Jamie: “I dreamed we did something we weren’t supposed to do.”
She pulls her nightshirt over her head and threads her arms through.
Fitz: “You and your dreams. You’re such a perv.”
Her grin doubles.
Jamie: “Oh, Fitzy, you have no idea.”
She pads her way to the bedroom.
Noah shifts his attention to me, stretching his neck and pulling his shoulders back as if he now has something to prove. I don’t give a shit that he’s a nurse and I’m part of an elite group of wildland firefighters. We don’t need to compare dick sizes. That’s never been my game. But for the record, my dick’s twice the size of his. And Jamie knows it.
Jamie: “What was that back there?”
Fitz: “What was what?”
I head toward the food, since drinks are no longer an option.
Jamie: “You were kind of a dick to Noah.”
I take a plate and start piling food onto it.
Fitz: “You think?”
Jamie: “Yes. I think.”
Fitz: “But would you say I was the bigger dick?”
Jamie: “He wasn’t—”
She catches it a little too late, and her smile wins.
Jamie: “You’re an idiot.”
Fitz: “You mean I have a bigger dick.”
Jamie: “I’m still your person. Right?”
It takes him a moment to bring his gaze to mine. He looks lost, like he didn’t hear what I said.
Fitz: “Yeah,”
he murmurs.
Fitz: “You’re my best person.”
Jamie: “Maren’s birthday is this weekend. She has to work but thinks she’ll be home Sunday afternoon. I’m going to make her a German chocolate cake. Her favorite. Do you think we should do anything else for her?”
Fitz: “What about sex?”
I shake my head.
Jamie: “I don’t think she wants that for her birthday. Or are you saying you and Maren should have sex for her birthday? Or all three of us? At that point, it seems unfair to leave Will out of it. Are you thinking of a full-on orgy?”
I nod past him.
Jamie: “Maybe check with Gary and Evette. Oh Lord, you can’t forget Mrs. Wilke."
Jamie: “I will have a life, and it will be phenomenal. I will find him, and he will be mine. And to do that, I have to let you go.”
My gaze climbs up his chest to his face—his oh-so-heartbreaking face.
Jamie: “But I’m okay with you never letting me go. I hope you think back to this moment when your life feels lonely. And if you only remember one thing, let it be this. On a random Wednesday, the world’s most fascinating woman stopped by your work and offered you sex. But you turned her down.”
Fitz: “Yet here I am. Fumbling my words and wallowing around outside my comfort zone because I made you my person, and you don’t fit in my life, but my life no longer fits me without you.”
Jamie: “Calvin Fitzgerald?”
I yell, wiping my tears before they escape. He stops, but he doesn’t turn.
Jamie: “If you were normal and didn’t have an awful past, do you think you could love me?”
My fierce heart always trumps my controlled thoughts. I’m not sure he heard me. But then he continues toward the exit.
Fitz: “Jaymes, if I were normal, I’d love you enough. The problem is, I’m not normal, so I’d love you too much.”
Fitz doesn’t flinch. Not a single muscle twitch.
Fitz: “Your freckles hide most of the bruising. And that eye isn’t anything that can’t be dressed up with a pirate’s patch.”
Jamie: “Stop,”
I say with a half laugh and a half sob. He grins, pulling stray hair away from my face.
Fitz: “You’ve never looked worse, Jaymes.”
Laughter wins, but I still manage a few more tears. Fitz’s smile wanes.
Fitz: “I’m just so fucking sorry this happened to you.”
Jamie: “You’re not. Gary and Evette will finally think you’re hotter.”
When his smile returns tenfold, it feeds my soul, filling it until it runs over.
Fitz: “Still, Jaymes. They’ll still think I’m hotter. Not finally.”
Fitz: “I worry about you.”
He takes a step closer.
Fitz: “I’m checking in on you.”
He squats in front of me, resting his hands on my legs.
Fitz: “And if you died”
—he swallows hard—
Fitz: “it would fucking gut me.”
I don’t know if my head can take much more, but here I am, bleeding tears. Breathless in a choke hold.
Fitz: “And I can deal with that. I just can’t handle the idea of you grieving me,”
he murmurs. I press my hand to his cheek, and he leans into my touch.
Jamie: “Too late,”
I whisper.
Jamie: “Whether you choose to love me or not, whether I’m with you or find someone else who wants my heart, if I’m alive when you leave this earth, I will grieve you. Your smile. Your laughter. Your touch.”
I sniffle through my stuffy broken nose with shaky breath.
Jamie: “But I won’t regret anything. This love is worth the pain.”
Grandma: “Because my boy’s in love.”
She grins behind her mug.
Fitz: “Because I’m her—”
Grandma: “Calvin, so help me; if you lie, I will wash your mouth out with soap.”
I shake my head with a chuckle.
Fitz: “I tried not to love her.”
Grandma: “You failed.”
She eyes me much like my mother did—all knowing. A not-so-subtle gloat.
Fitz: “Miserably.”
I take several steps and throw myself into his arms.
Fitz: “Oof!”
He chuckles.
Will: “Jesus, I thought you two would play it cool for a bit,”
Will grumbles.
Jamie: “How soon can you be inside me?”
I murmur in Fitz’s ear. He grabs my legs and lifts me off the ground, guiding them around his waist.
Fitz: “Later,”
he says to Will and Maren, carrying me around the house to the backyard.
He grins.
Fitz: “Do you have a costume?”
Jamie: “Absolutely. Wicked Kitty.”
Fitz: “Come again?”
He scrutinizes me.
Jamie: “Black leather teddy. Black thigh-high boots. Ears. Mask. Whip.”
Maren: “That sounds hot,”
Fitz shoots her a look, but I don’t think it’s a kind one.
Fitz: “I was thinking you could dress up as a smoke jumper.”
He gives me a tight grin. My forearms rest on the counter, so we’re face to face.
Jamie: “I’ll go as a smoke jumper if you go as the wicked kitty. Someone’s wearing the wicked-kitty costume.”
Will: “I’ll pay you a hundred dollars if you go as the wicked kitty,”
Maren: “I’ll add an extra hundred,”
Maren chimes in with a laugh.
Jamie: “Want me to call Gary and Evette to see if they want in on this? You could make some good money tonight.”
Jamie: “If you would have planned ahead of time, there would have been a bigger selection of costumes.”
She practices whipping my pillow while I sulk in front of the mirror on my wall. Her leather teddy barely covers her boobs. And the bottom of it doesn’t fully cover her ass.
Jamie: “But let’s be honest, had there been a bigger selection, I still would have bought you the mouse costume. You have a few wrongs to right in the mouse community. Think of this as community service or a form of rehabilitation.”
Again, she whips my pillow.
Wicked Kitty, with her painted face, makes eye contact with me and worms her way in my direction from the opposite end of the porch.
Jamie: “Cheese?”
She holds out her plate.
Fitz: “You think that’s funny?”
She pops a cube into her mouth.
Jamie: “It’s not not funny.”
Fitz: “Goddammit! I do want to be with you. And I want my awful fucking past to disappear from my mind forever. I want a different life with a different set of circumstances. But I don’t want to pretend with you.”
I rake my fingers through my hair and lace them behind my neck.
Fitz: “I don’t know what kind of cruel god would bring you into my life. Even if I deserve to see what I can never truly have, even if I deserve to suffer, you don’t deserve anything short of . . .”
Shaking my head repeatedly, I tear at my stupid costume until I manage to escape its confines.
Fitz: “Everything.”
My shoulders curl inward, ripped costume in one hand, my other hand balled into a fist.
Fitz: “You deserve everything, Jaymes. You deserve everything beautiful in this world. You deserve everything I want to give you but can’t.”
Jamie: “Don’t love me like a martyr,”
she whispers thickly, strangled with emotion.
Jamie: “Love me like a hero. Jump without looking back.”
Her eyes pinch shut, releasing more tears while she inhales shakily.
Jamie: “Fight for me. Save us.”
Fitz: “Yes?”
he answers. I don’t see him, just an open book hiding his face, but at a weird angle that makes it hard to read the title. He’s at the kitchen counter with his phone, most likely propped against a beer bottle.
Jamie: “Whatcha reading? Maybe I can tell you how the story ends.”
He eyes me over the top of the book with a single peaked brow.
Jamie: “Is it a mystery?”
Fitz: “No.”
Jamie: “Fantasy?”
Fitz: “No.”
Jamie: “Romance?”
Fitz: “No.”
I sigh.
Jamie: “I give up.”
He lowers the book.
Fitz: “Have you read a lot of books about World War II generals? What are the chances of you being able to spoil the ending?”
Jamie: “I’ve read zero books about World War II generals. Nice to see you too.”
Jamie: “You’re a little frisky tonight. Frisky Fitz. Why is that? Does reading about World War II generals get you hard?”
Fitz: “What makes you think I’m hard?”
I set down my soup spoon and shrug off my shirt.
Fitz: “Jesus. What are you . . .”
He picks up his phone and heads up the stairs.
Fitz: “Will could have been on the sofa. Or young children could have been watching.”
I giggle, returning to my chili in my soft pink bra and black pants.
Jamie: “Whose children?”
Fitz: “Sometimes I mentor young firefighters.”
Jamie: “Liar.”
Fitz: “Sorry, you’re going to have to put your shirt back on, and I’m going to have to stop stroking my dick if we’re going to have a serious conversation.”
I spit out my chili the second the spoon reaches my lips.
Jamie: “Stop.”
Wiping my mouth, I laugh. And I also thread my arms through my shirt and pull it over my head. He brushes his hand on his shirt like he’s wiping it off. I shake my head.
Jamie: “Only the king of SPAM would masturbate to a can of soup.”
Maren: “Of course she’ll say yes. But seriously, Fitz, you better have a long spiel of romantic things to say first. And don’t think getting down on one knee is too cliché. It’s timeless. In her heart, every girl wants her man to get down on one knee.”
Will: “It’s symbolic of the rest of your life, buddy. She will break you like a horse. And you will be brought to your knees.”
Gary: “I think you’re the one who’s blind. If you look at that woman and see your past, then you’re not only blind, you never saw her in the first place. And that means you don’t deserve her. She’s infinitely too good for your sorry ass.”
Will: “What the hell, Mare?”
Will dives toward her to retrieve the remote.
Maren: “No. I promised Evette we’d all go caroling with them tonight. So get your asses off the sofa, and be ready in five.”
She slides the remote down her shirt and into her bra.
Will: “I love that you think that’s going to stop me. I’ve seen plenty of tits. Your tiny ones won’t even faze me.”
Will smirks. Maren flips him the bird before strolling into the kitchen.
Will: “It’s time, buddy. Go bring our girl home, or else I will burn down the shed, kick your ass to the curb, and put a ring on her finger myself.”
Fitz: “But I’m him.”
My fingertips stroke the back of her neck.
Fitz: “When the world’s most fascinating woman stops by my work on a random Wednesday and offers me sex, I’m him. I’m the guy who will drop everything to have sex with her.”
Fitz: “I will love you like a hero. Jump without looking back. I will fight for you. I will save us.”
Her soft laugh comes out as a tiny sob.
Jamie: “You’re him.”
She kisses me.
Jamie: “You will always be him.”
He removes the lid from the jar.
Fitz: “Letting go is hard.”
He steps behind me, places his hands over mine, and we scatter the remains together. Emotion stings my eyes. He presses his lips to my neck and kisses me.
Fitz: “Scattering human remains without a permit can result in a five-hundred-dollar fine and up to six months in jail.”
I laugh, despite the tears.
Jamie: “I have a permit.”
Fitz: “Liar.”
He nips at my earlobe.
Jamie: “You’re such a rule follower.”
Comments