Page 14 of Hearts on the Mend

When the door shuts behind him, I wait, peering out as he navigates the icy driveway and climbs into his truck. He dips his head against the steering wheel, and his shoulders shake as if from a big sigh.

His dad reaches out, about to place his hand on his son’s back before adjusting his seat belt, then thinks better of it. They pull out a minute later, leaving me alone in this cold, probably haunted, musty wreck of a house.

Not sure why I ever thought this was a good idea.

Chapter 5

Nolan

The house is a hellish fixer-upper.

An old Federal farmhouse that was last renovated almost seventy years ago. Electrical needs to be updated to Romex, the chimney inspected. Wouldn’t be surprised if the liner is rotted out. Sure, the furnace might be an old workhorse, but it won’t last forever. There was water damage on the ceiling in that back spare room next to the kitchen, so the plumbing should be checked as well as the roof. Could just be an issue with the gutters and drainage.

Structurally, it’s a mess too.

Yes, the cracked horsehair plaster could be repaired, but that doesn’t fix the poor insulation or the old windows. The orange stain covering the wide pine floorboards could be stripped and the floors refinished, the old wallpaper peeled off the walls, the kitchen even updated. But none of that is going to take weeks. Doing it right is a year-long renovation at best. Certainly longer if it’s just a one-man job.

Don’t feel bad about turning it down.

But walking out on her? On Cassie? That’s what I can’t get past a week later.

I brace my arms on the wall of the shower, the warm water sluicing down the tangled mess of scars and new skin grafts covering my lower back. They’re tight with the brutal cold.

At least in Montana, I had something to keep me busy during the offseason. I’m only in my parents’ way here or the third wheel to my brothers, who are so pathetically in love.

A soft knock raps at the door. “Okay in there, hon?”

I bite back a frustrated groan. Thirty-six, and my mom treats me like I’m five all over again, needing her to check if I’ve washed all the shampoo out of my hair.

“Fine. Be right out.”

There’s a pause before she answers, “Just checking.”

Just checking. We’re worried. What do you need? Let us help.

That’s all I hear. After I was discharged, I needed my parents’ help while I recovered, but I’m not helpless anymore. If I stay much longer, I’ll need a place of my own before I truly lose my mind.

I grab the can of Pabst by the shampoo, drain the rest of it, then lean my forehead against the tiled wall, eyes closed. But that’s a problem too. It’s either Cassie or the fire.

The freckles on her cheeks, the soft shape of her mouth as she came, the arch of her back as I ran my hand down the center of her body. Or the tower of orange barreling toward me, the panic in his eyes, his wife’s tears when she visited me in the burn unit I’d been transported to in Seattle.

It’s been months, and I’m haunted. A man possessed. And no matter what I do, I can’t outrun those ghosts.

“Fuck,” I grunt, whacking my fists against the lever to shut off the water. Steam swirls around me, blurring the edges of my vision. I can’t even drink without my parents having something to say about it.

My childhood bedroom is small and dormered. Never fit in here after my growth spurt in ninth grade. My parents haven’t touched it. Still the same old trundle bed with my brothers’ and my names carved into the headboard. The same navy plaid wallpaper on the walls, the yellowing The Matrix poster in the corner, and my full bookshelves, complete with the Pinewood Derby cars I made with my grandfather.

I’m still hard from the shower and have nowhere else to be, so I sit with my back toward the door and let the towel wrapped around my waist fall open. I grip my hand around my cock and give a quick stroke; a shiver races up my spine. I blow out a breath, let my eyes shut, and remember the way her soft hair tickled my chest as she straddled me on that hotel bed, the bright orange lights from the parking lot leaking through the drawn curtains against the silhouette of her body. I grip myself tighter, falling into an easy rhythm, pathetically pretending she’s in my lap now, using my cock to get herself off like she did that night. The small sighs she made when I drove into her. The taste of her pussy on my lips…

My door swings open behind me. “I have some laundry I folded⁠—”

Fuck. I cover myself up with the towel, shame twisting hot in my stomach. “Door was closed, Ma, but thanks.”

I don’t turn around to see her face, only collapse back onto my bed when I hear the door shut quickly. My heart drums against my chest. It’s like I’m back to being an awkward teen hiding away in his room to yank one out. I did that once, and I sure as hell didn’t think I’d still be doing the same as an adult.

I need to get out of here.

I duck down so I don’t whack my head on the sloped ceiling, tugging on my T-shirt with a wince, as my phone vibrates. Lethbridge’s name flashes across the screen, and I hesitate, not in the mood to speak with my base manager so soon after swatting away the memory of scorched earth and charred skin.