Rekindle (3 page)

The night is going as usual. We grab a table and order a round of beer while settling in with a game of pool. The women are always the same. Slutty as hell and half naked, with a shit ton of that shit they call makeup all over their faces and overly spritzed in cheap-as-shit perfume that they probably got from the dollar store. They all attempt to make a pass at me, and I decline, having to watch them pout like they do every weekend. They somehow think that I will change my mind, but I never do and never will. I don’t want a woman who tries too hard. For once, I would just like to find a woman who relies on her natural beauty.

I’ve dated a few women here and there, but it always falls through because they like to party all the time, and I’d much rather stay home and watch a movie or just go out to dinner. I’m not the partying type. I guess that’s my downfall.

I’m a relationship kind of man; the one-night-stand thing just isn’t me, because I was raised to respect a woman in all aspects of life. Maybe I’m just too picky, or maybe I’m searching for something that doesn’t exist. Who knows? One thing is clear; I’d rather jack off all night than hook up with one of these women and have them start stalking my ass. I’ll let Micah have all he wants. I’ll just steer fucking clear of these women.

After a few beers, I’m finally loosening up and having a good time. Micah is, of course, being Micah, and has women hanging on his every word. He keeps yelling about putting out their fires, and I can’t help but laugh at his stupid ass and the fact that his cheesy pick-up lines actually work on them. It’s amusing as hell, but really kind of sad that they love it so much.

“Rhett, you wanna come back to my place for a nightcap? Mindy and Laura here would love for you to join us. It would seem Laura is quite fond of you, bro.”

“Naw, man, thanks for the invite, but I’m going to head home and crash for the night,” I politely decline, like always.

“Fine, but don’t say that I never tried to give you anything. Later, bro,” he calls out with a shit-eating grin on his face.

They head out the door, leaving me to cover the tab. “Assholes,” I say under my breath. I hold up my hand and signal to Dolly that I’m ready to pay. I watch as she sashays—yes, sashays—over to me, leaning over far enough to push her fake-ass double-D tits in my face.

“Is that all, sugar, or would you like anythin’ else?” she says as she bats her fake eyelashes excessively at me.

“No, Dolly, I’m all good.” I open my wallet and put a hundred on the table.

“Oh, I’m sure you are good, sugar,” she says teasingly, but I don’t respond to her, because I’m too busy trying to pick up the paper that fell from my wallet. When I see what it is, my breath catches in my throat. It’s an old picture that I forgot I even had. A picture of the first girl I ever loved. A picture of the girl I was certain would one day be my wife. A picture from the last day I ever saw the girl of my dreams. A picture of my M&M.

Chapter Three

Emma Grace

You would think that living somewhere for a month would mean you’d be pulling your clothes from a closet and not from a cardboard box labeled
EMMA’S SHIT
. You would think that. But you would be wrong.

I’m late. A-freaking-gain! I snatch my gray pants from my bed and pull the plum-colored top I just spent twenty minutes looking for from my box of clothes and toss them in the dryer, because honestly, who has time to iron these days? Nobody. That’s who.

I march into the kitchen, twisting my hair up as I go. Clip in my mouth, my eyes focused solely on the coffee pot on the counter, I don’t notice Cam sitting at the bar.

“Red lace? Got a hot date later?” Cam hollers.

I scream. It’s a knee-jerk reaction.

“Jesus, Cam! Warn a girl next time. You scared me to death.” I shoot an evil look her way. She just laughs. Damn morning people.

My clip falls to the floor and I bend to pick it up, hitting my head on the counter in the process.

“Chica, I love you to the moon and back, but you are a hot mess in the mornings. Legit. Hot. Mess.” She’s laughing at me.

“Whore,” I mumble under my breath.

“Tramp,” she comes back quickly.

Any sane person who hung around us would probably think we hated each other, as much time as we spend insulting the other person, but that is so far from the truth. We have shared so many good times, and we’ve suffered through the worst of times too. I don’t know what I would do without her. Our tactless nicknames are terms of endearment. Neither of us are mushy-gushy people, so it works for us.

Securing my hair in a clip, I reach for a coffee mug that’s in the cabinet and pour myself a warm cup. Coffee is the nectar of the gods. I couldn’t live without it. Well, I could, I just wouldn’t be a functioning member of society. “Ugh! Seven thirty is a ridiculous time to have to be at work. Remind me again why I thought teaching was a good idea?” I beg.

“Because you’re an absolutely brilliant person. You need to share your brilliance with developing minds. Not sharing that brilliance is selfish. A real bitch move. And you don’t want to be a bitch.” Her face is completely serious. “Plus, you get summers off.” She shrugs.

“True. Summers off is a definite perk,” I concede.

“Shut your mouth. You love your job. I know you do. Don’t act like summer vacation is the reason you do what you do.”

“I know. I do love my job. Really. It’s just early, and I haven’t had my coffee, and I miss my pillow. The caffeine is starting to take hold though, so I’m good.”

Cam glances over my shoulder to the stove. “No, you’re late.”

“Shit fire and save matches!” I yell as I look at the clock. It’s taunting me, changing from 7:07 to 7:08 when I turn to look at it. “Shayna will be here in like ten minutes and I’m still in my underwear!” I toss my empty mug in the sink and make a mad dash to grab my clothes from the dryer and get dressed.

I have been riding to work for the past month with Shayna. I mean, it just makes sense. We live next door to each other and work at the same place. I know, eventually, I’ll have to buy a car. In Chicago, I had no need for one. Public transportation was everywhere, which is not the case in Alabama. Cam and I have been sharing the car that she bought our first week here, and that’s fine for now, but I also need my own wheels.

I hop my way back into the living room, trying to put on my other heel, when I see Shayna talking to Cam. “Good morning! Sorry! I know, I’m horribly late. Again. But I just have to grab my purse and coffee and I’m ready.

“You’re fine, honey. I’m used to it by now,” Shayna says with a grin.

I yank my purse up and head to the kitchen to make a travel mug. Cam spins on her barstool and holds out a travel mug of creamy coffee goodness. “Aren’t you the best little love slave!” I coo.

“Pfft. I’m expecting a gourmet meal tonight.” We kiss on the cheek and I spin around to Shayna.

“Let’s hit it, chica.”

“Whoa. Back that ass up, hot momma.” I look over my shoulder at Cam, confused.

She reaches down and pulls a dryer sheet from my butt. “Classy,” I mutter. She smacks my butt and I’m out the door with a yelp.

Tenth grade honors literature. When the principal asked if I would be willing to take on a younger honors class, I was hesitant. Who’d have thought that this would be my favorite class to teach? They’re younger than the kids in all of my other classes, but they’re fantastic. It’s right after lunch, and even though the kids are a little rowdy when they first come in, they’re more willing to participate in discussion than any of my other classes are.

I love the written word. I read every day of my life, and I can’t remember a time when I didn’t. I’m not a book snob, either. I love modern indie authors as much as I love classic literature. Being able to share my passion with those who are willing to accept and embrace it is a gift.

“Afternoon everyone.” I speak louder than normal to get everyone’s attention and quiet the chatter around the class. The class quiets and everyone turns forward to grab their books. I assigned them to read
The Outsiders
by S.E. Hinton last week. Discussion begins today.

“I am counting on the fact that you’ve all at least started
The Outsiders
by now?” I phrase it as a question and see many of the students nodding their heads. “Good. This will probably be my favorite lesson of the year, because, well, this book is one of my all-time favorites. Susan Eloise Hinton grew up in the 1950s and ‘60s in Tulsa, Oklahoma. She started writing this story at the age of fifteen.
Fifteen
,” I reiterate. “That’s younger than most of you in this class. It was revolutionary when it was released in 1967. Hinton was frustrated with the social divisions in her own high school, and she wanted to bring forth some sort of realistic fiction for young adults to relate to. That is more profound than most people realize.”

I make my way to the front of the class and look at my students. I have their undivided attention, and that makes my heart swell. “Now, I know that you may have read this book before. Maybe for school, maybe for fun. However, I want you to read it again. I want to you look closely at the underlying messages in this book. This book is transcendent. As you read it, apply it to your life today. Other than some minor details and time-specific lingo, this book could easily be about high school students right here in Alabama today.”

I walk through the rows of desks, making eye contact with each and every one of them. High school is a cruel place. I want each of them to know that they have a place where they belong. I want each of them to find someone that they can identify with, even if that person is fictional. “Find your counterpart. While you read, find yourself inside one of the characters. Are you a happy-go-lucky charmer like Sodapop? A wise guy, jokester like Two-Bit? A leader, an authority figure, like Darrel? A person who would like to break out of social divisions, but just can’t seem to do it, like Cherry? Find the character who speaks to you the most. I want to hear about who you connect to and why next class.”

We spend the rest of class discussing the general plot line and some of the major characters in the novel.

About ten minutes before the bell rings, the fire alarm starts blaring through the school. Immediately, my students’ eyes fill with panic. They know as well as I do that there wasn’t a drill scheduled for today. “Alright, everyone, calmly grab your things and let’s make our way to the parking lot. I grab my purse from my desk drawer and head to the classroom door.

My kids file out of the class with me right behind them. The hallway is smoky, but I’m not sure where the fire is coming from. What feels like hours later, though I know it’s only been mere minutes, we’re at the back side of the school parking lot. The school is empty, and the fire department has arrived to put out whatever fire has occurred in the school. I don’t know how much time passes before Shayna is making her way over to me and the firemen are wrapping up and exiting the school.

“Honey, you okay?” she asks.

“Mmmhmm.” I nod quietly. Now that the danger is gone, my panic is setting in. My heart rate has kicked up, and I can feel my body getting clammy.
Shit
. I do not need this here. Not right now. Not in front of my kids. I breathe in deeply, trying to get a reign on the anxiety that’s moving through my body.

I can hear murmured voices around me. I can make out Shayna’s voice. She’s talking to someone. I try to focus so that I can get a hold of myself, to try and stop this before it gets worse. There’s a male voice—or two, I don’t know. I can’t distinguish them anymore. My body starts shaking.
Dammit
. It’s happening and there’s no way to stop it.

A strong, warm hand lands on my shoulder. I feel it instantly. Surprisingly, my breaths become more even. I can feel my heart rate calming down, and slowly but surely, the panic attack is receding.

“Ma’am, can you hear me? Are you okay?” The voice is deep and rumbling through me. I start nodding my head, gathering as much strength as I can before I open my eyes.

“Can you look at me? I need to make sure you’re alright.” The voice is speaking to me again. I wish that voice could speak to me all night. I’m sure I would have the most peaceful sleep.

I open my eyes and stare at my hands, which are knotted together at my waist. I untangle my fingers and shake out the last of the panic attack. I don’t know how I was able to get control of it, but I am so thankful that I did.

“Ma’am?” There’s that damn voice again. Only then do I recognize the hand that’s sliding down my shoulder and gripping my upper arm.

I look up to thank whomever has been holding me stable through all of this. My eyes run over a trim, fit body encased in a fire suit. He must have discarded his jacket, because I can see his muscular arms through his gray shirt. Up, up, up farther, to a gorgeous face that seems so familiar. My eyes roam over his chiseled jaw smattered with day-old stubble, and up to his sharp nose. When my eyes collide with the deep emerald green staring at me beneath a mop of messy dark hair, I can’t hold back my gasp.