Stoking the Embers (New Adult Romantic Suspense): The Complete Series (16 page)

“So sorry I’m late,” she says and I step back so she can open her giant umbrella. “My phone isn’t working for some stupid reason or I would have called. This has been the worst day ever.”

I glance over at the canopies and notice everyone turning to watch us. “Heads up, we’re the talk of the town. Our down-low isn’t so low anymore.”

She follows my eyes. “You’re kidding me. I promise I’ve only told Beth and I know she wouldn’t say anything. Guess we need to act extra cool then, huh? Can you give me a hand with the bags?”

As she bends into the car, I can’t help but grab her ass, sure no one can see us through the car door. She looks back at me. “Great job, Mr. Down-Low. Here, fill your hands with these.”

I grab three bags of groceries and notice a crap load of sweets. Donuts, cookies, cheesecake, and four cartons of ice cream. I need to get these on ice quick. She grabs the last bag and holds the umbrella over our heads with the other. We run for it.

Captain Frank greets us at the edge of the canopies and grabs the bag from Steph. “Stephanie, I’m so glad you came.” He looks into the bags and laughs. “Do you think you bought enough sweets? I’m sure the kids will be happy someone brought “real food” for them.”

I unload the bags into the ice chests, moving the beer and soda to make room. Stephanie is immediately welcomed into the fold of wives and girlfriends, they act like they’ve known her for years. Of course, my fellow brothers are all looking at her ass or giving me a thumbs up. I ignore them and go throw a little football with some of the kids.

After we eat, the rain turns from a minor annoyance to a major pain in the ass. The kids in the bouncer seem like the only ones not running for cover. Even the ducks are hiding their heads under their wings.

Strong winds follow, and the stakes for the food canopy pop out of the soggy sod in one quick movement. Like a giant kite, it careens end over end until it hits a pine tree and collapses into a broken mess. Lucky for us, the platters on the table are mostly eaten, but there will be no salvaging what’s left.

Party’s over.

Parents are corralling the kids and making them run to their cars. The sky goes from daylight to twilight in mere moments.

Flash flood. It’s a first responder’s worst nightmare. I watch the crew on duty mentally prepare for what they’re about to face. It seems people turn to dumbasses on days like these.

As water rushes down the western edge of the city to the lowest part of the valley in the east, it creates a deluge in the flood channels. There are always idiots who think riding the rapids is fun, underestimating their power and speed.

Then there are the morons on Eastern and the other major north-south arteries who won’t slow down for anything. It’s only a matter of time before someone hydroplanes and crashes. We get a ton of those kinds of crashes each season.

The park is pretty safe, but already the gutters are filling up and overflowing the sidewalks and the majority of us huddle under the remaining canopy to wait it out. I’m trying hard not to stare at Stephanie and her wet t-shirt, or those cute little nipples showing through.

Octavio points at me and laughs as he catches me sneaking another peek. I just shrug, knowing the gig is up. It’s pointless to deny how I feel, pointless to continue the lie. Everyone seems pretty cool with it anyway.

Beep, beep, beep.

A cell goes off. Then another. Then another.

Soon, nearly everyone’s phone is raising hell, not a good sign with this crowd. I look down at my phone, waiting for mine to go off as well. Probably a weather warning or maybe an Amber alert. I hope it’s not the latter, missing children make my gut hurt.

Finally, the alert reaches my phone. Shit. My screen lights up, the phone vibrates in my hand and my text alert sounds—it is an Amber alert.

As I slide my thumb, I realize every person under the canopy has grown quiet. Deadly quiet. The rain echoes louder in the silence.

I look up and see everyone staring back at me. The women look horrified, their eyes wide and their hands over their mouths. The men are either grinning or look pissed as hell.

I glance at Stephanie, who’s looking around as mystified as me, her eyebrows drawn together in confusion. Her beautiful mouth is turned down at the corners in a frown.

Then, Stephanie’s phone comes alive… beep, beep, beep… and she pulls it from her pocket. The light from the flash creates a strobe light effect on the dimming day.

The woman next to her tries to stop her. “Don’t,” she says and places a hand on Stephanie’s arm. Stephanie doesn’t pull away, but continues to swipe her thumb. Her eyes grow wide, her mouth opens in horror, her legs seem to lose strength and she sinks to the ground, sitting on her haunches and curls into a tight ball as if protecting herself from a bomb blast.

What the fuck is going on?

I look back at my phone, where the Amber alert message is still flashing. Is a celebrity’s child missing? An entire family? No… surely I’m not reading this right. I read it again and the words on the screen freeze my blood…

Check out firefighter Ken Davidson fucking Stephanie Vonnegut, click here.

End of Book 1

Book 2 — Chapter 1 – Steph

“Daddy, I’m home.”

I slam into the kitchen door, toss my backpack on the table and head straight for the fridge. I grab the carton of orange juice and turn it up, drinking long and deep. I’m parched.

It is the last day of my junior year of high school. I aced my finals and would end the year with a perfect 4.0. Life is as good as it’s going to get. I snag a piece of chocolate cake to celebrate.

“Daddy? You awake?” I call out before taking a huge bite of the mocha heaven. I made it myself, for my seventeenth birthday yesterday. I had also lit and blown out my own birthday candles.

Happy birthday to me. I hum a few notes of the song in my head.

It has been just another day, barely remembered and over as quickly as it came. Next year I’ll officially be an adult, although it feels like I’ve been an adult since forever.

I look at the silver bracelet I gave myself, the one I saved for this past year. It dangles from my wrist, the small charms tinkling together as I raise my fork to take another bite. There is a tiny nurse’s cap and stethoscope as well as a small diploma, symbols of my determination to become a registered nurse.

There’s also a little dog and cat, pathetic replacements for the pets I always wanted but could never have. A little bird, my symbol for freedom. I’d chosen a peace sign as a charm for my dad… I can remember him lifting two fingers in that gesture when I was small.

The last charm on the bracelet is a beautiful angel, her wings spread wide and a teeny diamond encrusted over her heart. I touch the angel and feel my nose begin to burn. It’s times like these I really miss my mom.

Refusing to allow sadness to invade this bright shiny day, I begin rummaging through the cabinets and small pantry, trying to decide what to make for dinner. We’ve had three kinds of pasta already this week—I really need to expand my repertoire. Maybe I can take a cooking class this summer.

Yeah, right. When would I ever have time for that?

There are small moments when my quest for positive thinking comes unraveled. This must be one of those moments, because I find myself nearly in tears without realizing they were so close to the surface.

I’m seventeen years old, officially a senior in high school as of today. This should be the happiest time in my life. Yet here I am, working thirty hours a week while maintaining straight A’s, in hopes of an academic scholarship, my only chance for college. I take care of Dad, the house, the bills.

Crap. I look at the calendar that hangs on the fridge. The mortgage is due tomorrow. I deposited my check on the way home, but it won’t cover the cost. I sort through the day’s mail to see if Dad’s disability check arrived.

Thank God, it’s there. It will cover the rest of the mortgage, plus the utility bills and a much needed trip to the grocery store. I glance at the clock. If I can get Dad to sign it real quick, I can get it to the bank before closing time and then pick up a few things we desperately need. We will feast on hamburgers tonight. Nothing fancy, but better than spaghetti surprise again.

Grabbing an ink pen and Dad’s disability check, I head down the hallway to his room. I flick on the lights along the way, for some reason always dreading the darkness. I chastise myself… I’m too big to be scared of the creepy hallway.

Ever since I was a little girl and had seen my first scary movie, I’ve been afraid of the hallway and the open doors that dot the walls. I used to race past them, absolutely certain a monster would jump out and pull me into a room at any moment.

I slow down and walk at a normal pace, refusing to allow my imagination to get the better of me, but my skin still goosebumps as I pass
that
room. It used to be my parents’ room, but when my mother died many years ago, Dad refused to set foot into it again. It looms like an empty tomb.

“Silly girl,” I mutter to myself and stand outside the second door on the right. I knock and wait for a response. Is he still asleep? I knock again and then turn the knob.

“Daddy?”

Silence greets me as I try to peer into the dimly lit room. Dad wanted blackout curtains on the window, as the pain he lives with since the accident makes sleeping very sporadic.

“Daddy?”

Working my way to his bedside, I listen for his response, his breathing, a cough. Something. There’s nothing, but I’m not too worried. When his pain is especially bad, he often doubles up on his medication.

“Daddy. I’m sorry to wake you.” I shake his shoulder. “I need you to sign this check.”

I shake his shoulder again, but it is strangely stiff. The skin beneath the t-shirt feels cold.

No. No. No.

I stagger a step to the bedside table and flip on the bedside lamp.

Blank eyes stare back at me, glazed over in lifelessness. Foam spills from his mouth, vomit is on the sheets. An empty bottle of pain medication lies by his side.

Frozen, I can’t move. I can’t think. I can’t breathe. The corners of my vision start to gray.

This is my fault. I always leave only two pills on his table. I always hide the bottle, always worry that his sea of pain and depression will toss him into the desperation of harming himself. I did this. My Daddy is dead because of me. Please forgive me. Please forgive me…

“Stephanie!”

Stunned. Hopeless. I’m lost in a world where color has vanished, sounds echoing in my ears.

“Stephanie!”

From out of the blackness, I sense voices. Hushed whispering. Laughter? Gasps. Now I remember the reason.

The video.

Me and Ken. Something beautiful turned ugly. Why? How? I don’t understand. What did I do to deserve this? How could he do this to me?

I don’t want to uncurl from the cocoon I’ve created for myself on the ground. I don’t even want to open my eyes, but as two strong hands wrap around my triceps and lift me, I don’t think I have a choice.

Jeff is on my left, his eyes are furrowed and contemplative. His concern is unspoken; it’s almost my undoing.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Not yet.

Octavio is in front of me and goes into full paramedic mode. “Stephanie, can you hear me? It’s going to be okay.” He’s treating me as if I’m a bomb victim. I guess in some ways, I am.

He cups both my ears and turns my head up to face his. “Stephanie, I need to know you can hear me. I need a response.”

His deep brown eyes become my focal point, the place where I attempt to draw strength. But they remind me of another pair of brown eyes—Ken—where is he?