When the Smoke Clears (Interracial Firefighter Romance) (10 page)

Please, say she didn’t get addicted to something. Fuck. What is it? Dear God, what have the girls been through?

“What’s wrong? Are you sick?” I asked. “What’s going on, Cicely? Talk to me.”

She wiped some of the snot away. “Being a mom is too much. They’re too much. I can’t deal with it. And I need money and a little break.”

No. There’s more going on.

I didn’t know if the girls understood what she was saying, but just in case, I guided them inside of my house. “Come on girls. Are you hungry?”

They nodded their heads. I worried that they didn’t remember who the hell I was, but then Faith blinked and gave me a big hug. “I love you, Daddy.”

I love you more than you can ever imagine.

And, in that moment, I realized that I would never let Faith or Hope out of my sight.

“Go in the kitchen. I’ll make you something,” I said.

They continued to hold each other’s hands and headed to the back of my house, probably unsure of the way. It didn’t matter. I just needed them out of sight so I could curse out their mother.

I blocked Cicely from coming in, stepped out on the front porch, and closed the door behind me. “You don’t ever take my kids away from me, again? Do you understand?”

My hands shook. Every part of me yearned to wrap my hands around her neck. “Anything could’ve happened. Anything!”

“I couldn’t deal with—”

“I don’t care what you couldn’t deal with.” It was a miracle I wasn’t strangling her. “Two years. Not one word. You could’ve at least texted me to say that they were alive.”

Tears spilled from her eyes. “You don’t care about me?”

“I did care for you, but then, I was the dumb ass that married you and realized why a man should never turn a hoe into a house wife. You spread your legs to everybody who was willing to take a sniff.”

She slapped me. “Don’t you ever talk to me that way.”

The sting bit my face. I made myself back up. “Fine. Maybe I deserved that, but you’re lucky that I’m not going to kill you right now. You took my girls away from me and didn’t say shit!”

“I’m sorry.” She reached out for me.

“No.” I pulled out all the money I had in my wallet and dumped it into her hand. “Just leave.”

“Oh. Yeah.” She counted the bills and then nodded like a crazy person. “I-I’ll be back. Yes. I’ll be right back.”

“No.” I dug my hands into my pants and searched for anything else I could give her. It must’ve been two or three hundred dollars. “You think I could grow up with a crack addict for a father and not know the drill. You’re messed up on something. I don’t know what it is, but get off of it, if you ever want to see Faith or Hope, again.”

“Those are my girls!” The anger edged her words, yet her gaze remained on the twenty-dollar bills that I counted.

“If you need more, then call, but you don’t come near my girls, unless you’re clean. You understand?”

She glanced at the door for a second and then snatched the money from me. “I’ll be right back. Don’t you think you can keep me away from my kids? It’s just going to be for a few hours.”

I’d heard that repeatedly with my father. “Don’t come back, until you’re clean.”

Cicely never came back to get the girls. But, every now and then, she stumbled up to my house in the middle of the night to ask for money. She knew I would give it to her, if only to keep her attention away from getting the twins, again.

No one knew about her drug habit, but my closest friends. For the twins and my family, I created a false story about Cicely. I pretended that she’d gone overseas for the peace corp. She’d changed her whole life around and couldn’t afford to visit or call as much as she hoped. The twins were easy to convince. My family, not so much.

The lie required more energy than necessary. It became a second job. I wrote letters to the twins, pretending to be her. I sent postcards and even had Rockstar and Zorro create a fake Facebook profile with a couple of doctored photos that I’d already had of her. I even had an ex-girlfriend of mine, Sadie, who would call them every two or three months to say hi. At first, Sadie did it for a few bills, but after a year, she enjoyed pretending. She’d never had kids and made most of her money doing nude webcam work. But, she always hoped to be an actress and have kids. Life didn’t turn out that way and so she joined my team of craziness.

The entire thing was absurd, but, each year, the lie continued.

We were now heading into the sixth year of this deception. Meanwhile, Cicely showed up at my door in odd spurts, begging for money and ducking in the shadows. My soul darkened each time I handed her a couple of bills. I wasn’t supposed to be funding her drug habit. It was just that sometimes, when I said no, she would threaten to take my girls. My heart would break and the fear would rise, and I’d reach for my wallet to shut her up. It had been six years of that, and as long as the girls remained happy, I didn’t give a fuck what Cicely did with the money.

Sometimes, I worried that they needed a mom or at least a good female role model in their lives that wasn’t their grandmother and aunts who only spoiled them.

The women I met in clubs and at times slept with weren’t worthy enough to meet my twins. Most were uniform chasers and badge bunnies—groupies to any man of service. They just hoped to fuck a firefighter, not actually stick around, and deal with the not-so-fun parts of life—the stress that came from losing your friends to fires, the long hours, and the intense responsibilities of a single father.

When it came to my girls, I could only show them the best. So far, they hadn’t met anyone.

Kassie, that was someone I could bring home—cultured and a drive to do something as difficult as write books that people wanted to read. Still, she found time to work out and take care of a kid, instilling good manners in him. He must’ve said
sir
twenty times.

Yeah. Kassie’s worth a further inquiry.

Sighing, I pulled out my phone and decided to message her.

Chapter 7

Kassie

“
Y
es
, Daddy.” Rich revealed a sad expression as he held the phone to his ear. “I know. I promise I won’t play around with fire alarms, anymore.”

My son paused and then handed the phone to me.

“Hello?” I headed to my bedroom, just in case I had to yell at Ellis. I couldn’t do that in front of my son.

Ellis’s voice held an edge. “I had to hear from my sister that my son got into trouble.”

“Yeah,” I said. “You should feel pretty bad about that.”

“What? I should feel bad?”

“Yes. You would’ve known, if you called him yourself, regularly.”

“Unlike you, I have a job.”

“I’m a published author.”

“You were. When’s the last time you put a book out?”

“Is there something you want, Ellis?”

“I’m coming up to check on Rich and make sure he’s being taken care of.”

My entire body raged. Dear God it was enough to want to pick my gun back up, rush down to Miami, and shoot him in the leg, all over again. I didn’t. I had no more time to waste, and I was no longer stuck to this monster.

At least, Rich will get to see him.

He waited on the other side of the line, silently, probably hoping I would come back with an ill retort. Half the time, I believed Ellis just loved fighting with me.

“Great,” I said. “Let me know the details and I’ll give you our address.”

“And you better make sure he’s living in a good neighborhood. If not, I can take care of him here.”

I hung up, before I lost control. Ellis had the whole year that I sat in jail and a mental facility, to take care of Rich. He didn’t, and now I could never look him in the eyes with any respect.

Fuck you, Ellis. Go talk to one of your chicks. I’m over you.

Rich’s television turned on in his bedroom. I knew he’d be out in the next five minutes and the screen would be watching him.

Checking on him and confirming that fact, I turned off the hall light and headed back to my bedroom.

I didn’t hate all things about my new house. Although, the kitchen and living room was too small, my bedroom and bathroom made up for it. Sometimes, I focused on those two rooms to not feel defeated.

A queen-sized bed stood at the center of my bedroom, covered in tons of soft pillows encased in chocolate silk. I’d spend a good bit of money on the comforter. It laid perfectly—hand sewn in silk and satin. Sky blue walls encased the room. Plush white carpet decorated the floor. Every time I stepped inside the room, it reminded me of the beach—powder white sand and blue skies. I kept huge candles on the nightstand. Most were blue with fruity fragrances. Others were ocean scents.

A massive bookshelf covered two entire walls. One would think that would be enough to hold all of my books, but truthfully, every room had crowded shelves. I was a bibliophile. Bookstores loved my pockets and I had a haunting addiction to the scent of a new novel. Sam joked that I could orgasm to the opening of a new leather bound book.

She might’ve been right.

I hid my naughty reads in my bedroom. Between those hidden covers, pirates pumped into blushing mermaids, dark corporate alphas dominated virginal submissives, and vampires pierced clits with their fangs, delivering a surge of heat through the heroine’s body.

In the living room, books served as furniture. Everyone always stacked the Great American Novels and high praised literary works for all eyes to see. One could find a
War and Peace
on the coffee table, as if the homeowner had just been disturbed from devouring the lengthy work. Stories like
Moby Dick
and
Hamlet
decorated shelves. Furniture novels. They gave the homeowner an appearance of education. Someone could look at those works and proclaim, “Now that’s a well-read person.”

But, what people
really read,
laid in the far back of the house. The bedroom. The real owner’s library. It would probably shock the average person to know what their mother, father, or cousin truly enjoyed, while they page-flipped in the privacy of their home. One could check out the NY or USA Today’s Bestseller’s list and witness the reality of reading trends. Romance and erotica dominated and where there wasn’t sex, there was horror and mystery. Literary works barely hit the lists, and when they did, it was from authors who’d been in the game for several years.

Yet,

it was in that moment of grabbing a nasty little read that my phone buzzed. I checked the screen. Someone had texted me, but the name was unknown.

Unknown:
Hey, Kassie?

Me:
Who is this?

Unknown:
Lorenzo.

Me:
Who?

Unknown:
Lt. Hornsby.

Me:
How did you get my number?

Lorenzo:
The volunteer form.

Me:
Is this official fire department business?

Seconds passed. He didn’t respond. Then my phone rang. I checked the screen. It was his number, of course.

I picked up. “Are you insane?”

“Yes.” Lorenzo’s seductive voice flowed in my ears.

I’d forgotten how sexy he sounded.

“I want to apologize for calling you, so late,” he said. “I just got off work. We had a busy day.”

“And let me guess.” I rolled my eyes. “The day was filled with fighting fires. You were worried and stressed, but you pulled up your courage, trudged through your adrenaline rush, and saved someone’s life. Now you’re feeling all manly and have decided to call me to hear my sweet voice?”

He cleared his throat. “That’s actually correct on all fronts.”

“Sure it is, buddy. I’ve read enough firefighter romances to plot this whole scene. Try your lines on someone else. Goodnight, Lorenzo.” I hung up, glanced in my bedroom mirror, and shrugged. “I told him I was a crazy bitch. He just had to test me.”

The phone rang again. The same number glowed on the screen. I considered not answering it, but since Rich would be spending time with him tomorrow, I did.
Maybe you shouldn’t be a bitch to the guy that’s going to be around your kid for an hour.

I picked up the phone. “Hello.”

“It’s not nice to hang up on people,” Lorenzo said.

“True. I’m sorry, but I did tell you that I was crazy.”

“No, you’re not crazy. You’re dealing with a lot of pain.”

“I’m not.”

“Are to.”

I sighed. “I’m sorry. I don’t have much tolerance for men.”

“Because some asshole hurt you?”

“No. Because many assholes hurt me.”

Material rustled on his side of the line.

“What are you doing over there?” I asked.

“I’m lying in bed and getting comfortable.”

“You use my phone number for unofficial reasons as you lay naked in bed?”

His voice oozed pure sex. “Who said I was naked?”