Stronger By Your Side (Great Love Book 2) (8 page)

SJ, or Sawyer as he called himself now, haunted my thoughts. I couldn’t close my eyes without having memories of our childhood together swarm my mind. There were great memories, like when we would go to the beach and search for shells. Then there were terrible ones, like when he would come to my trailer and find me beaten in the bathroom. I winced at the image of a teenage Sawyer looking down at me with concern. Sawyer had seen every part of me. I felt ashamed of that because he was perfect, kind, and honorable. He deserved someone in his life who matched his qualities.

Sawyer had lost his parents. His perfect, loving parents. His parents who had invited me to every holiday and made me feel loved, that let me stay there often and took care of me. My heart ached thinking of his mom gently holding me as I sobbed after my birth mom, Missy, overdosed for the third time. Sawyer’s mom, Beth, was a natural mother, a loving person. She had wanted a dozen children but was only able to have Sawyer. When Beth and her husband, Peter, died, a piece of me did, too. That part of me didn’t only die for myself, but for Sawyer as well. How was I going to replace that love in his life? All he would have had was me, and it had scared me to death.

I took a deep breath and realized I had lost minutes thinking about the past yet again. Ever since I moved here, it seemed that’s all I did. I looked at the clock again and hustled out of my Bronco towards my classroom. I pushed my worries and questions about my past far into the back of my mind. Today was our class field trip to the Lincoln fire station, and I would focus on that instead. I sighed and then took a long pull of my extra-large, extra caffeinated mocha that Jules had made special for me this morning.
Whoa, that’s the stuff
. I opened the door to my class and, realizing that I only had twenty minutes until the little tikes showed up, I rushed to get our morning activities set up. A little over three hours, four Tylenol and a twenty minute drive later, my entire kindergarten class, ten parents and I were standing in front of the Lincoln Fire Station.

My Uncle Tom stood in front of the TV in the common area of the fire station. His belly was wrapped tight in his dark blue LFD shirt and slightly hung over his blue pants. I yawned as he wrapped up his thirty minute “update”, which turned more into a rant about people being irresponsible drivers. He shot me a pointed look as he finished with, “ Don’t forget, today is our field tip with a local Kindergarten class. Now I know they come every year, but last year some kid took out another kid with a fire hose, so just watch those little rascals. Prescott and Miller, you have this one.”

“Al right, Pres. Let’s kill this thing!” Miller shouted sarcastically across the room.

I sighed. “I can’t wait.”

I took a sip of my fourth cup of coffee for the day and rolled my eyes. Chase came trotting in with a bone in his mouth. I shook my head at how pathetic he had become. The guys were spoiling him and it was starting to show. Chase looked at me and then went to the corner where his dog bed sat. After a couple of spins around, he settled down on the plush bed. “Spoiled.” I muttered under my breath.

I was glad we had a slow morning this morning, but I wasn’t looking forward to the field trip. I didn’t become a firefighter to babysit a bunch of little brats. I sighed. I also didn’t want to be reminded of what I was missing from my own hectic life. A family, a specific woman . . . some brats of my own. I didn’t have to be a firefighter. My parents left me plenty of money, and I had invested it in real estate and other avenues. I had passive income from those. This had just started out as a desperate distraction and as a way to become a better man so maybe, just maybe, Megan would come back. Then somewhere down the line, somehow, this, firefighting, helping others in times of desperation, had become an addiction. It had become a part of me as much as breathing. Uncle Tom was my mom’s only brother and he said that it was genetic, since his father, my grandpa, was also a firefighter, and his father before him. I remember thinking that maybe that explained my natural obsession with the career.

There was a very dangerous stretch of highway that passed by Lincoln, and through a smaller town twelve miles north, Wheatland. There were also a lot of farms and rural roads in between the two towns. The roads were dangerous and difficult to navigate. Wheatland, where Megan seemed to be hiding in, had one fire truck and mostly ran off of volunteers. We helped out there as much as we could as well. Those three things made for a high 911 call volume for our station. Most days we were busy, but every couple of weeks we had a slow morning. Today was one of those mornings, so far.

Uncle Tom walked past me and patted my back as I washed out my mug in the sink. Outside of work, he was Uncle Tom, but at the station he was Chief Flattery. He was a short, round fellow with a bald head and rosy red cheeks. He had the same nose and cheeks as my mom. Uncle Tom was also very talkative and cheery like my mom. The similarities sometimes stung, but usually, most of the time, they made me feel calm.

My parents died in a car crash when I was a sophomore in high school, and it was hard on everyone. Both of my Grandparents had died when I was young. My Dad had one sister, my Aunt Mae. She lived with me until I graduated high school as my guardian, and we still keep in touch. Then, like I said, my mom only had my Uncle Tom. He lived out here in California. When Uncle Tom called me almost two years ago with a job at his station, I jumped at the opportunity to start anew and to be closer to him. My Aunt Nancy and Uncle Tom were great people to be around, so I spent a lot of time with them. They had a son, Tommy, and a daughter, Tori. They were six and eight years younger than me and went to college a couple of hours away. I got to see them every holiday, and here and there, and I enjoyed their company as well. I had made a life for myself over the last two years here and found myself slowly moving on. Now that I found Megan, I was glad I hadn’t settled down. Now I had a chance to see if we could ever be what we could have been.

I couldn’t not think about Megan when I kissed another girl, so I tried to avoid it altogether. I tried, but didn’t often succeed. Women became a vice for me and nothing more. I hated it, but no one seemed to fill the hole Megan left. Mostly I worked. I had worked so hard and so long that when I finally lifted my head, I’d realized that six years had gone by. Then I came here and things began to slowly feel right again. I felt alive again. When I saw Megan the other night, that feeling intensified. I knew that this—us running into each other—wasn’t a coincidence. There was a reason, and whatever had been between us, whatever she refused to acknowledge before, was still there. I knew I couldn’t let her walk away again, not without giving it all I had.
 

Megan

We walked behind a short, round man as he explained to us what we would see on the tour of the fire station. He turned around when he stopped in front of the firehouse door. I tilted my head a little bit and squinted my eyes, trying to place his face. He looked familiar, but not completely. His cheeks and eyes reminded me of someone, and the feeling made my heart beat faster. He cleared his throat and then spoke. “I am Chief Flattery, and I’m in charge here. As you can see, we just walked past our two fire trucks, and this is where we all live when we are on duty.” A couple of the boys in front of me whispered at the word “duty” and giggled. Chief Flattery cleared his throat again. “This way, folks.” I smiled. “Thank you, Sir.”

My students filed into the tight hallway and down to a large, open room. A long couch with a huge TV and a tiny coffee table were what I saw first. The children “oohed” and “ahhed” over all the firefighter décor and memorabilia on the walls. I, too, was amazed by the memorable photos, used hats, hoses and badges on the tall, red walls. I then turned to see a very long wooden table with at least twelve chairs around it. As I was admiring the small but open family-style kitchen, with granite counters and two large fridges, I froze. My stomach did a twist, and my heart leap into my throat.
Shit. Holy Shit. No freaking way. Seriously, you have to be kidding me!
 

Sawyer

I didn’t get too much time to think about how to confront Megan or what to say. She was standing right in front of me, in the kitchen of the firehouse. By the look on her face, I would say she didn’t come looking for me. My heart began to beat through my chest and my hands became instantly clammy. I couldn’t stop the smile that curled at my lips. God did seem to have a sense of humor. I prayed he also had a plan, because I didn’t.

I cleared my throat and put out my hand. “Hello, ma’am. I’m Sawyer Prescott.” I winked at her. She stared at me with her steel grey eyes and then took my hand. “How are you doing today, Miss Santos?” She looked at me, stunned. My Lord, I knew her since kindergarten, of course I knew her last freaking name.

She cleared her throat and then smiled lightly. “It’s, Uh . . . Its Ms. Maxwell.”

Well, damn, I thought she would have taken her maiden name back. I guess with her having a daughter, it made sense. I nodded with her hand still in mine. I tried to pretend like it didn’t sting me deep in my gut and smiled back at her. “Nice to see you,” I said with a fake confidence.

She quickly pulled her hand from mine and stepped backwards. “Uh . . . yeah, um . . . you—uh, you too.” I walked over by Miller and stood in front of the great room as Megan rounded up her students to listen.
 

Megan

What the hell is SJ doing here? He’s a firefighter? Damn it. Of course he is.
Wasn’t I just telling myself the other day that there was no way he would be here? He was a freaking firefighter? Since when? Crap. I guess he wasn’t a lawyer like his dad, and I guess a lot can happen in eight years. As I listened to Sawyer talk, I realized why the short, round man looked so familiar. His rosy cheeks and shimmering eyes where those of Beth, Sawyer’s mom. Slowly remembering that Beth had grown up in California and that she had a brother, who was a fire chief and still lived in their home town, I swallowed hard. What were the chances? How was this even possible? Fate. Charles would say it was fate. I shook my head to myself, trying not to give away my confusion.

After we listened to a lecture about what firefighters do, when to call them, how to call them and some basic fire safety rules, Sawyer and the other firefighter talked about some of the things on the walls. Then they let the kids go in one of the fire trucks and try on their heavy gear. I kept dodging the awkward stares my childhood best friend was giving me the entire time. He was the one person I had ever trusted and loved before Charles. The one person who confessed his love to me, who I then left alone and vulnerable. A person who had grown up nicely in eight years. In fact, he had grown so nicely that I’d made out with him at a club, unaware of who he was. Granted, I had been a little tipsy—okay, fine, I was drunk as a skunk. But to my defense, I hadn’t drunk in years. To give me a little credit, though, he had never, ever gone by Sawyer. He was always SJ. His parents had never called him Sawyer, not even when he was in trouble. In fact, for most of my childhood I thought SJ was his actual name until he got his driver’s license. Only then did I see his name was Sawyer James.

The shame I felt for leaving him that night eight years ago was unbearable. I hadn’t forgotten. Over the last eight years, I occasionally had nightmares about it. When Charles would ask me what was wrong, I would find a way to avoid it. I bit my lip as Sawyer helped my students off of the fire truck, one at a time. My cheeks burned, and I could feel his stares caressing my body. I somehow felt naked in my conservative outfit and kept fighting the urge to go running out the door. I blew out a long breath when I realized the time. “Okay, class, we have time for one more short demonstration, and then we have to head back to school.” An array of “awws” and “that’s not fair” filled the air.

Sawyer stepped forward. “That’s alright, we saved the best for last.” He shot me an all-knowing grin and picked up the heavy firehose. “Who wants to spray the wall?” All twenty-five little hands shot in the air, followed by a couple of grownup hands.

I crossed my arms in front of my chest, begging him not to ask me to do anything. I knew SJ. He may have gotten taller, more toned and somehow more devilishly charming, but he was still the same boy. He winked at me and then said, “Alright. How about everyone gets a turn?”

One of my more rambunctious students, Ana, stepped forward. “Yeah!”

Another student, Jason, leaped in the air. “Best for last, Ms. Maxwell!”

I smiled at my sweet students and ignored their suggestions. “Okay.” I smiled. “Kiddos, line up behind Samantha.” All twenty-five students—and some parents—got in line accordingly.

After each child had a turn to hold the hose and spray the wall, I announced, “Okay, peanuts, line up.”

Ana put her hands on her hips. “Ms. Maxwell, it’s your turn.”

I shook my head. “Oh no, thank you, sweetheart—”

She cut me off. “But you said okay.”

I began to protest and then realized. “I said okay, line up.”

She shook her head. “You still said okay. Oh please, Ms. Maxwell, it will be so fun and we want you to! Try it. You might like it.”

I gritted my teeth at the sound of my sweet five-year-old student using my own words against me. Touché, little girl, touché. All the kids clapped and jumped up and down. “Your turn, Ms. Maxwell, it’s so fun!” I shook my head and smiled in awe at the power of peer pressure.

Sawyer had that smile, the one that I knew too damn well. It was the same smile he had the day he convinced me that jumping into the river from a fifty foot bridge was a good idea. We had been twelve. Sawyer motioned for me to come over.

I put on a sweet smile. “Alright.”

They all jumped up and down. “Yay!”

Sawyer held the hose up, just like he had for everyone else, and then he gave me the instructions. “Okay, feet a little apart, hold tight, here”—he lightly brushed my hand in the direction, and I caught my breath—“and here.” He did it to my other hand, and my stomach flipped.
Damn him. He is doing this on purpose.

I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate on breathing. That was near impossible with the warmth of his body heat right behind me. “Now, hold on tight, Pumpkin, because it’s more powerful than you think.” He smiled down at me with a wink.

Then, because I was completely distracted by his beautiful smile and stupid boyish charm, my body jerked forward as the hose turned on. I shook my head and concentrated on not falling, and then, as the hose turned off, my body lurched backwards. Two strong hands gripped my waist and steadied me, sending waves of warmth up my body. I handed him the hose and jumped out of his grip.

My students laughed and clapped. “That was so funny, Ms. Maxwell!”

I smiled at them. “Okay, kiddos, now line up here.”

As they stood in line ready to leave, I turned to the chief. “Thank you so much for having us; we left some pumpkin muffins in the kitchen for everyone.” I didn’t miss Sawyer’s chuckle when I said the word “pumpkin” and looked up to glare at him. He winked at me again, and I wanted to punch him . . . and maybe kiss him . . .
No, no. Don’t even go there, Megan!

It was easiest to group the kids with their parent driver from a line. I began calling names to go to their groups when I felt a strong presence behind me. I turned to see Sawyer’s big, brown eyes looking down on me. “Hi.”