The Maddox Brothers: Beautiful Burn Part 13

"This isn't a joke to me," I said. "I need this job. If I screw this up-"

"You won't. I'll make sure you have plenty to shoot. Let me buy you breakfast before we go to the station. We'll talk about presenting it to my boss, and I'll have a better idea of what you want."

"I don't know what I want."

"Okay," he said, the dimple in his cheek appearing. "Either way, after breakfast is over, you'll have a better idea of what you want."

The Audi's back door creaked as I opened it.

"Ellie..."

"Just remember this," I said. "This wasn't my fault. I tried to save you the trouble."

"I'm a firefighter, Ellie. I do the saving in this relations.h.i.+p."

I slid into the back seat and closed the door. Tyler tapped on the window, and I rolled it down. "This is not a relations.h.i.+p."

"I've told you before-I'm open to friends with benefits," he said with a wide grin.

"You're embarra.s.sing yourself."

"Me?" Tyler said, touching his chest. "Nah!"

I rolled up the window as Jose pulled away. The leather seats were warm, and I rubbed my fingerless gloves together.

Jose turned left onto the highway for home, glancing at me in the mirror.

"You look happy, miss."

I stared out the window at the lights breaking through the dark. "I think what you're seeing is irritation."

"You have a guest this evening."

"A guest?" I asked. "Please tell me it's not Sterling. Or my parents. f.u.c.k, it's not my parents, is it?"

Jose chuckled. "Neither. The girl with blue hair."

"Paige?"

He nodded.

"How long has she been there?"

"Almost an hour. She brought cookies. They're good."

"You ate my cookies?"

"No, Miss Ellie. She brought four dozen."

"She must know Sally is trying to starve me to death."

Jose slowed at the gate, and then pa.s.sed through, driving leisurely down the drive and stopping in front of the house next to an eighties model Hyundai hatchback. The blue paint was chipped, and a long sc.r.a.pe and dent spanned from front fender to back seat. The car was cute but beat up-no more perfect car for Paige.

She greeted me in the foyer, throwing her arms around me. She was wrapped in a blanket that smelled like Finley, nothing but her head, hands, and tattered red Converse visible.

"I hope it's okay that I'm here."

"Yeah. Yeah, of course."

She pulled me into the kitchen. "I brought cookies," she said, pulling off the lid of a plastic tin that looked older than she was.

She held out a round sugar cookie, the white frosting in the shape of a snowflake.

I took a bite. "Wow," I said, still chewing. The cookie melted in my mouth, and the frosting was decadent. "You really made these?"

She nodded. "My grandma's recipe."

Maricela opened the fridge and pointed to a covered plate before zipping up her coat and gathering her things to leave for the night. Jose's taillights glowed through the frosted gla.s.s, too, making Paige's unannounced visit an even bigger relief.

"How's it going? You've sort of disappeared," Paige said, choosing another cookie.

"It's been a rough month."

"Tyler said your parents cut you off. Is that true?"

"Tyler Maddox? You've seen him?" A strange pang of jealousy burned in my stomach.

She shrugged. "At Turk's. He said you gave him the shaft."

"I didn't give him the shaft. He had to have been hanging on to get turned loose."

Paige giggled, her childlike smile prompting me to reach for her hand. She intertwined her long fingers with mine. "I've missed seeing you around."

"I'm still around."

"Is it true? About your parents? Is that why you're so different?"

"Good different, I hope," I said, corralling the crumbs from our cookies into a pile. Paige didn't answer. "Yes, it's true."

"Well, I've come to save you." She bent down, and when she stood up, she pulled a bottle out of a brown paper sack. She rummaged through the cabinets until she found two tumblers, and sat them on the counter. My mouth began to water at the sound of the cap twisting off, and the initial splash of the amber liquid against the bottom of the gla.s.s. Paige filled both tumblers to the top.

"Whoa," I said. "I haven't drank a drop in over a month."

She handed me a gla.s.s and held hers halfway between us. "To being sober."

"I..." My throat burned, aching for the contents in the gla.s.s. It was right there. Just one drink. I'd just have one.

CHAPTER NINE.

"You look like h.e.l.l," Tyler said, holding out my chair.

I sat down, leaving on my sungla.s.ses. "Thanks."

"Late night? I thought you weren't drinking anymore."

"I wasn't," I said, recoiling at the sound of his voice, the sunlight pouring in through the windows, and the squeaking little s.h.i.+t pre-K'er bouncing in the corner like he was on crack.

"What happened?" Tyler asked.

"A friend showed up last night with a bottle of Crown."

He scowled at me. "After what? Five weeks on the wagon? Doesn't sound like a very good friend."

"I'm not riding a wagon. Those are for alcoholics."

Tyler flagged down Chelsea, pointing his finger in the air. "Hi. Can we get some waters, please?" She nodded, and he returned his attention to me. "Can you eat?"

"Maybe."

He shook his head. "Did you at least have good time?"

"Yeah. We talked until around midnight and crashed. She made cookies, and we talked about my parents, and Finley, and..." I trailed off, remembering the tears and blubbering about Sterling before pa.s.sing out. I'd told Paige. She knew what Sterling and I had done. I covered my eyes with my hands. "Oh, no. Oh, G.o.d. f.u.c.k."

"So ... not a good time?"

"I don't want to talk about it. Oatmeal. No fruit. Cinnamon." I was determined to eat, not knowing when I would have a non-instant-noodle meal next. "Please."

"You got it," Tyler said, ordering for me when Chelsea returned with our waters. He didn't talk much, and I didn't complain. There was already too much movement and light and sound and breathing going on. Clanking of dishes, talking, some d.a.m.n kids laughing, car doors slamming shut-everyone needed to die.

"You look like you hate everything," Tyler said.

"Pretty much." I pulled my hoodie over my head, supporting my face with my hands.

"Is this one of those things we'll laugh about later?"

I sunk down in my seat. The sungla.s.ses weren't helping. It felt like the sun was piercing my brain. "Probably not. I'm so sorry."

Chelsea slid my bowl of oatmeal in front of me, the cinnamon wafting to my nose. It actually smelled appetizing until Tyler's stack of pancakes with blueberries, chocolate, whipped cream, and maple syrup hit my nose.

"Christ," I said, recoiling. "Has anyone ever told you that you eat like a toddler?"

"Many, many times," he said, digging at the stack with his fork and shoveling in a bite.

"How do you look like that," I said, pointing at him, "if you eat like that?" I pointed to his plate.

"We have a lot of downtime at the station, as opposed to the dormitory during fire season. I don't like sitting still, so I work out a lot."

He had to. He was a mammoth.

I picked up a spoon and dug into the bowl, scooping up a small bite first, just to test the waters. So far, so good. Plain toast, cinnamon, bland oatmeal. I could still party like a rock star but apparently couldn't recover like one.

I finished off my water with the pair of ibuprofen I'd brought from home, and then looked at my watch.

"In a hurry?" Tyler asked.

"I just want to make sure that I get to the office on time if your superintendent doesn't let you talk him into this absurd plan."

Tyler had already nearly put away half of the pancakes. I wasn't sure when. "Photographers follow us out all the time. Not sure how you're going to keep up in your condition, if we get called out, though. The hikes are pretty brutal."

"Shut up."

"Uphill."

"Why are you torturing me?"

"...in the snow."

"You worry about your job, I'll worry about mine."

Tyler laughed once. "How did a billionaire's daughter wind up taking action shots for a magazine? That's kind of random, isn't it?"

"I've told you about my parents, and I know you remember. You told Paige over drinks or whatever."

"Does that bother you?" Tyler asked, amused.

"That you're talking about my business? Or that you were with Paige?"

"Either."

"That was personal. That's not exactly bar talk."

"You're right. I'm sorry. I just figured she was your friend ... and I was a little worried about you. I figured she'd know more than I did."

"Paige is a sweet girl. She's not my friend."

"Friends with benefits?"

I glared at him, and he held up his hands, chuckling.

"Are you finished stuffing your face? It's making me nauseous," I said.

He stood, put a few bills on the table, and helped me up. He held me to his side, supporting my weight with ease and looking fairly sympathetic. "You okay?"