Read Fire and Ice: Rekindled (The Fire and Ice Series Book 2) Online
Authors: Kiara Delaney
Kellan
Jesus, what a clusterfuck that whole visit had been. Had I
known I was going to be hit with the barrage of incidents that ensued, I'd have
stayed planted in Reno, and sent out a card to Jordan's parents. Finding out
the ugly details of Jordan's death, the news of him and Hailey being married,
and Jim basically begging, rather than offering me to take over the bar, had
all turned into one huge atomic bomb that landed right in my lap, and I was
just beginning to feel the after effects of it.
The more miles I put between myself and Chambers, the more
the dust had begun to settle. I was weary and worn out, both mentally and
physically. Yet, as my thoughts wandered back to my reunion with Hailey, and
our incidental brushes with each other, my mind had begun to reel with
possibilities. I was suddenly anxious and amped up, gripping my steering wheel
tightly as I pondered whether or not I had made the right choice to return to
Reno.
Reno was no joke, and I would be stepping up to the big
leagues, vying for a top spot, along with every other new bar hoping to stay
afloat long enough to make their brand on the growing city. The competition was
intense, and I'd be betting my whole life on one big hand to pay off. The odds
of going bust were more likely than not. Jim's offer now had me second-guessing
my options.
As I had passed the halfway mark between Chambers and my new
home in Reno about an hour ago, I suddenly found myself at a desolate
intersection with no other cars to speak of in sight. I was literally at a
crossing point in my life. The choice to turn my car around and head back to
the sanctity of familiarity was tempting, but so much shit had happened back
there, and I wasn't sure if I could ever put the past behind me with it staring
me directly in the face every day. Was I just deluding myself to think that I
could ever go back, come to terms with a lifetime of disappointment, and make a
decent life for myself? Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard spot.
Whether I pressed on towards Reno, or turned my car around
and headed back to Chambers, I would still be taking a huge risk, despite Jim's
reassurances. This was the definition of a catch twenty-two.
As my mind spun in a hundred different directions, I took in
a shaky breath, picked up my phone and hit the speed dial with nervous
anticipation. "Yellow?" Jim casually answered on the second ring.
With a hint of trepidation, I quickly blurted out, "Is
that offer still on the table?"
******
Hailey
I'd been told, well basically
ordered
, by Jim to take some time off from the bar until I started feeling
better. I highly doubted that would come anytime soon, and the brief time away,
coupled with the spring break from school, was beginning to leave me feeling
restless and without purpose. My classes would be starting back up next week,
and I couldn't hide out from my responsibilities at the bar forever. It was
nearing two weeks since I had had any human contact, save for a few phone calls
from Georgia, Gail, and Jordan's mom to check in on me...which I thought was
ironic. Shouldn't
I
have been the one
calling his parents to see how they were doing?
Reflecting on the whole of the situation, I guess we're all
going through the same loss; some of us are just coping with it better than
others. Nevertheless, I was starting to feel lost in my own company and craving
interaction with others. I'd been in nothing but pajamas for so long, holes
were beginning to wear through my slippers. Besides, our checking account was
dwindling, and the modest insurance policy Jordan had taken out would only go
so far. Wallowing in my own misery was proving to be dismal, and it was high
time I returned to work and tried to bring some semblance of normalcy back into
my life.
Tomorrow is Saturday; exactly two weeks since Jordan
was...since the last time I had seen him alive, as he kissed me chastely on the
cheek before he walked out the door to head over to the bar. Ten forty a.m., to
be exact. As he scurried towards the door, I yelled out to him, "Want a
cup of coffee before you head out?"
Without looking back at me, he yelled over his shoulder,
"No time, babe!" He slammed the door behind himself and honked the
car horn twice as he sped off to work, leaving me rooted to my spot in the
kitchen, clutching the coffee pot. Little did I know he was absolutely right, and
truer words had never been spoken...there would be no more time with him.
The next time I heard his name, it was on a whisper of the
lips of a stout police officer with balding hair, and kind eyes. His partner
stood a step behind him and was almost a complete counterpart of him, a younger
man, maybe in his mid thirties, with a buzz cut. I could sense the solidarity
between them. They mirrored each other's concern-filled look, each of them
struggling to maintain eye contact with me, as the older officer said, "Mrs.
Carson?" Bewildered, I simply nodded. "Is Jordan Carson your husband,
ma'am?" he continued.
I'd watched scenes like this on TV...where the pair of
officers, be it civil or military, coupled onto the clueless wife's porch to
deliver news that was never any good, and with weary eyes, would offer up their
services and heartfelt condolences.
Dread filled my senses. A lump formed in my throat, and
tears began to gather in my eyes, as panic rose in my chest. My voice coming
out small and raspy, I beseeched the officers, asking, "Where is he?"
The knowing look that passed between them confirmed my suspicion of impending
doom. Balling my fists at my side, I demanded, "Where
is
he
?" completely disregarding their forlorn features.
The obviously senior, older police officer shuffled his feet
nervously as he toyed with his uniform issued cap, before stammering out,
"Ma'am, your husband was involved in an altercation at his place of
work."
I was boring a hole into his eyes, silently pleading with
him to continue. I interrupted the short pause by asking, "Why didn't
anyone call me?" with a bit of annoyance.
"Um, ma'am," he volleyed his eyes between his
partner's and mine. "The paramedics arrived on scene approximately one
hour ago. Mr. Carson was unresponsive at that time, and the EMT's worked to
revive him for almost forty minutes," he rambled, exuding the utmost
professionalism.
Blood began to rush in my ears, and my eyes fell to blankly
stare at his nametag, (Hardwick, or Chadwick, I think it said) while my surroundings
began to fade away. I faintly registered phrases such as 'did everything they
could do', 'time of death', and 'interviewing witnesses'.
Moments went by before the younger officer broke into my
reverie, asking, "Mrs. Carson, is there somewhere you can stay tonight? Or
someone you'd like us to call?"
Blinking rapidly, I repeated my same words, "Where is
he?" in a flat, hushed tone.
"Ma'am, you'll be able to see him when the coroner has
made his assessment and determined a final cause of death."
Tears spilled from my lashes, and I asked numbly, "How
long will that take?"
Officer Hardwick/Chadwick responded sympathetically,
"You should be able to see him by mid morning, Mrs. Carson."
I nodded my assent, asking, "Is he at Saint Elms?"
There were only two hospitals in the vicinity; each one about twenty miles
away, but in complete opposite directions of each other.
The younger officer spoke up, "No ma'am, he's at
Shadyside Memorial."
The older officer reached into his front uniform pocket, and
prudently produced two business cards. One of them was the general information
for the local police department, and the other had the information listed for a
detective from the neighboring larger city. Officer Hardwick/Chadwick
explained, holding out both cards to me, "This is Detective Harrison's
card. He'll get in contact with you sometime tomorrow to discuss the
case." He turned the other business card over, took a pen out of his front
pocket, and began to scribble, as he continued, "This is my direct line.
If you need anything before that, don't hesitate to call, Mrs. Carson."
Clicking his pen closed, he returned it to his pocket, and held the cards out
for me to take. I absentmindedly took them from his outstretched hand, placed
them on the small nook that housed our car keys, and stared at him blankly.
My voice coming out faint, I whispered, "Will that be
all?"
Upon exchanging a sorrowful look between his partner, the
officer replied, "Um...yes ma'am," before they both turned to leave,
their shoulders slumping as they walked towards their patrol car.
As I watched them slowly slumber towards the car, the
younger officer turned back towards me and kindly offered with concern,
"Mrs. Carson, try to get some rest."
When the patrol car rounded the corner of my quiet street,
pulling out of sight, I glanced down at the business cards, shut the front door
with a quiet click, and leaned my back against the door, going limp and sliding
to the floor. As I folded my knees against my chest and wrapped my arms around
my mid-section, cradling myself, I let the flood of ensuing tears wash over my
hot cheeks as my body gave in to my wracking sobs.
Kellan
It's been about two months since I half-heartedly agreed to
Jim's proposal of taking over his bar. Well, I guess technically it's
my
bar, now that the tedious task of working out the legal
particulars have been finalized. Based on Jim's demeanor before I took him up
on his offer, he made it sound like we'd agree to a figure, shake on it, and
he'd hand over the keys. But once I said yes, Jim set out to have his attorney
draw up an ironclad contract, detailing the specifics of the take-over. Jim
said that it was not only for his own protection, but mine as well. In all
reality, I knew Jim simply didn't want to end up getting screwed over, and I
don't blame him. Friends or not, I've seen first hand what can happen when you
blindly put your trust into others.
While Jim and I negotiated the aspects of my new ownership,
I took my last couple of months in Reno to polish my management skills. I knew
I'd have to up my game once I stepped into the role of owner, so I asked my
boss for more responsibility. I took over scheduling and overseeing the
employees, as well as putting in more hours. The added hours were nothing new
to me, but keeping a lid on my typical aggression when my co-workers fucked up
took some getting used to.
Taking a queue from the owner, I learned I'd catch more
flies with honey. Jumping down their throats for every little mistake would
only give them cause to tell me to go fuck myself and walk out the door,
leaving me high and dry. There were more than a dozen other clubs they could
easily find themselves working in by the next day, so I knew the key to
approaching my newfound leadership would be to use finesse.
Reeling in my temper took some effort, but I knew I couldn't
step in for Jim with a guns blazing attitude. As it stands now, based on my
does-not-play-well-with-others past, I'll be surprised if half of Jim's workers
stick around, and I have a pretty good idea of who'll be the first to go. In
fact, maybe it's for the best.
******
Hailey
The past couple of months haven't proven to be easy, but
I've gotten a lot of support from my friends and co-workers, and Michael always
seems to be there to step in on days that are particularly difficult. He has an
innate ability to sense when I'm at my breaking point, and has such an easy way
about him. Talking with him is like talking with an old friend. He's always
able to break down my defenses.
I only have one semester left to complete in the fall until
I graduate with my degree in psychology, and if I've absorbed even half of what
I've learned from him, I believe I'll have a real shot at helping others the
way he has helped me. Sure, he's a great professor, but I can't help to think
of the way he connects with people in need, and how many could benefit from him
practicing, as opposed to teaching. I guess I should consider myself lucky;
I've learned from an amazing teacher, and have been at the receiving end of
some much needed pro bono therapy. Thanks to Michael, I have the best of both
worlds.
Work has been...well, work. I do my best when I walk through
the doors to put on a happy face for the customers, but I know my crew can see
right through me. They still walk on eggshells around me, even though I've
assured them I'm ready to move on. I certainly can't just stay holed up in a
bubble, playing the grieving widow for the rest of my life, and the optimist in
me honestly believes there's somebody out there for me. Not that I'm about to
go and put an ad on Craigslist, but I'm open for possibilities...someday. My
adopted mantra from Michael is, 'You are exactly where you're supposed to be'.
If I learned anything from my short time with Jordan, it's that love happens
when you least expect it, and everything happens for a reason.
******
Kellan
Jim has been gracious enough to let me stay at his place,
rent free, for as long as I need to. Considering I'm not one to take charity,
and he's too pig-headed to let me pay him, I'll be looking for some new digs as
soon as I get settled in.
I set out early yesterday, and made good time, arriving at
Jim's late in the afternoon. As I pulled into his driveway, I couldn't help but
feel a little out of place as I studied my surroundings. The place had a homey
feel, complete with the proverbial white picket fence, manicured lawn, and
perfectly cared for flowers and shrubs lining the perimeter of the small, one
story house. The wooden porch gracing the front of the home housed a neatly
hung porch swing, and I envisioned Jim and Gail gliding back and forth, as they
sipped tea in the late afternoons, doting over their daughter as she frolicked
in the front yard. My childhood was no bed of roses, and family settings like
this existed only in my imagination.
Before I left Reno, I ended up subletting my apartment to a
couple of girls barely out of their teens who were both attending a local
junior college, and were ecstatic to get out on their own. I'm not sure I'd call
it 'getting out on your own' when Mommy and Daddy pay the rent. Nevertheless,
their parents bargained with me to include the furniture. I gladly accepted the
few hundred bucks they threw my way, as the last thing I wanted to do was to
have to get rid of it on my own. My apartment wasn't a luxury condo, and my
shit was bought from a second hand furniture store. IKEA was a bit out of my
price range. So the only things I brought with me when I left were my clothes
and some essentials, which combined, barely filled up my trunk.
I imagined Gail had been pacing the floor awaiting my
arrival, because the moment I stepped foot on the porch, she opened the screen
door with a flourish, and promptly ushered me inside the house, giving me a
chaste kiss on the cheek as she fawned over me, rattling off questions about my
trip. She reminded me of motherly characters in movies who pounced on their kid
after they'd made it home from war, yet I had a feeling the battle was just
beginning.
Jim, on the other hand, approached me with reserve, simply
giving my hand a firm shake, and asking, "You hungry?"
My lips curled into a sincere smile as I replied,
"Starving." Even though my mouth was watering from the delicious
aroma swirling about the house, I looked at Gail and continued, "But you
didn't have to make anything special for me."
She scoffed, saying, "It's not like I made a big fuss.
I threw a ham in the oven a couple of hours ago. The oven did most the
work." She sauntered off into the kitchen, yelling over her shoulder,
"There's potato salad in the fridge. It's not homemade, so I hope you
don't mind store bought."
Jim eyed me conspiratorially, saying in a hushed tone,
"Gail's not big into cooking. Wednesdays are usually pizza night."
"I heard that!" Gail yelled from the kitchen, as I
heard cabinet doors being opened and shut in a hurried fashion. "Where the
hell are the hand warmer thingies?" she shouted.
"The
potholders
?"
Jim corrected.
"You know what I meant," Gail huffed.
"Second drawer next to the oven," Jim answered.
Giving me a pointed stare, he lowered his voice, saying, "See. Told
ya."
"I'm not deaf!" Gail bellowed.
I chuckled quietly, as Jim shook his head and placed his
hand on my back, leading me to the kitchen and saying, "Let's go eat and
catch up. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow."