Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
“Nah, work was pretty slow.”
“You were at work? Since yesterday morning?” My voice is laced with sarcasm. His eyebrows arch and I feel compelled to add, “Your truck is loud. I heard you leave.”
“Oh.” He nods slowly. “Well, yeah, shifts at the fire station are twenty-four hours long.”
Fire station. I frown. “Wait. You’re a firefighter?”
He smirks. “Why do you say it like that?”
That did sound snarky. “No reason. It’s just … for Polson Falls?”
He laughs, as if my surprise is amusing. “For the whole county. Yeah.”
“Huh.” Star quarterback with a football scholarship and a shiny future ends up back in this tiny town, working for the local fire department? When was the last time there was a real emergency around here? I don’t know what to say, so I settle on, “I can’t see it being too busy for you guys, like, ever.”
“I’ll have you know, I’ve saved more than a few distressed kittens in my day.” He winks. “It’s a real crowd-pleaser.”
“Not as much as the calendar, I’ll bet,” I mutter before I can bite my tongue. Apparently, the models aren’t all old and portly.
“Yeah, that’s earned me a few dates too.” That grin of his turns downright devilish. “How about I bring you a signed copy later?”
“I prefer the one I have, thanks.” As a gag, Justine gave me an eighteen-month calendar with pictures of various insects mating because I hate bugs and she’s an asshole. Ironically, I’ve found the skillfully taken pictures of spiders and centipedes getting busy helpful in dealing with my phobia.
Plus, the last thing I need to do is feed Shane’s ego by accepting that offer. I’ll just privately google the images later. They must be online somewhere. “So, whatever happened to football, anyway? You were good.” I thought the NFL was a given. The guy was throwing sixty yards with acute precision at seventeen years old.
His playful grin wavers a touch. “I blew out my knee sophomore year. Surgery, physical therapy, the whole bit. That was basically a career-ender for me.”
Shit. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well …” He shrugs. “That’s life, right?”
“But you’re okay now?”
He bends his knee, as if on instinct to test it. “Enough to haul bodies out of burning buildings, yeah.”
Has he ever had to do that? A question for another time, perhaps. Especially when I have so many others to ask. “Why back to Polson Falls, though?” Of all the places he could have landed, why back here?
He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth in a pensive look. “You really didn’t keep in touch with anyone, did you?”
I shake my head mutely.
“Because of Cody.” He lets a beat pass. “My son.”
My mouth drops open.
“I share custody with his mom. The Red Devil.” He starts backing away, heading for his house. “Let me grab a quick shower and then I’ll be out to help you with that other side, so you don’t lose any more fingers. I think you’ll need those to write on the chalkboard, Ms. Reed.”
I stare after his sleek body as he disappears inside without a backward glance, as if he’s avoiding the aftermath of the bomb he just dropped.
Shane has a son?
With Penelope Rhodes?
My stomach clenches as if it’s taken a hard punch.
Ten
“A kid?”
“I know.” An hour later and I’m still trying to come to terms with the knowledge that Shane had a baby. The fact that it was with Penelope—that they share something so special together—makes me want to hurl. She was a vicious bitch back then, and I’m having a hard time believing she’s gone through a complete metamorphosis since.
“When? How old is he? Did they get married?” Justine fires off question after question.
I shake my head in answer, though she can’t see it through the phone. “I don’t know. He came over and went straight to work on the other side of the fence. I’m not going to yell across the lawn, drilling him for details.”
“But they’re over?”
“He said they’re ‘civil,’ whatever that means.” Maybe civil after a divorce? Ugh. Just imagining him marrying her—him, down on one knee, professing his undying love—and them having a baby together makes my chest ache.
“So …” There’s a long pause on the other side of the call. “Is he nailing your fence nice and hard?”
“And she’s back.” I chuckle, glancing over my shoulder to make sure Shane’s not within earshot. Thankfully he’s far on the other side of my front yard, his concentration on a wobbly fence post, brushing the sweat from his forehead with his biceps. It’s half past ten and already sweltering hot. “Remind me why I called you again?”
“Because I’m your best friend and this was too good to keep to yourself,” Justine retorts. “Plus you want my advice.”
“I do?”
“Yeah. On what it’s like to bang a dad.”
“Please tell me, oh wise one,” I mock wryly, playing into whichever dirty direction Justine decides to take this. No matter how somber the mood, I can always count on her to lighten it up with appalling jokes and sexual innuendo, delivered in that Bostonian accent that somehow adds to the punch line.