Page 21 of Steel

But how the hell could I do that? Burning down the house that I’d made into a home for the two of us? Or just locking this room off permanently?

Fuck.

I smashed my fists against the hard bag in a solid volley, tossing one punch after another until my fingers on both hands burned from pain.

And I just didn’t care.

Call it penance for being stupid enough to fall in love with her.

Hissing, I backed away, dropping my head. Another series of images crashed into my mind.

Coming back from a fire, trying to surprise her. Flowers in my hands, desire in my heart. Even seeing the different truck outside hadn’t clued me in. Nope. I’d decided to make a fool of myself and walk inside to see who was visiting her.

No one had been inside. Or so I’d thought. Then I’d heard noise.

Swinging around, I smashed my fist into the bag, anguish jetting up past my elbow. There’d been no warning, nothing that had seemed out of the ordinary.

Until I’d walked in and seen a buddy of mine fucking my girl.

On my couch.

In my house.

Yeah, the story of my life. I’d come in second with my woman, just like I had at the rodeo event. Which was why I’d sworn off women and never, ever wanted to be reminded of the ridiculous event again.

Fuck the notoriety.

Fuck the event.

Fuck the internet.

CHAPTER 5

Violet

“How much further?”

I glanced over at Damon, fighting exhaustion. At least I could still smile. Instead of discovering him buried in some software application or level thirty-two of the strategic video game that he so adored, he’d been amusing himself with his favorite Matchbox car, currently ‘driving’ it back and forth across the dashboard.

The little red sports car had been his favorite since I could remember, carrying it with him almost everywhere he went. Maybe he realized I was watching him, which my kid hated since I was his mother, and shoved the car into his jeans pocket. I could swear my child was almost eight going on eighteen.

While we’d stopped for the night, I’d been restless, tossing and turning as I toiled with how best to get the project moving. I’d debated making contact with the captain of the Missoula Smoke-jumping team prior to leaving for Montana but had thought better of it.

What would I do if I was turned down? Contacting him over the phone was much easier than in person, but also made it easier for him to say no. For some reason, I was a little apprehensive about returning to Missoula, even though I knew everything had likely changed. Plus, my memories had been centered around the water and the mountains. The huge mountain range was all around, the peaks literally touching the sky.

There was a clear benefit to being unable to sleep. We’d left before dawn to try to beat traffic, my son snoozing for the first couple of hours. Now he was wide awake and not a happy camper.

Neither was I, although we’d made excellent time, arriving before noon.

Thank God, my old Jeep Cherokee had made the trip without incident. Other than needing to fill the radiator a couple of times. Since I didn’t drive much in LA, I hadn’t worried about upgrading or overhauling the old girl. If the calendar was the success I thought it would be, maybe I’d gift myself a newer vehicle later this year.

My little man was antsy, which I couldn’t blame him for being. I’d chosen to drive the twenty-two hours instead of flying and renting a car mostly because of the number of things I’d brought with us.

Including photographic equipment, my laptop and printer, my favorite Keurig machine—a gift from my best friend—and a bag full of books to read. What else was a girl supposed to do in her off time living in the boonies?

I’d also shoved in all the sports equipment purchased or gifted to my little man, most with low mileage. It wasn’t that my kidwasn’t good at sports. Or was he? I honestly had no idea since he’d never taken much interest in them and I hadn’t pushed. Not with my schedule.

That capped it. I was a terrible mother. But I’d made a promise to be better.