Page 64 of Wild Fire

“Yeah, well, I don’t know how happy he is with me right now,” I say. “Kinda pissed him off.”

The guy shrugs. “People tend to do that to AJ. Have you tried calling him?”

I shake my head. “No. I was hoping to catch him here, so he wouldn’t be able to avoid me.”

The guy laughs. “Well, in that case, you should check his place. He’s probably holed up there, feeling sorry for himself because he thinks he pissed you off.”

I let out a sigh. “I don’t know where he lives. I mean, I was there, but I was drunk, so…”

“What’s your number?” I blink, but he motions. “I’ll text it to you.”

“Isn’t that like… illegal or something?”

“Only if you tell the police.”

I blink. The guy speaks.

“He won’t be mad. Least not at you.”

“Are you—”

The guy gets up, looks down at me.

“If you do your job right, he won’t be mad at me, either.” He smirks.

“In fact, he’ll be thanking me.”

He gives me his back.

“Wait, I—”

But the guy doesn’t listen. He turns the bend, leaving me with a spark of hope in my chest.

This could be a terrible decision. AJ could put up his walls again, and I could make things worse, but something tells me this guy—his friend—wouldn’t tell me this if he didn’t trust me. And he wouldn’t tell me this if he thought I was going to hurt AJ.

So I suck in a deep breath, look at the text that comes through with AJ’s address, and tell myself that it’s going to be okay.

I just pray that for once in my life, luck is on my side.

Chapter Nineteen

AJ

The light tries to peek through my curtains, which annoys me more than it should. After self-sabotaging the one chance I had to finally have what I want—Nate—I haven’t been able to open them completely. The darkness is familiar. Constant. I never call out of work, especially for days at a time. Aside from the day I called JJ to cover my ass, I haven’t called out in a decade. Because come hell or high water, this job has been my salvation. I fight for the survivors; for the glimmers of hope and the second chances. I told myself it was my penance for what happened. I couldn’t save my dad, despite how I’d hurt him, despite how much he hated me in the end. But my survival didn’t have to be in vain. I could atone for my sins, and the sins of my father, and that’s what I’ve held onto all these years. The promise I’d made myself to rise above the ashes and be a better man. But I’m not better.

Not even close. All I am is fucking broken.

I thought I had control of this monster inside of me, but I don’t.

Maybe I never did in the first place.

Which is why I haven’t moved from this bed since I came home three days ago. I told Sarge I was sick, which isn’t a lie.

I am sick.

Sick of the guilt, sick of the shame, sick of the pain that never goes away.

I should get up, make myself something to eat; maybe go for a run or a drink—or two or three. But it’s like I have nothing left in me to even do that.