Page 8 of Cuffed (Everyday Heroes 1)
“That sounds great. Again, Chris . . . thank you.”
“You smell like smoke.” I glance over to my little brother Grady and make a show of sniffing the air before bringing the beer to my lips.
“Occupational hazard,” he says before lifting his chin to where our dad is attempting not to burn steaks on the grill while he shoots the shit with Grayson, our middle brother. “We were doing drills today over at the old gravel yard. I guess I didn’t wash all the smoke off.”
“Hmm,” I murmur, part listening, part lost in thought.
“So, you gonna tell me why you bailed on coming over on the Fourth? I hope like hell she was worth missing out on Mom’s apple pie.” He chuckles. “I guess you enjoyed a different kind of pie, huh?”
“You’re the firefighter, why don’t you go help Dad put those flames out.” Diversion intended to get conversation away from my sex life, but I’m not sure he’s going to buy it. My brothers are nosey fuckers.
He sits there silent for a moment, and I can feel the weight of his stare as I look at the flames flare up on the old Weber again.
“So, you didn’t get laid?” he questions.
“Nah.” Another sip of beer. Another push with my foot to rock the porch swing I’m sitting on.
“What’s the deal, then?”
“Nothing really. It was a long day, and then I ended up chasing ghosts for a bit and lost track of time is all.” I shrug. It’s close enough to the truth.
“You should have just told us you got lost in a call. Is it one I know about?”
“Nah.”
He chuckles. “Are you being a dick, or are you trying to be vague on purpose?”
I’m not trying to be a dick, but I know that once I say something to him, it will become a Malone family free-for-all topic of discussion.
He doesn’t push, which I’m grateful for, but my mind veers back to the ghosts. To the wondering and questioning and wanting to know more.
There’s the creak of my swing. The laughter of my dad and brother. The sound effects Luke, Grayson’s son, is making as he plays with Matchbox cars on the grass. The squeal of kids a few houses down as they chase each other. The hum of a lawn mower somewhere down the street.
“You remember Emmy Reeves?”
Grady’s bottle of beer pauses momentarily on the way to his lips. “Vaguely,” he murmurs. “You two were like Mutt and Jeff. She was at the house all the time or you were at hers . . . and then something happened with her family and she moved, right?”
“Something like that,” I respond, realizing he was only in preschool when it happened and probably doesn’t remember the details. Having a father who was chief of police probably helped keep the facts quiet.
“Why are you bringing her up now?”
“I saw her the other day.”
“No shit. How is she? Did she move back? Is she—”
“I couldn’t tell you.”
“No?” He reaches down and scratches Moose between the ears. The mammoth dog rolls onto his back without a care in the world other than wanting more affection.
“That’s the thing, she wouldn’t talk to me.” I glance up as the screen door opens, and my mom comes out with a basket of buns for the burgers.
“How’s studying going?” she asks, saving me from saying any more.
“It’s going,” I shrug, thinking of the stack of index cards with questions for my detective’s exam on them. They are sitting on my nightstand collecting dust.
“Well, let me know if you need any help studying,” she says, making me laugh. Once our mother always our mother, even when we’re studying as an adult.
“I will.”
