SEBASTIAN needed a stiff drink. For some reason, the house felt more haunted tonight than usual. Alexandra wasn’t here and wouldn’t be again. He was sure of it, and telling her he wasn’t going to see her in Los Angeles seemed like the final nail in the coffin. He stopped at the liquor cabinet in the kitchen. This seemed as good a place as any to kiss it all goodbye. He poured a double shot of whiskey and tossed it back.

He knew what she thought. He didn’t know why it mattered anymore. She clearly had Wilkes. So why did it bother him so much that Alexandra believed he and Kennedy were already in a relationship? Why the hell didn’t he say more when he had the chance to set her straight?

I’m an idiot, that’s why.

She said she could explain this fiasco with Wilkes, but Bash didn’t see the point. He couldn’t. He rubbed the ball of his hand against his tired eyes. “This isn’t how I planned to spend my summer.” Or, autumn, or the rest of his year. Too much time had already been wasted with Alexandra Storme so heavy on the brain that the weight felt like it has its own gravitational pull. He sat at the kitchen counter with the bottle of whiskey and poured another liberal dose in his glass. With each round, he discarded another idea for how to deal with this situation. His increasingly inebriated mind struggled for a solution.

He decided that forgetting about her was best. Clearly that didn’t work. He failed miserably by moving on too quickly, and to Kennedy, of all people, who right now he should have been thanking. Fate and Kennedy’s ass intervened, because he wasn’t going to phone Alexandra back at all. After a while, Bash gave up analyzing, but keep right on drinking until the alcohol lulled him into a buzzed, dreamless sleep right there at the countertop, and left him wondering exactly how many times one woman could get to him this way.

Yes, drinking myself into a stupor is what my life has come to.

* * *

A pounding headache woke him up the next morning. Bash discovered sometime in the night he had at least made his way from the kitchen to the living room. The acrid taste of bad decisions filled his mouth and glared in his eyes, which he was sure would be bloodshot by now. Taking his time, he went up to the second floor bathroom for a shower. He leaned over the sink and brushed his teeth as he waited for the water to heat up. It was safe to say that after sleeping haphazardly on a barstool, then cramped up on the unopened sofa, he wasn’t in the best mood.

He stripped off yesterday’s clothes and stepped beneath the spray with a disgruntled sigh. “What do you want to do today, Bash?” he said aloud. “I don’t know. What is there to do four days before I go back to work? Nothing. Abso-fucking-lutely nothing.”

He scrubbed and bemoaned the boredom when just days ago he was pretty okay with it. Back when Alexandra was still a definite in his life. He should at least have been ecstatic that he still had a job with the fire department. “Shake it off, Bash,” he told himself. “It’s not all gone to shit.”

By the time he got out of the shower and dragged himself to his bedroom one floor up, he was in a slightly better mood. He found some clothes and headed back downstairs to find his phone, searching for the number the chief told him to call. He would busy himself with getting ready for work next week. That would have to be enough for now. Today was the perfect day to call central and schedule the classes needed to get prepped for his new role.

“Yes Sir, Mr. Sullivan. We can get you set up,” said the serious but helpful woman on the other end when he finally made the call. Fortunately, one of the training courses would start in a week. The call was over in less than three minutes. Bash hung up the phone and got to thinking about how to fill the rest of his day. Done with physical therapy and doctor’s visits, done worrying over going back to the Tucson Fire Department, the only thing left was to head to the gym this afternoon, search the mall afterward for a couple of dress shirts and business slacks for the new job, and try to ignore these crazy thoughts about Alexandra running around in his head.

First, he would eat. He would get breakfast at a diner for a change. Sebastian grabbed a jacket and his wallet and keys, headed out to his Jeep and turned over the engine. His rumbling stomach set him straight, and he had barely made it a few blocks when he spotted the closest diner in the area. He hadn’t been there in a while. He and his firefighter buddies would come here after every serious overnight fire emergency response.

Good. Some routine will help.

He headed inside, and the jingle of the bell over the door brought back old memories. He settled on a round red barstool at the shiny counter.

“Good morning,” a gray-haired waitress greeted him on her approach from the far end of the place. “The menu’s up on the wall. Can I get you some coffee to start off?”

“Sounds good,” he answered, and looked up at the chalk-drawn, handwritten menu for the day. He looked over to his right at two older men chatting quietly. To his left was a gentleman hidden by a newspaper. Turning to face forward again, he pulled out his phone.

“Crazy what they print these days,” the man with the newspaper exclaimed to no one in particular.

When he closed the paper, a surprised half-smile spread across Bash’s face. “Well, good morning, Maxwell.”

His face lit up. “Ah, Sullivan boy! I mean, Sebastian. Funny running into you here. How are you? I was just talking about you to Alexandra last night.”

“You were?” Bash lifted an eyebrow.

“How’s that knee of yours?” Maxwell asked, changing the subject.

“Much better, thanks.”

“Good. I’ve noticed you getting around without your crutches these days. Not snooping, mind you.” He shook his head and laughed. “I just don’t have a damned thing to do, now that I’ve been forced into retirement by a workaholic daughter and the lovely woman who used to be my ally.”

The waitress set a mug of black coffee in front of Bash, with a tiny pitcher of creamer. He thanked her, but was distracted, still wondering what Maxwell and Alexandra were discussing about him last night. Was it before or after all hell broke loose at his house?

The waitress, Beth according to her nametag, asked him, “Did you decide on what you’re having?”

“Try the omelets. They’re unrivaled,” Maxwell Storme suggested.

Bash nodded. “I guess I’ll be having the omelet then, with red peppers, green onion and cheese.”

“Not a problem.” Beth turned, and tacked his order on the raised rotating order rack within the cook’s line of sight before leaving to check on the other customers.

Bash sipped his coffee and turned to Maxwell Storme for what would likely be an interesting conversation.

“When are you heading back to work?” Maxwell asked.

“Next week. I won’t be going back to firefighting, but I’ll still be with the same fire department.”

“How come?” he asked, concerned.

“The knee’s better, but it won’t stand up to the rigors of fighting fires anymore. At least not right now. The doctor won’t clear me, and my boss won’t take the risk. I guess I don’t blame either of them. In any case, I’ll be in a desk job with some field work involved, and it’s a promotion too, so I’m not complaining. I was worried they wouldn’t have me back at all.”

“Well that’s good news, Sebastian. I’m happy it all worked out. I’m sure rushing into my place to help me and Alexandra out of the house when that fire broke out didn’t help, did it?”

Sebastian shrugged his shoulder. “There’s no way to tell, and I’d do it all over again if it came down to it, so don’t feel bad.”

“We appreciate it, that’s for sure.” Maxwell took a bite of his omelet and turned back to his newspaper for a moment. “Do you read this crap?” He gruffly rattled the paper again for effect before rolling it up and setting it aside, seeming annoyed.

“The newspaper?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow. “Well, yes, occasionally. What were you reading about?”

“I’m addicted to the news—the news channel, newspapers, news radio, online news, the whole lot of it. It’s a terrible vice, but I suppose someone has to contribute to the ratings. I should draw the line at the entertainment section, though. I haven’t learned my lesson there yet. I just read a piece on my daughter. Damned unsettling to have a celebrity as your offspring.”

“I can only imagine.”

“It takes everything in me to bite my tongue sometimes at the crap they print. Back when I was sick, it was the bull about her vacationing out of country and neglecting me. Did you see any of that?” He continued on without giving Bash a chance to respond. “Now this.” He tapped his finger heavily on the paper. “Take the article I just read, for instance. Everyone’s buzzing with excitement over her getting back together with that country singing bozo, Wilfred what’s-his-name. I happen to know she has her heart set on someone else.”

If Maxwell didn’t have Bash’s attention before, he had it now. Full on. “Is that so?”

“Absolutely.” Maxwell looked over at him and grinned. “You.” Bash faced forward and took a gulp of coffee as the older man continued. “Don’t look so detached, son. I know they keep going on about Wilkes, but she has her eye on you. She’s a clever little thing, but sometimes she’s terrible at leaving things behind. Like that flashy country boy. I’m just glad she canned his sorry ass after he pulled this last stunt.” He turned in the swivel barstool and stared at Bash, studying him. “You can’t tell me you didn’t know about the lengths that boy would go to make it in the music world? Wait.” He raised the rolled up newspaper in his arm. “You believe this stuff?”

“Ummm…we haven’t talked about what she may or may not have done at her front door with Wilkes.” Bash nodded at the waitress who brought over his omelet. He wasn’t prepared to have this conversation with Alexandra’s father. How much could he know about the situation?

“You do believe it.” Maxwell shook his head.

Shrugging, Bash replied. “I just want her to be happy. If they’re together, I wish them the best.” He was lying. He didn’t want her to be happy with Wilkes.

“Listen to me. They are not together. This business about her being back in a relationship doesn’t read like my child at all. She just fired him. It has to be a publicity stunt created in Wilkes’ camp. He stands to gain the most, because trust me, Alexandra doesn’t need him.”

Bash took another bite of the omelet. It smelled and tasted amazing, but only this conversation registered fully with him.

A publicity stunt. Suddenly several things occurred to him. He had heard what sounded like a very emotional Alexandra over the phone last night when Kennedy accidentally dialed her number. She sounded as though she had been crying, although Bash had no way of telling what about. Now her own father had just made it clear the stories were false, or a publicity stunt.

“Excuse me,” Maxwell murmured apologies as he shifted in his chair to reach into his pocket. “This darned phone. Um, if you’ll forgive me, I should take this.”

Bash nodded and looked down at his plate, suddenly aware that he should have at least let her explain, and he shouldn’t have cancelled his weekend trip to Los Angeles to see her.

Maybe there’s still time to reschedule it.

He looked over at Maxwell and saw the color drain from the old man’s face. “What?” Maxwell shouted into the phone and jumped out of his barstool. “Which hospital?” This sounded serious. “I’ll be right there.” Maxwell reached into his wallet and dug out some bills. “Sorry to cut this short, but we have to go now, Sebastian.”

Sebastian stood up and found his wallet to pay. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Alexandra. She and Eva were in a car accident this morning.”

“What? Where?”

“Just about forty-five minutes outside of town.”

“But I just spoke to her last night. She didn’t say anything about being out here.”

“We can get the details at the hospital.”

Maxwell hurried out of the diner, followed by Sebastian, who told him, “I’ll drive.”