NICHOLAS

On the way home from the hospital where I was getting my lungs checked out—paramedics forced me to go—my mom calls me.

“Hey Mom, anything wrong?”

“Why would something be wrong?”

“It’s after three in the morning…or at night.”

“Oh, is it? Huh, yes, I guess it is.” She pauses. “Your father is sleeping so I’m being quiet. Nicholas, I had this terrible dream. Your face kept appearing. I woke up hot, drenched in sweat, but that might just be menopause, I don’t know. It comes and goes. But you’re okay? I had to call. It was very unsettling. It felt like when I lost my brother. I’m sorry I sound crazy. You’re okay though, right? No depression or anything that your father and I don’t know about?”

“I was just at a party.”

“Oh! Good!” She laughs with relief. “That sounds fun! See, I was worrying over nothing. Ever since Jeremy and I sold Burn, I’ve been feeling not quite myself. I think I retired too early.”

I glance down at the mention of their old restaurant, at the burn on my hand, weighing if I should tell her. “Mom, there was a fire.”

She’s silent, then whispers, “That was why I felt hot! I knew it, dammit, I knew it! Are you hurt?”

“It was a candle that set a hanging towel on fire, or someone knocked it over in the bathroom and didn’t notice. We don’t know for sure. But I’m safe. I uh…went back to save a dog and things got pretty scary for a second. You felt hot, Mom?”

“Yes!” she sighs.

“Well, that’s because you are.”

“Only you could make a joke at a time like this.”

“Everyone’s okay, or I wouldn’t be able to. Have to laugh at the rough stuff.” Turning onto my street I feel heavy. Can’t wait to get in bed and sleep this off. “My friend Billy was pretty broken up about it.”

“Do I know him?”

“No, he’s a party friend. Throws them. It was his childhood home that burned. His folks moved to Florida. If you knew Billy, you’d know he doesn’t cry easily.”

In the background I hear a stream of water pouring from the kitchen faucet. “Poor guy. Jeremy and I aren’t moving to fucking Florida, I can tell you that. Atlanta is home. And you kids will always have one, at whatever stage of life you’re in.”

“Says the empty-nester,” I smirk. “You making tea? I heard water running.”

“Might help me sleep again. Nicholas?”

“Yeah?”

“If something like this happens to you, please call and let me know. Don’t make me find out. I want to be first in line for the big things.”

“But I’m okay—”

“—Was the fire department called?”

“Of course.”

“And the police?”

“Yep.”

“Did you run into a burning building?”

I don’t answer this one right away, instead jumping out of the car and walking up to my apartment building, rubbing a deep frown. “Yeah, but it’s the middle of the night, Mom. You want me to wake you up? Come on…”

“That’s a big thing! Yes, wake me! Apparently I’ll wake up anyway. But I’m proud of you, though. You saved the dog?”

“I did. He left with a girl I met. The owners vanished.”

“What?!”

As I walk by ignored mailboxes I hear Dad’s groggy voice. “Who are you talking to, Meagan?”

“It’s Nicholas. He was at a party that caught fire. He’s okay though.”

“What?! Let me talk to him.” The sound of the phone quickly changing hands makes me prepare myself.

Dad’s reaction to any of us in danger is never calm.

“I’m okay, Dad.”

“Jeremy, he’s safe. He was making me laugh just two seconds ago!”

He ignores her, “What happened? I didn’t hear the phone ring. Are you at the hospital?”

“I’ve just walked into my apartment. Totally intact.” The lights in my living room turn on by sensor. I turned off the voice commands. We grew up without that stuff and it’s annoying to have an object talk back to me. I’ll never get used to it.

“Nicholas, are you burned? Are you telling us everything?”

Setting down my keys I collapse on the long end of my sectional couch. “I saved a black lab tonight—told Mom that already. You would have loved him, Dad. He wasn’t as big as Aslan but he was close. Had to carry him out of the house when there was smoke everywhere. He didn’t fight me, can you believe that?”

Impressed, my father’s voice calms. I can practically see him rubbing his face just like I’m doing, too. “Probably glad you came along when you did. Nice work. Everyone get out okay? Anyone hurt?”

Glancing to my hand I lie, “No, nobody got hurt.” The burns are not bad. They gave me some ointment, so I’m not going to worry my family about this. “The woman who took the dog was pretty hot.”

I can hear the smirk in his voice. “She was, huh?”

“There was something about her that struck home if you know what I mean.”

Dad laughs, “Below the belt home.”

“Is there a better kind? You should have seen her ass.”

“Round?”

In the background I hear Mom ask, “What are you guys talking about?”

“A fight,” Dad says, “Nicholas had to take down a guy in a couple rounds because he hit him below the belt.”

“What an asshole!”

“I know, right?” Back to me, Dad asks, “And then?”

Grinning at his quick-thinking, I tell him, “She was smacking her ass, telling me how skinny women pay for it. I told her if she kept spanking herself, I would pay for it!”

Dad cracks up. “You told her that?”

“I did.”

“Did she laugh, or hit you?”

“I think she wanted to do both. And I would have let her.” Glancing to the soot on my jeans I stand up and frown at the charcoal streaks I left behind. At least it was grey to begin with, but I’ll have to get this cleaned. Hate stuff like that.

As I head for my kitchen I hear Mom ask him, “Who’s ‘she?’ I thought you were talking about a fight. You want tea?”

“Do I ever want tea?”

She laughs and the sound fades, letting me know she’s walking away.

He lowers his voice, “You get her number?”

“Didn’t think to until it was too late.” Frowning I drink an entire sixteen-ounce glass of water down. Dad waits for me.

When I gasp for air, he demands, “How close were you to that fire, Nicholas?”

“Not too close. The front of the house didn’t—”

“—The way you drank that water!”

“It’s okay, Dad. I inhaled a bunch of smoke. I didn’t know I was thirsty. That’s all.”

Silence on the other end of the line. I can picture his eyes, same color as my own, darkening with anger at being helpless to protect us from every danger the world has to offer. I even see his fist tightening as he plants it on the kitchen counter. I’ve seen him do this a million times in my twenty-five years. As a kid of a man who suffered from PTSD, you notice the signs of his trying to control his emotions, his fear. You memorize them.

Because you want to help.

“Dad?”

After a beat he grumbles, “I’m proud of you for saving the dog.”

Raking my hand through my hair I frown at a photo of our family that smiles back from the fridge. “Thanks. I’m really tired. Gonna hit the sack. Night, Dad.”

“You know I love you, right Nicholas?”

Nodding to myself, I smile, “I love you too, Dad.”

We hang up, and I take a few breaths before heading for the bathroom. “Holy shit,” I sputter at my reflection. My eyes are red, black smears around them when I was scratching like crazy. There are smears all over my clothes, too. My arms are a wreck. Stripping I blink at my chest, shiny from the oils, the sweat.

As I climb into the shower, burns become impossible to ignore as hot water hits them. Wincing I swivel my naked body under the unforgiving stream. Wonder how the dog is feeling. “At least he’s in good hands,” I mutter while sliding soap around tender skin.

Good hands.

Fiery temper.

Gorgeous ass.

Kindness.

Slammin’ combo in a woman.

Dipping my head under the cascade I play back the ending of my night.

Did you get her number?

I wanted that phone number a little too much.