Burn (L.A. Untamed #2) (3 page)

For some reason that’s what makes me feel more empty than anything. I used to smell his aftershave if I got home while he was still at work, and it made me long for him. Now there’s no aftershave, and no Mikey. I realize that I long for the man I thought Mike was, not the disappointment he turned out to be.

Sinking down on the corner of the mattress in the bedroom, I cry fat tears so full of anger and loss that they feel heavy on my cheeks.

“Mikey,” I whisper in between my heaving and gasps for breath, folded over like a broken toy.

I’m finally starting to get tired of listening to myself sob when I hear Elle calling out for me.

I hear her footsteps pause in the living room. “What the hell!” she howls.

Next thing I know she storms into the bedroom and gasps when her gaze scans the room, finally landing on my sorry face.

She gestures to the empty walls and then points to the living room. “Are you fucking serious? Where’s the bastard? I’m going to kill him.”

“Go ahead,” I mutter.

“What was he thinking?” she yells, and then steps back with an alarmed expression. She continues on with a much softer tone. “Sorry, I’m just so pissed off! He’s left you nothing.”

“I told him to take it. I don’t want his stuff, Elle. I never liked it anyway. It was a big deal to him, so I let him do what he wanted in the house.”

She stares at me like I’m an alien, or that I’ve got horns growing out of my head. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Judging from her place, she really likes home design. Folding her arms over her chest, she regards the room like she’s making a list in her head.

“Besides, I’m glad it’s gone. I needed it to be gone.”

“Okay, but I’m taking you shopping tomorrow,” she says with such command, that I’m hesitant to disagree with her.

“It’s really not necessary—”

She juts her hand out like a traffic cop. “This isn’t up for debate. We’ll start at Restoration Hardware, their new home store is very chic.”

I shake my head.

“Pottery Barn?” she asks, with a hopeful look.

“Ikea,” I reply, sitting up straighter. “And only if we can have lunch there. I love those Swedish meatballs.”

She rolls her eyes. “Okay, but we’ll have to take your truck since they don’t deliver.”

I nod. “Deal.”

Chapter 3:
The Gentle Giant

The most courageous act is still to think for yourself . . . Aloud. ~Coco Chanel

I’m at the station with the guys trying to wind down from our last call. We thought it was a straight-forward kitchen fire, but it ended up something much messier. When our truck pulled up a couple was screaming at each other and the woman was holding a frying pan like a weapon.

Fires or accidents caused by domestic disputes are my least favorite response. We can put out a fire but we can’t fix what’s broken inside. No one ever wins in a domestic dispute.

I’m drained from the call but for some reason, our dramatic evening creates fodder for this group of goofballs.

“I was kind of hoping she’d nail that dude with the frying plan,” Scott says.

Bradley, also known as Bobo, shakes his head. “Someone needed to gag that woman. She didn’t shut up the whole time we were there.”

“Really? Gag her? Shut your trap, Bobo,” I snap.

He turns to me with narrow eyes. “Screw you, T. Rex.”

Glaring at him, I stand up and step away from the table. The guys think I hate my nickname, and as a result they’ll never stop using it. What they don’t know is that I think T. Rex is a lot more badass than Trisha, and badass is my middle name.

“Where you going?” Bobo asks.

“The bathroom. Got a problem with that?” I stalk out the door before he can reply.

“I’m halfway down the hall when I hear Joe’s deep voice, and I stop in my tracks and edge back toward the door. Our work schedules are rarely in sync, so I’m not around him that much. I’m curious what he’s going to say.

“Why don’t you lay off her, man,” he says.

“T. Rex?” Bobo asks.

“Her name’s Trisha.”

My breath hitches. I never thought Joe paid much attention to me. Why is he defending me?

“Yeah, give her a break, Bobo. Her marriage just fell apart,” Scott states.

“Is it true that she walked in on him with a dude?” Jim asks.

I hear several groans, and my head drops with the sting of humiliation. I press my back into the wall I’m leaning against.

“That’s some fucked-up shit,” Bobo mutters.

“So give her a break.” Joe’s commanding tone gives me comfort. From what I’ve heard, no one ever challenges him. There’s something about him that demands respect, and not just because he’s lieutenant.

“Yeah, sure, Joe. Whatever.”

Taking a deep breath, I continue down the hall. The rest of the night I keep thinking about Joe defending me.

I’m keeping to myself the next day when Joe calls me into the office. I follow behind him into the room feeling not just nervous, but small in every way. The man is well over six feet and standing next to him makes me feel like a miniature person.

Once I’m seated, he shuts the door so quietly I don’t even hear the latch catch. He’s a gentle giant and I can’t help but study his every gesture. It’s a relief to be focused on anything other than the endless empty ache inside of me.

“How tall are you anyway?” I ask as he slowly lowers himself into the desk chair.

He runs his thumb around his angular jaw. “Six-five. Why?”

I shrug. “Just wondering.”

His gaze scans over me like he’s sizing me up. “How tall are you?”

“Five seven. Not like I’m short or anything.”

One of his eyebrows arcs up. “No, nothing small about you, Trisha.”

“Thanks . . . I guess.” I give him a weak smile as I twist my hands together. “So what’s up? Am I in trouble or something?”

He slowly drags his large fingertips across the surface of the desk. “No, you’re not in trouble. It’s just Chief and I were talking and wondering if you could use some time off.”

I fold my arms over my chest. “Because?”

He looks me straight in the eyes, with unwavering focus. “Because as I understand it you’ve just been through rough stuff at home, and—”

I cut him off. “Rough stuff?”

He clears his throat and his gaze makes me squirm.

“Why are you talking to me about this and not Chief?” I ask.

“Because he knows that I’ve been through something . . . well, let’s just say that I can relate to what you’re going through.”

“Oh,” I say quietly.

I study my surroundings in more detail while I wait for him to speak again. There’s a faint smell of lemon furniture polish. The vibe in the office is type-A all the way—every paper, manual, and pencil in its place.

The silence is making me twitchy so I speak up. “Am I not doing my job? Am I causing problems around here?”

“You’re doing your job fine. As for problems, no more than usual.” He smiles, and it’s such a small smile for a big man that I can’t help but smile back.

“I know, I know. My parents always told me I was a handful.”

His smile gets a little bigger. “Well, I think you’re all right.”

“Thanks.”

“So what do you think? Do you want some time off?”

“No way. Actually, can I get more hours? It’s really lonely at home, and it helps being here, having stuff to do. I helped wash the trucks this morning and it wasn’t even my turn.”

“Okay then. I’ll tell the Chief you want to be put on double duty.”

“Hey, can I retract that offer? On second thought I don’t think I could take that much of Bobo.”

He presses his lips together. “Me neither.”

And then he winks at me, and even though it’s not a flirty wink, but more of a ‘I get you’ wink, I feel a flutter inside. For despite the fact that I feel like a complete loser, like the biggest failure in the marital world, this giant of a man is being kind to me. He’s showing me care when I probably don’t deserve it.

I want to drink all the attention in until I’m drunk with it. He better stop with this stuff or I’ll have the most epic crush in history on him that will destroy me when it undoubtedly goes unrequited. He already sports my favorite look in a man: strong, masculine features, dark blue eyes, thick black hair, and a built, solid body.

I sigh inwardly. I’m not exactly a man magnet, and there’s not a single reason to think that Joe Murphy, the giant, would be any different. Before I get up to leave I stare at his hands as he spreads his fingers over the desktop. It’s like watching porn, those strong, rough fingers spreading apart and closing. Holy hell. If rebounding is a religion, I’m ready to be baptized in the church of Joe, just to have those big manly hands on me.

That Thursday I start dreading our weekly family dinner from the minute my eyes open in the morning. Although we’ve talked on the phone since my marriage’s untimely demise, I’ve managed to avoid our Thursday nights. Now it’s time to suck it up and finally face my parents.

Depending on the nutso L.A. traffic, there are several routes I take to their place, and tonight I feel like the slow, scenic route. I start out on Moorpark heading east so I can pass the Saint Charles church. I’d always liked the look of the architecture and Paul told me that it was built almost a hundred years ago in this cool Spanish Colonial style. That surprised me since I’d always figured it was built for a film set or something and then just left there. Either way now it’s our little bit of Europe in North friggin’ Hollywood.

In the early part of the twentieth century this area was mainly orange groves, so I bet this church has seen a lot of crazy as the L.A. metropolis sprung up around it.

Next I cut through Toluca Lake, driving right past Bob Hope’s former estate. I saw an overhead shot of the property once and holy hell, for an entertainer who became famous in the forties, that guy had some serious bank. I wonder if he paid to have the Burbank airport named after him? Whenever I pass his estate I wave and call out, “Thanks for the memories, Bob!” and then chuckle to myself.

Toluca Lake ends where the Warner Bros. Studio Lot begins, so I turn right there and head up the hill toward the Lake Hollywood turn. My favorite part of the drive is slowly driving the winding road around the tree-lined reservoir that’s pretending to be a lake nestled in the hills. You feel like you’re at a manufactured mountain retreat but it’s only minutes from crazy town also known as Hollyweird.

Back up the hill from the lake, I dodge the groups of amped-up tourists taking pictures on the plateau facing the Hollywood Sign like they’ve reached fanboy Mecca. From there I wind down into freaky-deak, bohemian Beachwood Canyon before turning onto shit-show Franklin near my folks.

By the time I pull in front of their house I’m glad I pushed myself to come. Elle suggested that she and Paul could pick me up on their way over, but I passed on the offer. I just needed to pull on my big girl panties and get on with it.

“Hey,” I call out once I’m in the front door.

Ma comes rushing down the hallway, twisting a dishtowel in her hands. “My baby,” she wails while extending her hands in a wide sweep. She grabs me and holds on so tight that I feel smothered.

I slowly unpeel from her embrace. “It’s okay. I’m okay, Ma.”

She places a hand on each of my shoulders and pushes me back far enough for her gaze to run from the top of my head to my toes. “You don’t look okay,” she says with pursed lips. Her Irish brogue is thick tonight.

“Gee thanks.” I roll my eyes.

Her soft hand cups my cheek. “I can see, my girl, you’re broken.” She taps her fingers on my chest. “You’re broken in here.”

I resent my instant tears, and I blink them back furiously as I nod. “Yeah, I guess I am. I loved him, Ma.”

She smooths my hair down like she did when I was a child and it comforts me. “Yes, of course you did, sweet girl. You married him and loved him with your whole heart, and you know what that makes you?”

“An idiot?” I ask, trying to push the picture of Mike bent over the worktable, out of my head.

She shakes her head furiously. “No! It makes you brave, Trisha. You’re not like all those shallow girls who are putting on a show—out there just looking for someone to spoil them. You are true-blue. No games, just you, the rough edges and all.”

Rough?
All I can picture is sandpaper and more rough edges than anyone has time to smooth down.

“Maybe I don’t deserve a good man,” I say, trying to monitor the level of pathetic pandering in my voice.

“Maybe most of these soft men don’t deserve you. You have to find the strong one who does.”

“Hopefully while I’m still able to breed. I’ll be too old before I know it.”

“Oh good Lord! First things first, my girl.”

“Right.” I shrug.

“And you’ll get through this. You’re tough! Remember what they voted you in your senior year?”

I let out a long-suffering sigh. “Most likely to survive the apocalypse.”

“Yes!” she exclaims.

Just then my dad approaches us. We fall silent as he wraps an arm around each of us and pulls us into a three-way hug. After we step apart, Dad leans in close to me.

“You know I want to kill him, right?” he whispers in my ear. “Yer Ma hid my rifle.”