The Fire (Love in O'Leary #4)

by May Archer

Moving back wasn’t how I imagined it would be anyway.” Dana sat on the opposite corner of the bed, pulling one leg up so she could face me. “Yeah? What did you imagine it’d be like?” Satisfying. The click of puzzle pieces connecting. A whisper of “ahhhh, that’s what’s been missing,” across my soul. A bone-deep knowledge that I was where I belonged. “Well, the bar not burning down, for a start.” I attempted a smile, and Dana patted my knee. “No, I mean… You know, my dad always said a man isn’t finished when he’s defeated, he’s finished when he quits.”

“Parsley,” Ev repeated. “Like the wilty green garnish that sits on the side of the plate taking up space. Like the shit that’s supposed to distract you from how very little entree is in front of you. How there’s absolutely nothing on your plate that nourishes you. That kind of parsley.”

“It’s like negative space,” he persisted. “In a painting. Sometimes, the negative space highlights the subject. Sometimes it is the subject.”

“I’m just saying, shut your fucking mouth for once and answer my goddamn question.” “Shut my mouth and answer your question? Through interpretive dance?”

“Because I love you. Because I have loved you forever. Because it’s never been right with anyone else. And it never will be.”

“You ever notice that we spend our time looking for a deeper meaning in the bad things that happen, but when things are going well, we hardly notice it at all? Like, you spill your coffee or burn your toast, and you’re convinced that it’s gonna be a bad day, right? But how often do you say, ‘Look at that perfectly cooked toast! Today’s gonna be amazing!’” Ash shrugged. “Secret to being happy is seeing the signs in the good stuff, I think.”

The past was the fire that forged you, that strengthened and weakened you, that molded and shaped you. It formed the magnetic core at the center of your being that meant some people wandered into your orbit and stuck there, like Ev and me, while other people, like Brian, got repelled time and again, no matter how sweet and on-paper-perfect they might seem. The past was all the missing pieces, all the jagged cracks and rounded edges, all the tiny earthquakes, and volcanic eruptions, and slow-but-steady erosion that had created your personal topography.

Parker stood in the middle of the room and turned in a slow circle. He let out a low, keening moan. “You Hulk-smashed our kitchen?”

Sometimes bad shit had to happen to lead you to even better things farther down the road.