The Fire (Love in O'Leary #4)

by May Archer

Then Jameson Burke—the baseball prodigy, the popular kid, the guy I’d just realized was the hottest person in all of O’Leary or possibly the world—winked at me, dorky Parker Hoffstraeder—all five late-blooming feet of me—like we were friends.

How many times did I need to be whacked by the universe’s fuckery stick before I got the message that it was time to leave town?

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.

man isn’t finished when he’s defeated, he’s finished when he quits.”

“And Parker, remember that everything works out exactly the way it’s supposed to.” Was there a worse expression in all of existence? I doubted it.

“Did you fuck him into a coma already, Ev? It’s not even eight o’clock. What will the neighbors say?” “Same thing they usually say. ‘Thanks for the show, boys. Same time tomorrow night?’” I snorted.

“A French toast conspiracy. Sounds legit. Note to self: Get Everett a tinfoil hat for his birthday.” “You’re a fool if you think I don’t already have several,” Ev deadpanned, and I laughed again, despite myself.

“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?”

“Still waiting,” he said. “Christ Almighty. For what?” “To know whose fault it is that your idiot ass is here on the side of the road waiting for a rescue instead of sunning itself in the desert. Were you forced into last-minute shopping?” He nodded at the box in my hands. “Grindr hookup you couldn’t miss?” “Yes,” I shot back. “Yes, you caught me. There’s something so thrilling about a roadside blizzard hookup I couldn’t resist, but I’ve been waiting for hours and the only person who’s shown up is… Oh! Hey, wait! Are you OldFatCreeper87? Because I’ve gotta say, you looked way cuter in your picture, otherwise I probably wouldn’t have wasted my time.”

Your parents want you to go to college and they’re so sad you’re not? Boo hoo. Why the hell are you whining to me about it?” I growled in my best Jamie impression. “I have better things to do than listen to your needy ass bitching about how hard your life is. Don’t plan your future around me, because as far as I can see, we don’t have a future together. This isn’t love, Parker, it’s something to pass the time. Grow up. Make a decision on your own for once.”

“You hate it when rooms smell like food and there’s no food.” I blinked. I did hate that. It was why I’d been in such a hurry to move out of my last apartment. I had no clue how the fuck he remembered. Or why.

‘Jamie, we can be alone all night for the first time since our parents found out we were more than friends.’

“My sister had only died a couple weeks before,” Jamie whispered. “I’d wanted to kiss you for months. Years, maybe. And I’d finally figured out that life was short and unpredictable.” His eyes looked lost. “It’s still short. And still really fucking unpredictable.”

“I’m just reminding you, reminding both of us, that—” “That actions have consequences? No shit, son! I have spent the last fucking year doing nothing but dealing with consequences. The last fucking eleven years and five months. And every time I think I have gotten to the end, that the last domino has fallen, that there are no more fucking shoes waiting to fall on my head, life says hold my beer.”

I’d kinda hoped that my once-upon-a-time best friend would be happy to see my face when I got back, and instead I found out that he hated me with the burning passion of a thousand fiery suns.

metaphor

Simile... Not metaphor. Similes use like or as, metaphors do not. Just sayin

Control was a concept I only had a passing acquaintance with at best, and right now the fucker had entirely left the building.

I knew this man. I trusted him. He made me insane and he made me angry, but Jesus God, no one had ever, ever made me feel like I was flying half outside my body the way Jamie did. And I might never have this feeling again, but I had it now, and I gave myself over to it entirely.

Parker sucked in a breath through his nose, and holy shit, why did I find him even hotter when he was pissed off? I was demented, I really was.

was amazing that I could read this guy like a book when I had my tongue in his mouth and my hands on his body, but when it came to anything else, anything that didn’t involve sex and saliva and fuck me harder, it was like we spoke two wildly different dialects of the same language and were constantly misreading each other.

“We gonna pinkie swear? Like it’s 2002 up in here?” Parker’s eyes widened along with his grin. “Did… did you just say up in here?” I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, apparently it is 2002.” He laughed.

“A bonus son,” I repeated. “You mean Micah?” Angela grinned. “Bonus son sounds so much better than my son’s boyfriend, doesn’t it? Especially when the man in question is forty?”

“I called him my son-in-law once. Constantine turned five shades of red, choked on air, and told me later, in no uncertain terms, that if I gave away the proposal he was planning, he’d name his future children after my mother-in-law.”

I’d learned as a kid that the biggest and most important festival in town was whichever one happened to be coming up next.

That's kinda sweet

“You need an attorney,” she said sagely. “I know a guy.” I snorted. She said it like some kind of mafia don, and the more I thought about it, the more I could picture Angela Ross as the mob boss of O’Leary. Literally no one else in town would do it better than she would.

“Take it from me, if she’s still calling you and putting thoughts in your head, honey, she hasn’t let go. Tell her when you want her opinion, you’ll ask for it. That’s what my boys did. Nicely, of course.”

No, it was safe to say I’d never been asked to plan bird hors d’oeuvres in Boston. But, fucked up as it was—and it was fucked up—I kinda liked it.

I was glad someone knew what was what. I, for my part, knew jack shit.

Jamie’s truck was gone. The fucker had actually left me stranded here. “I’m going to kill him,” I said succinctly. “That’s my true feeling.”

I blew out a breath. “Gideon, can you give me a ride to Jamie’s house, and conveniently forget you ever saw me if the cops ask?”

I didn’t know how to have Parker in my life halfway. I didn’t know how to set limits and use restraint. I wanted him always, infinitely. I always had.

“You manipulated me, Jamie.” “It wasn’t like that,” I insisted. “I did the right thing. Look at all you’ve accomplished! Look at all you have.” Parker scrubbed both hands over his face. “Yeah, Jamie. Look at all I have. A burned-out bar. A couple hundred dollars in my checking account. And a friend… with benefits.”

Jamie and Parker. Parker and Jamie. Forever and ever, amen.

“But why, Jameson. Tell me!” It didn’t even matter anymore. This was Parker, after all, so why not? “Because I love you. Because I have loved you forever. Because it’s never been right with anyone else. And it never will be.”

“Who rings someone’s doorbell unannounced?” “Girl Scouts with cookies?” I suggested. “Missionaries? Gutter salesmen? Sexy, twinky bottoms who get lost in the rain and break down on a deserted road right in front of a sex club full of horny tops?” Jamie relaxed against me again. “Parker, why does this stuff never come up on my porn searches?”

“After you broke up with me,” I clarified. “After you called me weak and told me you were tired of my shit, you thought I should just call you. To, what? Take your temperature? See if you’d been joking or testing me when you broke up with me, and actually wanted to get back together? That’s the stupidest—” I glanced at Brian. “Uh.”

“I love you,” he repeated. I nodded again. It was apparently possible to feel completely hollow and heavy as lead at the same time. How interesting.

“Jameson never throws away a shirt.” I rolled my eyes. “Or a piece of furniture. Or a book. Or a trophy. Or any damn thing.” Cal and Ash exchanged another of their looks, and I tried not to notice. “Then do you think it’s likely he just throws away guys he’s in love with?” Ash said gently.

“I don’t think he’s throwing me away,” I said, setting my fork down. “He’s just… not interested enough in keeping me.”

“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.

“I’m gonna do better,” I said, pushing to my feet. “I’m gonna go to Cal’s in person, and I’m gonna tell Parker that he’s staying here with me. I’ll pitch a tent in the alley behind Fanaille until he comes home.” “Oh, praise Jesus,” Ev said in a rush. I laughed once. “You having a religious moment over there, Everett? I didn’t think you were the type.” “Witnessing a miracle changes a man,” Everett said dryly.

I can survive without you, but it’s not really living when you’re not there. So…” He swallowed again. “So, I’m here to say… whatever you want, Parks, you can have it. You want O’Leary? We’ll have it. We’ll rebuild your bar. Or build something else. A restaurant. A skyscraper. A botanical garden with thousands of tiny succulents in little colored, labeled pots. O-or if you want something different, something bigger? We’ll make that happen instead. Boston. New York. Or Arizona… I guess.”

“Or we could travel like Ethan. Wherever you wanna go, whatever you wanna do, we can do it… I just… would really like… if we could… go… together.”

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?”

Parker solemnly held up one crooked pinkie finger, and I burst out laughing before I captured his pinkie with my own and then kissed him with my heart on my lips.

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