Something About Fireworks Read online

  By

  Savannah Brooks

  This work of fiction is intended for mature audiences. Names, characters, businesses, places, and events are either products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any and all resemblances to persons or places, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.

  Something About Fireworks

  Copyright © 2017 by Savannah Brooks

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Books and Stories by Savannah

  Short Stories & Novellas

  • Falling for his Best Friend • Letting Him In • Never in a Million • Just One Kiss • Cross My Heart • Before You Leave Again • Finding His Forever Guy • Snowed In • Our Family Secret • Whole Again • Moving Forward • Just Maybe • Snowed In Again • Wild Fate • First Times in Old Pickups • Harvest Kisses • Something About Fireworks •

  Troubled Hearts Series

  • Stay •

  • Broken •

  • Before It’s Too Late •

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1 from Stay (Troubled Hearts Book 1)

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Gray

  Eight years ago, my husband died, and life as I knew it ceased to exist.

  I’ll never forget the day the police chief of the local station stood in my living room and gave me the news. A routine traffic stop had turned into my worst nightmare.

  Tears burned in my eyes, blurring my vision as I stared at the man my heart wanted to blame, but it wasn’t his fault. Jason was gone, and nothing in this world was going to bring him back.

  The memory still feels fresh, and my chest aches. It’s said time heals all wounds, but this one still bleeds. I’m not sure it will ever stop.

  I press my lips together and hold in the tears as I stand before his grave. After four years of service in the Marines, Jason joined the city police force because he wanted to protect people. I admired him for that. His passion for helping others was one of the reasons I fell in love with him.

  A distant shimmer catches my eye, and I look up. The setting sun glistens on the lake in the distance, reminding me that the cemetery closes at dusk. I reach in my pocket and pull out the sandwich bag filled with a couple dozen stemless white flowers from the tree in our backyard. Jason loved that tree. I hated it. Every year, it would drop those stupid little white flowers everywhere. He would laugh when I griped about it. I always threatened that one day I was going to cut it down. After he died, I promised him just the opposite. That tree is the only part of him still living.

  I sprinkle the flowers over the neatly trimmed grass at the base of his headstone and imagine the smirk on his face, but there’s gratitude there as well, and of course, love. Shoving the empty bag back in my pocket, I turn and head home, unable to keep myself from wondering what would have been if he were still alive today.

  I walk through the front door. The silence of an empty house greets me, but after eight years alone, I’m used to it. I drop my keys and wallet on the kitchen counter, grab a cold beer, and drop down on the couch. As I bring the bottle to my lips, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and glance at the screen. I puff my cheeks and let out a long, heavy breath before answering.

  “Hey, Zo.”

  “Hey, birthday boy.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  “You know I have to.”

  “Whatever.”

  “You went to see him, didn’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Gray.”

  “Zo.”

  “You need to stop doing this to yourself.”

  “Doing what?” I take a swig of beer and kick my feet up on the coffee table.

  “Look. I get it. But it’s been eight years.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “Never mind. Believe it or not, I actually called for another reason.”

  “Okay.”

  “Russ and I are having a barbeque on the fourth with the kids and a few friends. Do a little swimming. Watch the fireworks. You are coming this year, right? You haven’t been by in a while and the kids miss their uncle.”

  “This isn’t some ploy to fix me up with someone again, is it?”

  “Nope. I swear. I’m done doing that.”

  “Good.”

  “So?”

  “Yeah, I’ll come.”

  “Good. Most people will be showing up around three or four, but of course you’re welcome anytime.”

  “Need me to bring anything?”

  “Nah. We got it covered, unless there’s something specific you want.”

  “Okay. Guess I’ll see you Tuesday then.”

  “Cool. Love you, bro. And for what it’s worth, happy birthday.”

  “Thanks, sis. Love you too.”

  “Bye.”

  “See ya.”

  ***

  I spend Monday morning working on the 1965 Mustang Fastback my dad gave to me a few years back. After installing the new distributor, I clean my hands and grab a cool, wet towel to wipe my face. The damp cloth feels good as I rub the back of my neck with it then drag it over my short hair.

  Grabbing a water from the mini-fridge, I twist it open and guzzle down about a fourth of the bottle. Thirst quenched, I drop into the old aluminum, outdoor folding chair—the cheap kind with the plastic straps that creak and threaten to break no matter who sits in it—and kick my feet up on the bright orange Home Depot bucket that I turned upside down to use as a foot rest.

  My gaze lands on the old faded turquoise blue ‘stang as I unconsciously pull the egg salad sandwich from my lunchbox on the wire shelf beside me and take a bite. I remember Dad bringing that home when I was about six years old. Mom getting mad at him for buying a car without seat belts in the backseat for the kids. Riding in the front with him when I was about ten with the windows down, listening to old rock and roll classics.

  I miss those days. God, do I miss those days.

  By the time I was fourteen, I knew just about everything about that car. And just about every time Dad worked on it, I’d be in the garage or driveway helping him. When I was sixteen, I scrounged enough money to buy a barely-running 1972 Plymouth Roadrunner. Dad helped me fix it up, and ever since, I haven’t looked back. Fixing and restoring old cars, particularly classics and muscle cars, had rooted itself in my blood.

  As I finish the last bite of my sandwich, a car pulls up and parks in front of my shop. I tend to work with one garage door open, letting the breeze blow through, so it’s easy for me to see the new Honda CRV and a shadowed view of the man driving it.

  He looks at the shop entrance, looks at me, looks down, and then looks at me again. Hmm. Maybe he’s lost. I take a swig of water and set the bottle down. Pushing out of the chair, I head toward the front of the garage as the man opens his door and steps out.

  The man seems to hesitate again, looking down at his phone. After a few seconds, he walks around the front of his car and comes toward me, looking a little uncertain.

  “Hi, can I help you with something?” I ask.

  His eyes scan down the length of my body before meeting mine but I can’t decipher the look in his eyes. “Hi, uh, yeah. I hope so.
I’m looking for Grayson Wolfe.”

  “Well then, I’d say you found him.” I extend my hand, and he shakes it. His grip is firm, his skin soft against my calloused hand. “Please, call me Gray.”

  “Ollie Beck.” The corner of his mouth lifts slightly, and he loosens his grip to retract his hand. It takes me a moment to realize I still haven’t let go.

  I drop my hand. “So, what brings you to Wolfe Motors?”

  “My boss suggested you for some work I need done. Actually, you came highly recommended.”

  I always like a good referral. “Sure. I’m assuming that ain’t it.” I point toward his compact sport utility.

  Ollie chuckles, and out of nowhere, something inside me wakes up. The sound of his slightly nervous laugh makes my breath hitch. I attempt to cover it with a small laugh of my own, but Ollie gives me that adorable, tilted half-smile again, and I swear it’s as if the man just jump-started my heart.

  “No, that’s certainly not it,” Ollie answers. “Chevy Club Coupe.”

  I clear my throat, trying to ignore the unexpected thoughts beating down the door to the part of my brain responsible for speech. The ones screaming at me to stop talking about cars and find out more about who this man is, and more importantly, is he single and open to dating another guy.

  “What—” I clear my throat again. “Sorry. Allergies. What year?”

  Pfft. Allergies my ass.

  “1950.” Ollie swipes the screen on his phone, shifting to stand beside me. “I have pictures.”

  I focus on the photos as he flips through them, shooing away the others thoughts clambering for attention in my head, like how good he smells right now.

  The car looks pretty beat up but mostly intact. “Original engine?”

  “Not sure. Honestly, I don’t know much about old cars. All I know is this one belonged to my great-grandparents. It was sold after they died. Took me several years, but I managed to track down the current owner and buy it back. I’d like to have it restored to original if possible.”

  “Well, by the looks of it, it will take some time, but should be doable. I’d have to get a good look at her before I can give you an estimate.”

  “How soon could you start?”

  “Soon as I get it. I don’t have any other extensive restorations right now, so I’d work on it between any minor restos and the regular repair jobs I get.”

  “How soon can I drop it off?”

  “Wednesday. We’re closed for the holiday tomorrow, but typically, the garage is open Monday through Friday from ten to five.”

  “Okay, cool. I’ll make arrangements to drop it off Wednesday then.”

  “Great. I’ll see you then.”

  ***

  My thoughts linger on Ollie for the rest of the day as I continue to piece back together the engine I’d been working on before he showed up. On the surface, Ollie doesn’t fit my typical type. Not the way Jason had. I’ve always had a thing for solidly built men like me—men who had muscles as a result of a hard day’s work on the job, not in the gym.

  Ollie, however, didn’t have that look. He looked… clean. I suppose that’s not the best way to describe the man, but I honestly hadn’t thought twice about what he looked like at all until I heard him laugh. Even now, I’m having difficultly remembering much other than the stark perfection and cleanliness of his fingernails compared to my stained, grease-edged ones, and the hesitant, crooked smile he gave me. He had sunglasses on, so I wasn’t able to see his eyes, and now, I really want to know what color they are.

  I clean and lock up about an hour after closing. The drive home gives me more time to think. Zoe’s words suddenly give me a new perspective.

  Eight years.

  Eight years I’ve spent alone because I lost my husband. We’d just started the process of adopting when he died. At the time, I couldn’t imagine having a family with anyone else. I couldn’t fathom starting over again with someone, so I gave up.

  The problem is, I still want someone. I still want a family. Only now, I’m worried that it’s too late. I’m too old, and those eight years, well… they’re gone.

  Chapter 2

  Ollie

  Get him out of your head, Ollie. Just because he held that handshake for longer than any straight guy would have doesn’t mean the man is gay, or into you in the slightest.

  I still feel a little new to the whole dating men scene. When I came out a few years ago, I was still married to Audrey. I’d spent years living as someone else, hiding the way I felt. I’d felt hollow and alone. I tried to be happy with what I had. I loved Audrey and Camden. Still do. Audrey tried to help, not knowing what she was helping with, but the emptiness grew every day until I finally realized I’d been hurting both of us by not being honest with her.

  One night after Camden was in bed, I sat her down and told her. She was the first person to whom I’d ever uttered the words. I was ashamed, not because I was gay, but because I felt I’d ruined our lives just when we were getting started. But Audrey, being my best friend too, just pressed her lips together and gave me a heartfelt smile and said, “I’ve been waiting for you to tell me.”

  Apparently, she’d concluded I was gay some months earlier after piecing together various parts of the puzzle. She wasn’t mad or upset. She even admitted she’d been okay to wait until I was ready because her military career was taking up a lot of her time, and she was happy coming home to Camden and I, and had no desire to date anyone anyway.

  Audrey’s parents were a little upset, to say the least. Mine were confused, and I think they still are. Audrey’s been my support. More than that, she’s been amazing. I lucked out big time with her. Plus, she did give me Camden whom I wouldn’t give up for anything.

  I’ve tried dating a few guys since, but nothing’s ever clicked. I’m not into clubs and such. I feel I’m too old for that, even though I’m only thirty-two. I spend my time with Camden mostly anyway, especially with Audrey deployed. Hanging out with a seven-year-old that calls me dad apparently doesn’t attract many gay men; either that or it’s me. Either way, it’s been slow going.

  For some reason, though, I haven’t been able to get Gray Wolfe out of my mind. I wonder what his parents were thinking when they named him that. I bet with a name like that, he was the cool guy in school.

  I can’t believe I stepped into his personal space yesterday using the pictures as an excuse. I’d just wanted to get a little closer to the man, test the waters a little. I could have sworn his breathing pattern changed when I did, but then figured it had to have been my imagination. The guy screamed straight, so maybe he was just being polite in not stepping away, you know, as a means to close the deal on the car.

  I keep telling myself that. He’s probably married with kids or else content with being single. Even if he is gay, a man with a muscled body like his doesn’t go for soft, pudgy desk guys like me.

  ***

  “Hey, Zoe?” I ask as I peek around the doorjamb into my manager’s office.

  “Oh, hi, Ollie.” Zoe gives me a friendly smile, as always. “Come on in.”

  “Thanks.” My anxiety diminishes at the invitation, and I grab a seat in front of her minimalist-organized glass desk, complete with a single laptop and cell phone.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yes. Great, actually. I just wanted to stop by and see if there’d be any concerns with me taking some time off on Wednesday. I’d like to drop that car off down at Wolfe Motors so Gray can get working on it.”

  “Oh. Yeah, sure. How’d that go, by the way? I take it you liked the place?” Zoe taps the keys on her laptop, her fingers flying, and glances between her screen and me.

  “Well, I didn’t really have any other leads, and you said they would do an amazing job, plus Gray seemed like a nice guy, so I just kinda went with it.”

  “Oh, good.” Zoe’s eyes scan the screen as she reads what looks like an email from the angle I’m sitting.

  “Okay, so, thanks. I’m gonna get back
to work now and hopefully get ahead of things before I leave for the night.” I stand to leave.

  Zoe looks up at me. “Sorry. Deadlines. You know. But hey, before you leave, I know you just moved here recently. I’m not sure if you have plans, but you’re welcome to come to my house tomorrow afternoon and evening. We’re just having some family and friends over for a barbeque and swimming, and we have an awesome unobstructed view of the fireworks the city shoots off over the lake. Your son’s welcome as well. There will be plenty of kids around.”

  “Is anyone else from work going to be there?”

  “Just from our team. I invite the whole team every year. I think Alexa is coming with her boyfriend. Tyler and his family too. A few of my husband’s friends will be there. And when I say family is coming, it’s pretty much just my brother, and he’s pretty cool.”

  “Okay.”

  “So, you’ll come?”

  “Um.” I toss the idea around in my head. I’m not crazy about big social events, but this seems small enough for me.

  Zoe puts her hand alongside her mouth and leans toward me as if she’s going to tell me a secret. She singsongs quietly, “Awesome fireworks.”

  My lips twist into a smile.

  “Perfect,” Zoe beams. Clearly, she’s learned to decipher my, okay-I’ll-do-it face. “I’ll text you my address, and just show up any time after three.”

  “Um, okay. Do I need to bring anything?”

  “Only if you want, but we’ve covered the basics.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Zoe.” I smile, thinking not only will it be nice to make a few friends outside of work, but also knowing that my son is going to be ecstatic.

  ***

  “Is it time to go yet?”

  “Camden, enough. You ask me again, and we’ll just stay home.”

  “I just really wanna go swimming.”

  “I know you do, but remember how we’ve talked about patience?”

  Camden crinkles his face. “Yeah.”

  “This is one of those times you need to be patient, bud.”