No Damaged Goods

“Pretty typical boy with a chip on his shoulder and a thing or two to learn. And if I were in your shoes, Blake, respectfully…I’d do the same damn thing with a boy going after my own daughter.”

I swear softly but play dumb and mutter my thanks again before hanging up. The town gossip mill has no chill and no limit.

That’s the final nail then.

Clark’s too young, too good at what he does, too…everything that’s not a reckless arsonist.

Which leaves me with the same suspect, my own flesh and blood.

And, right now, my number one enemy.

* * *

I wonder what it says that I won’t let my own brother into my house for dinner, but I’ll let Justin drop in like he belongs here.

Let’s be real. Justin hasn’t tried to sleep with my wife, doesn’t piss me off at every turn, and isn’t a suspect in a goddamn secret arson investigation.

He’s just somebody who looks up to me, I guess.

It’s a funny feeling, considering my own daughter sees me like the lamest dude to ever walk the earth.

Andrea’s bright as hell tonight, though.

I don’t know if it’s because we’ve got company who’s young enough to be cool but grown-up enough that she wants to impress.

Or is it because of Peace?

She’s acting like last night never happened. Maybe she’s forgiven me, once tempers calmed—or maybe she’s putting on good airs for Justin’s benefit since they’re both guests here.

But she lights up the entire room, this whirlwind of warmth, helping Andrea set the table. I work over a rack of sauce-slathered ribs and a big ass vat of creamy mashed potatoes with plenty of garlic and bacon crumble.

It’s nice.

She really lives up to her name. And no, I don’t mean Broccoli.

Peace brings this glow with her wherever she goes, whether she’s pissed at me or not. Don’t know how I’m ever gonna let her go when it’s time.

No, I don’t own her.

Even if I kissed her ever-loving face off like I do.

I’m just trying to figure out how the hell to ask her if she wants to make a choice.

And maybe give this desperado another chance to find that gold under cold, hard gunmetal.

I don’t feel all that cold or hard now, though, helping them haul the last of the stuff to the table and settle in to serve everyone—though it turns into a free-for-all. The way a family dinner should be.

It’s nice to see Justin laughing as he reaches for the mashed potatoes and his hand smacks Andrea’s. They both burst out laughing.

Yeah, this was a good idea.

Especially when I pass over the potatoes later for his second helping and ask, “So, how would you feel about helping out at the winter carnival?”

Justin blinks, almost dropping the serving dish before clutching it harder. “Me? What do you want me to do?”

“Well, we’ve got some numbsacks around here who like to play with fire too much—” That actually gets a snicker out of my daughter, not a glare, but she’s in a bright mood tonight. “So, I’m thinking a fire safety course wouldn’t be out of the question. You’re young, and the kids like you, so why don’t you lead it? Make it interactive or whatever they’re saying now.”

Justin’s eyes widen, and he grins. “Really? Yeah, I can do that. I mean, is anyone even going to show up?”

“I will,” Andrea says immediately, and I bite back a groan.

I already know what that’s about.

She’s head over heels for Clark. She’ll memorize a whole course on fire control if it means getting closer to his passion.

She just doesn’t want to learn it from me because I’m her stuffy, aggravating dad.

Fine.

Whatever makes her safer.

Justin turns his grin on her, bright-eyed and enthusiastic. He reminds me of a big kid himself sometimes, and I often forget he’s older than Peace.

“That’d be cool, Chief,” he says, then turns to Andrea. “And your friend Clark might be able to help out, right? You want to help, too?”

Andrea sucks in a gasp, her grin broadening. “Oh, yeah, totally! I’ll ask him!”

I feel like I’m watching ping-pong with words.

Justin’s just earned himself a friend for life, giving Andrea a good excuse to bring Clark into this.

While the two of them keep chattering away, Peace catches my eye.

And she smiles, something fond and approving in her eyes.

The sly smile I beam back at her sunny face tells me everything.

I haven’t fucked this up just yet.

* * *

I am about to kill Justin if he makes me take another damn photo with him, though.

Yeah, yeah, I know it’s his thing.

Guess it’s how he holds on to stuff, after the way he lost his ma—being able to capture and save the good moments so he’ll have them even when people are gone.

I don’t like smiling for photos.

Feels like I’m grimacing as he herds us into a tight cluster for a few selfies.