Never Too Hot (Hot Shots: Men of Fire 3)

Standing outside the old red barn, which his grandfather had preserved on the original property when they bought it in 1910 and started building the cabin on the waterfront, Andrew could almost see his lost dreams worming their way up out of the dirt, the dry leaves on the ground shifting beneath him so fast he lost his balance.

His heart pounding, he put his hand on the wide doorknob and pushed it open. There it was, his wooden sloop at the far end of the barn, right where he'd left it a little more than thirty years ago. He couldn't believe no one had taken it apart to use the wood for other projects, or at the very least, moved it out of the way. Why on earth was it still there?

And then he realized he wasn't alone, that his son was squatting down beside the boat.

“Connor?” he said, coming closer. And that was when he realized that the boat was no longer half built. “Did you do this? Finish building my boat?”

“It was a waste of perfectly good wood the way it was.”

Despite Connor's unemotional words, Andrew was incredibly moved as he kneeled beside the boat, running his fingers over the smooth, golden wood he'd so painstakingly planed and sanded as a teenage boy.

He hadn't been much older than Isabel's son when he'd started building the boat, but it had been his dream to make his living with sailing as far back as he could remember. His father had put him on a sailboat as soon as he could walk and they'd spent hours together out on the lake in the Sun Fish and then the Laser.

Andrew had always assumed he'd end up in a boat of his making on the lake with his own sons.

“You're right,” he finally said. “I shouldn't have left it unfinished all these years.”

“It's just a boat,” Connor said and Andrew knew his son was trying to steer them back out of the gray area. But there was no point in trying to steer clear of stormy weather. Not when it would find you no matter how hard you tried to hide from it.

“No, it wasn't just a boat. I loved to sail. It was what I was going to do, build boats and sail them. I was going to sail around the world.”

“Why the hell didn't you come back then?”

“God, I wish I had come back, wish I could change everything, but I was just too much of a coward to face up to my mistakes.”

“I get it you had a thing with Isabel, but who cares. You could have come anyway with Mom. You could have spent time with me and Sam. You could have taught us to sail instead of Grandpa.”

“It wasn't that simple.”

“I don't see how it could have been any simpler. You had a wife and kids who needed you.”

“I was going to marry Isabel,” Andrew confessed before he could grab the words back. “As soon as she graduated from high school, while we were both in college, we were going to be together. Instead I got your mother pregnant.

One stupid, drunken night. And just like that I screwed up everyone's lives.”

Realization dawned in his son's eyes, and then a rage Andrew'd yet to see, even those first days in the hospital bed when Connor's frustration had been a palpable thing.

“Mom was pregnant with Sam? That's why you married her?”

“I wouldn't have married her if I didn't have feelings for her.”

“But you never loved her like you loved Isabel, did you?”

Andrew knew he'd have to work like crazy to make his son understand. “I never wanted your mother to feel like she was second best. And when she got pregnant, neither of us could just go our separate ways and make the best of it. It wasn't the way either of us had been raised. It wasn't the right thing to do. We made the decision together to put a ring on each other's fingers and we tried like hell to make it work. We didn't want Sam — or you — to grow up in a broken home.”

“You made the wrong choice.”

“I know that now,” he tried to say, but Connor cut him off.

“You never gave a damn about any of us, did you?”

Something in Andrew snapped. He was done just sitting here and taking crap from his son.

“How dare you lecture me about love. Not when you're too damn scared to let that beautiful girl of yours love you.”

There was murder in Connor's eyes, but Andrew didn't care. He wasn't going to shut up until he was good and done.

“I did everything I could to be a good father when you and Sam were little, but the house was such a war zone, so much your mother's territory, she practically forced me into hiding out at work. Any time I showed up to a baseball game, she'd give me grief about the other five times I didn't go. There was no way to win.”

He held up a hand to stop Connor from interrupting again.

“A stronger man would have been a good father in spite of it. And I wasn't. But I wouldn't have traded you boys for anything in the world. And I'm hell-bent on being that better man now. Which is why I'm not going to let you get past me until you tell me what in God's name has gone wrong between you and Ginger.”

Connor's hands were hard fists and Andrew wondered if they were going to come to blows. He almost hoped they would, that he could let Connor work out his frustration, taking away some of Andrew's guilt with him.

But instead of coming at him, Connor said, “She deserves more than I can give her.”

They were simple words, words that shouldn't have meant much at all. But the pain behind them knocked the air out of Andrew's lungs. Thirty years ago there'd been no way out for Andrew or Isabel or Elise.

But his son still had time to get it right.

“I've never known you to back down from a challenge. Have you even tried to give her what she wants?”

“Didn't you hear me?” Connor shouted. “I can't f**king do it! I can't live my life thinking about her every single second, wanting her so bad I can't see straight, worrying that something will happen to her.”

“You love her.”

“Of course I love her,” Connor said, his voice raw, rough with emotion. “But I've hurt her again and again. I'll just keep hurting her.”

Andrew wanted to reach out for his son, but he didn't know how. “We all screw up at one time or another. We hurt each other. But the big mistake isn't screwing up. The big mistake is wasting time being bitter. Being angry.

Letting guilt eat you up inside. Letting one stupid moment change you into someone you never wanted to be.”

ing outside the old red barn, which his grandfather had preserved on the original property when they bought it in 1910 and started building the cabin on the waterfront, Andrew could almost see his lost dreams worming their way up out of the dirt, the dry leaves on the ground shifting beneath him so fast he lost his balance.

His heart pounding, he put his hand on the wide doorknob and pushed it open. There it was, his wooden sloop at the far end of the barn, right where he'd left it a little more than thirty years ago. He couldn't believe no one had taken it apart to use the wood for other projects, or at the very least, moved it out of the way. Why on earth was it still there?

And then he realized he wasn't alone, that his son was squatting down beside the boat.

“Connor?” he said, coming closer. And that was when he realized that the boat was no longer half built. “Did you do this? Finish building my boat?”

“It was a waste of perfectly good wood the way it was.”

Despite Connor's unemotional words, Andrew was incredibly moved as he kneeled beside the boat, running his fingers over the smooth, golden wood he'd so painstakingly planed and sanded as a teenage boy.

He hadn't been much older than Isabel's son when he'd started building the boat, but it had been his dream to make his living with sailing as far back as he could remember. His father had put him on a sailboat as soon as he could walk and they'd spent hours together out on the lake in the Sun Fish and then the Laser.

Andrew had always assumed he'd end up in a boat of his making on the lake with his own sons.

“You're right,” he finally said. “I shouldn't have left it unfinished all these years.”

“It's just a boat,” Connor said and Andrew knew his son was trying to steer them back out of the gray area. But there was no point in trying to steer clear of stormy weather. Not when it would find you no matter how hard you tried to hide from it.

“No, it wasn't just a boat. I loved to sail. It was what I was going to do, build boats and sail them. I was going to sail around the world.”

“Why the hell didn't you come back then?”

“God, I wish I had come back, wish I could change everything, but I was just too much of a coward to face up to my mistakes.”

“I get it you had a thing with Isabel, but who cares. You could have come anyway with Mom. You could have spent time with me and Sam. You could have taught us to sail instead of Grandpa.”

“It wasn't that simple.”

“I don't see how it could have been any simpler. You had a wife and kids who needed you.”

“I was going to marry Isabel,” Andrew confessed before he could grab the words back. “As soon as she graduated from high school, while we were both in college, we were going to be together. Instead I got your mother pregnant.

One stupid, drunken night. And just like that I screwed up everyone's lives.”

Realization dawned in his son's eyes, and then a rage Andrew'd yet to see, even those first days in the hospital bed when Connor's frustration had been a palpable thing.

“Mom was pregnant with Sam? That's why you married her?”

“I wouldn't have married her if I didn't have feelings for her.”

“But you never loved her like you loved Isabel, did you?”

Andrew knew he'd have to work like crazy to make his son understand. “I never wanted your mother to feel like she was second best. And when she got pregnant, neither of us could just go our separate ways and make the best of it. It wasn't the way either of us had been raised. It wasn't the right thing to do. We made the decision together to put a ring on each other's fingers and we tried like hell to make it work. We didn't want Sam — or you — to grow up in a broken home.”

“You made the wrong choice.”

“I know that now,” he tried to say, but Connor cut him off.

“You never gave a damn about any of us, did you?”

Something in Andrew snapped. He was done just sitting here and taking crap from his son.

“How dare you lecture me about love. Not when you're too damn scared to let that beautiful girl of yours love you.”

There was murder in Connor's eyes, but Andrew didn't care. He wasn't going to shut up until he was good and done.

“I did everything I could to be a good father when you and Sam were little, but the house was such a war zone, so much your mother's territory, she practically forced me into hiding out at work. Any time I showed up to a baseball game, she'd give me grief about the other five times I didn't go. There was no way to win.”

He held up a hand to stop Connor from interrupting again.

“A stronger man would have been a good father in spite of it. And I wasn't. But I wouldn't have traded you boys for anything in the world. And I'm hell-bent on being that better man now. Which is why I'm not going to let you get past me until you tell me what in God's name has gone wrong between you and Ginger.”

Connor's hands were hard fists and Andrew wondered if they were going to come to blows. He almost hoped they would, that he could let Connor work out his frustration, taking away some of Andrew's guilt with him.

But instead of coming at him, Connor said, “She deserves more than I can give her.”

They were simple words, words that shouldn't have meant much at all. But the pain behind them knocked the air out of Andrew's lungs. Thirty years ago there'd been no way out for Andrew or Isabel or Elise.

But his son still had time to get it right.

“I've never known you to back down from a challenge. Have you even tried to give her what she wants?”

“Didn't you hear me?” Connor shouted. “I can't f**king do it! I can't live my life thinking about her every single second, wanting her so bad I can't see straight, worrying that something will happen to her.”

“You love her.”

“Of course I love her,” Connor said, his voice raw, rough with emotion. “But I've hurt her again and again. I'll just keep hurting her.”

Andrew wanted to reach out for his son, but he didn't know how. “We all screw up at one time or another. We hurt each other. But the big mistake isn't screwing up. The big mistake is wasting time being bitter. Being angry.

Letting guilt eat you up inside. Letting one stupid moment change you into someone you never wanted to be.”