His Fire Inside

“He built those two different condo units along South Lamar and that one on First Street. The hotel in South Austin and the downtown one with the clubs that attra

cted all the pretty people like moths to a flame. He went and bought a tract of land and made it into a concrete village of strip malls and chain restaurants and an enormous theater. He’s changed South Austin completely.

“Ten years ago you could afford to rent a one-bedroom in South Austin for about five hundred, and now you can’t get a studio for less than eight hundred in the same area. He does all that then just leaves and becomes this playboy ho, flitting around the French Riviera doing princesses and actresses on yachts and balconies. The guy is a total manwhore.”

Patricia laughs. “Tell me how you really feel about the guy. He’s not the only guy who changed Austin, although yeah, he had a huge hand in it. He sunk a crap ton of money into the music festival and was one of the people to suggest the movie aspect to it.

“But hello, it takes two to tango, and it’s not like those women aren’t using him as much as he uses them. How is it his fault he’s so hot women drop their panties when they meet him?”

“I stand by the manwhore title. The guy is loaded, and what has he given back to the city?”

“Okay yes, he’s probably reached billionaire status, although no one knows for sure because he’s private like that. You know all that, yet you don’t know the guy has put in thousands for the homeless community? He’s also given hundreds of thousands to the LGBTQ community and veterans. He has the house flipping business that employs veterans on the regular, not per project, he even has it set up with PTO for when they can’t work. He’s not all that bad.”

Huh, I guess I skipped over those parts of the articles. “I haven’t really heard about all of that.”

“He also doesn’t get involved with his employees either, which you would technically be. From someone who has actually met the man, he’s nowhere near as bad as you’ve made him out to be. Besides, it’s not really him you have to worry about, it’s his mom and she’s a sweetheart. You’ll love her.”

“True, I might not be a fan of his. I am, however, a fan of money and no matter who they are, someone who would do anything for someone they love does sound pretty great. I’m also kind of on a clock. Janice and Mark leave in a week, so if I don’t find something else soon I’ll be sharing a room with my three-year-old niece.” From the room next door, I can hear Skyler and his mom laughing as she puts him to bed. Despite what Janice and her husband Mark think, they don’t need me as much anymore as they believe they do. Over the last year Janice and Mark have found a new comfort level with handling Skyler’s cerebral palsy.

They were close to putting seven-year-old Skyler into a living facility until Mark’s mother hired me as their live-in CNA and companion more than a year ago. There was a lot of anger on Skyler’s part for how his parents treated him. Janice and Mark weren’t sure exactly how to handle him and were stuck in a rut they couldn’t get out of it. I’ll miss them, but it is the right time to move on, even if they weren’t moving to Seattle. I was beginning to get too attached to all of them.

With my LPN I should be focusing on positions in hospitals, only I still wanted to get qualified as a registered nurse. It was easier going to school and paying for it as a live-in companion. There’s also a freedom that comes with home healthcare most people wouldn’t expect.

“Okay, give me the guy’s number. I’ll call him tomorrow.” I take down the phone number. As I do another call comes in, my sister Stella. “I got another call I have to take, I’ll call you later.”

“Let me know how it goes,” Patricia says as she hangs up.

“I will.” I click over to my sister. “Hey, what’s up?”

“I was checking on you, to see how you were doing. Have you found another job yet?”

There’s something in her voice. I sag as I force a smile into my own voice, even if I’m sure it doesn’t fool her. “Yeah, I do actually. All lined up. You know me, I’m all good.”

Stella sighs. “Oh, that’s great. Larry, he was saying he didn’t think it was a good idea for you to stay with us. I know you two don’t get along very well. This is a good thing. Even though I love your help with the girls, I was looking forward to you helping out but this—I, well...I’m glad you got another job.”

It’s petty, to let Stella dig herself deeper and deeper. She’s my little sister, I practically raised her, yet with Larry the asshole whispering in her ear I’m barely allowed through their door anymore. For the last few years, the time I’ve spent with them in between assignments has become more and more brief and tense.

Larry is controlling. He doesn’t like that he couldn’t control me or that I urged my sister to be more independent and go back and finish the college degree she abandoned to marry Larry and never got. He keeps a tight leash on my sister and their four girls, four girls under four because my brother-in-law was determined to have a boy. Never mind if my sister has a hard time delivering every time and she’s only twenty-three. I’m lucky if I get to see her more than once a month for lunch.

“Me too, so I’ll talk to you later.” I hang up even though I hear her saying something else. It doesn’t matter anymore. It doesn’t matter how much I miss her. Her husband takes precedence. I get it, but it still hurts. Scrolling through my phone, I find my brother’s number, the idea of calling Gabriel makes me smile. Gabe would only laugh and tell me it’s what I get for spoiling Stella. He would also offer me the only bed above his motorcycle repair garage while he took the couch.

I have money saved. It isn’t about not being able to afford somewhere to stay, it’s that it would have been nice to be able to stay with my sister. I’d also be eating into my savings for school.

Closing my eyes, I sigh as I key in the number for Rourke Vega and save it in my contacts. I’ll call him tomorrow, it’s after seven thirty and seems a little late to bother him. My contacts are few; there’s still the one for my mom even though the number has long been given to someone else. It’s been ten years since she died, and I tell myself every time I see it to delete it, but I can’t. I haven’t changed my carrier even though they are stupidly expensive just so I can save her old voice messages. Two: one telling me she was running late and asking me to start dinner, the other checking in to make sure my finals went well and to say she was proud of me. The last message was left three weeks before she died in a car accident.

Not for the first time, I blame myself for my sister putting up with her controlling husband. Of course, she thought it was normal when she watched me and my ex. As I do often, I wonder how things would have turned out if my mom hadn’t died; hell, if Dad hadn’t died either. It was pure hell when Dad didn’t come home from his tour overseas, when I was thirteen. Gabe was eighteen and had already signed up for the Army, proud to follow in our dad’s footsteps. Stella was nine, and I have no idea how my mom held it all together.

Compared to her, I failed miserably. When she died Gabe was on tour overseas, unable to come home for the funeral. It was just me and Stella. The original plan was to go Baylor. I had gotten in with a partial scholarship and was hoping to work my way toward being a doctor. My mom was a physician’s assistant, and I wanted to make her proud by becoming the doctor she always wanted to be.

When I tried to tell Stella we were going to Baylor, she lost it, refusing to leave her friends and her school. I folded like a wet paper bag, deciding to take the year off to find our new normal. In my mind it was only a year. I would apply to UT at Austin for the next year, or at the very least start at ACC to get the basics out of the way. Except I made the phenomenally huge mistake of getting married only three months later.

Connor was one of Gabe’s friends, I’d known him for years. He was checking on me and Stella the way he thought Gabe would want him to. I’d never seen Connor as boyfriend material. He was my brother’s annoying older friend. But in the three months following my mother’s death he was the white knight, the strength I needed to lean on so badly. I didn’t love him, though I tried to tell myself I did.

Only I didn’t love him, I needed him, so it made sense it wa

s a disaster from start to finish. Controlling, manipulative, abusive verbally and mentally and constantly. My sister saw me take it all and smile through the pain. What right did I have to tell her it was wrong now when she watched me go through it on a daily basis?

I close my eyes tight against those memories. No, I’ve worked hard to move beyond the worst four years of my life. Let it go.