Bullets & Bonfires

How would things have turned out if I’d followed my instincts? Told my best fri

end to fuck off, mind his own business. Explained that I was crazy about his sister and he better suck it up?

But she was barely out of high school. About to leave for college when I had no plans to leave our small town. She was off limits in so many ways.

Now, she’s home to recover from something horrible. Not to be manhandled. No matter how much I want to keep my arms around her, I have to let her go. It’s the right thing to do.

She’s not only Vince’s little sister, she’s my friend. And I want—no, I need—to do everything possible to help her through this.

Coming on to her is not helpful. It’s not what a good friend would do.

“I don’t have a key anymore, so I guess that’s why Vince called you?”

I’m struggling here. Unsure of which role to slip into. Detached cop consoling a victim? Friend? More-than-friend?

Definitely not the last one.

“He called early this morning. I would’ve found someone to cover my shift, if…”

If I’d know the reason for her return, I would have called in to work and hauled ass to Empire County Jail to beat the life out of Chad.

“I’ll be fine. I can entertain myself.”

“I’m sure you can.” To stop myself from pulling her into my arms again or something stupid, I lean over to check out her car. “Packed pretty full.”

“I kind of left my apartment in a hurry. All my worldly possessions are in there.” She lets out a short laugh. “It’s not much.”

So much for not saying anything stupid. Before I can apologize or reassure her in some way, she spins and opens the trunk. I jam my hand in my pocket, pull out Vince’s key, and go prop open the front door.

When I return, I find her bent over searching for something in the trunk.

“Go on inside. I’ll take care of everything.”

My voice startles her, and she bonks her head on the trunk lid.

“Ouch!”

“Sorry.” I reach out and run my hand over her head to soothe the bump.

She leans into my touch and whispers, “I’m just jumpy.”

A searing rush of protectiveness surges through my body, twisting and clawing at me. I’m furious. At the man who did this to her. At myself for not keeping better tabs on her. Hell, I’m even pissed at Vince for not being here when his sister needs him.

“I can carry my own stuff,” she protests.

Arguing with Bree is the last thing I want to do today, so I grab the heaviest boxes and allow her to take care of the rest.

“What do you think of the house?” I ask after setting the last box down in the entryway.

“It’s—wow.”

“Vince gutted it and redid everything.”

“He sent me a few pictures. But it’s totally different to see it in person.” She sweeps her gaze over the boxes. “Oh, I forgot something.”

In case whatever it is weighs as much as the last box I brought in, I follow her outside.

Mistake.

She opens the driver’s side back door, bending over and halfway crawling across the seat to grab something.

“Fuck me,” I mutter while staring at the sky. How had I missed those tiny, fucking micro-shorts that leave zero to my overheated imagination? I drop my gaze in time to find her backing out of the car.

And catch the smattering of bruises on her thighs. Small. Like fingers.

From rough sex? Manhandling? Something worse?

What the fuck? Without thinking about how inappropriate it is, I reach out, skimming my fingers over her leg.

She inhales a sharp breath. “What are you doing?” she asks.

“Your legs are bruised. Did he…? What happened?”

Her cheeks flame pink. “It’s nothing.” She slaps my hand away. “I’m fine.”

Shit. What the hell was I thinking putting my hands on her? I’d never touch a vic like that.

She’s not a vic. She’s your friend and she’s hurt. Stop being a creep and get a grip.

She stalks into the house while I check in with the station. I need a minute to gain control of myself, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t erase the image of her bruised skin from my mind.

I can’t stop gawking at the house. Shiny hardwood floors instead of the beer-stained, cigarette-burned, avocado-colored carpet we’d grown up with. Soft blue walls with crisp, white trim instead of peeling wallpaper.

“Vince works on it every chance he gets,” Liam explains. His voice jolts me out of my childhood memories, chasing the bad vibes out the door.

“I guess so. It’s beautiful.” I laugh when we enter the living room. A giant flat-screen television takes up most of one wall. That’s my brother. I can vividly imagine him sprawled out on the brown leather couch, shouting at the screen during Sunday Night Football.

The pain of missing my big brother hits me hard. Why didn’t I visit more often?

Pointless question. I know the answer. Chad. Chad. Chad. He never liked me spending time with anyone except him. First, he alienated me from my friends. Then my brother, and especially Liam, once he knew I’d had a crush on him.

Oh, Chad pretended he was concerned about me having enough time to study. Overwhelmed with my boyfriend’s single-minded focus, it took me a while to catch on to his act. For someone who was supposed to be so smart, I’d been awfully stupid.

Liam’s voice cuts off my trip down Bad-Decision Lane. “Vince said you should take his room. He hasn’t set up a guest room yet.”

“Oh, okay.” A glance shows that Liam’s watching me intently. Unable to stand the scrutiny, I head down the hallway. Away from him.

Each step I take stirs up a new memory that threatens to unhinge me.

A lump forms in my throat as I pass the bathroom. Teenage Vince had installed locks on that door to keep out one of my mother’s sleazy boyfriends who’d offered to “help” me at bath time.

I pause before stepping into what had once been my mother’s room. Well, mine and my mother’s old rooms. Gone was the one thin wall separating her room from mine. The wall that had provided quite an education before I even understood what all the men coming and going from her room meant. Gone was my tinier room where I’d spent a lot of nights under my bed with my fingers plugging my ears. My brother knocked down the wall and turned both spaces into one big master suite.

“Wow.” The gleaming hardwood floors continue into the bedroom, warmed by braided throw rugs. “I’m impressed with Vince’s good taste.” I point to the navy and orange comforter tossed over the bed. “Except for that.”

Liam’s quick bark of laughter chases away the gloom that had settled over me.

“He spends a lot of time reading those DIY magazines and watching home improvement shows,” he explains.

A picture on the dresser draws me closer. Vince, Liam, and me on the night of my high school graduation. Hours before I made the dumbest mistake of my life. Without thinking, I brush my fingers over my lips.

I catch my reflection in the mirror over the dresser. Well, second dumbest mistake.

“I have the same picture,” Liam says, gently taking the photo out of my hands. “I was so proud of you.”

Yeah, right. I’d embarrassed the hell out of myself that night by propositioning Liam after my graduation party. That kiss meant more to me than any gift I received that day. Until my brother ruined it. And Liam chose his friendship with my brother over me.

Vince accused me of being drunk. Wish I could say that was the reason I attempted to seduce Liam in my clumsy, girlish way, but I hadn’t even tasted alcohol at the time.

A good girl through and through.

At least I was.

Now, I’m a battered girl.

“If only you’d known what I’d turn into,” I blurt out.

“Hey,” Liam says, gently gripping my shoulder. “You’ve turned into a smart, beautiful woman.”

Does he really see me that way? My gaze lands on the sleeve of his uniform shirt—that his arm stretches almost to th

e limits—then shifts to the Empire County Sheriff Department patch he sports on the left shoulder. Liam always wanted to be a sheriff. And now he is.

I always wanted to be a successful professional, far away from the upstate New York town I grew up in.

Yet, I’m right back where I started.

“I don’t know about smart or beautiful, but I am a woman,” I joke back. It’s a lie though. Standing next to big, strong, has-it-together Liam makes me feel like an awkward little girl all over again.

He sets the photo back on the dresser without responding. A quick glance at his face yields nothing. He could be mentally agreeing with me or planning how to get the hell out of here.

Hard to tell.

The thought of being left alone in this house full of memories of all my screw-ups turns my stomach upside down. There’s no way I’d ask Liam to stay over. He’d think I was throwing myself at him.

I can’t handle being turned down by Liam again. Even if it’s for something as simple as friendly company.

“You probably want to get home,” I say, holding my hand out for the house key.

He drops a shiny silver key into my hand. I let out a sad laugh at the tiny, pink crown key chain it’s attached to. Liam loved calling me princess when I was little. Around thirteen, I decided I hated it and asked him to stop. Now, it only brings back pleasant memories.

“I’m sure you have lots of things to do. Thanks for stopping by to—”

He cuts me off before I can offer him an excuse to leave.

“Yeah, you know me. Gotta get home to feed the chickens and slop the pigs.”

I stare at him for a second before it kicks in that he’s teasing me.

“Well, I’m sure there’s some lucky girl waiting on you.”

He shifts away. “There’s no girlfriend, Brianna. I do have to go back to work, though.”

“Oh.” I squirm and flick a bead of sweat off my forehead.

“Damn. I should’ve turned on the A/C. It’s supposed to be in the eighties this week.”

I can’t help staring at him in disbelief and following him to the control panel in the hallway. This house had only ever had window fans that barely brought in a breeze. I watch as Liam flicks a switch and the low hum of machinery kicks on. A slight, cool breeze drifts over my shoulders.