Page 37 of Fire and Smoke (Nothing Special #9)
Wesley (Wes) Drake
Wes had every intention of sleeping until noon, maybe three.
His body needed the rest.
His entire body was reduced to sore joints and bones that clicked when he stood too fast. His lower back screamed. And his knees? Forget about it.
He was curled on his side in the middle of his twin bed, tangled in the same thin blanket he’d had since he was sixteen.
His workshop was still cluttered from last night’s trial run of a blast pattern that’d gone very wrong.
It was Sunday. His one day off, and he planned to do absolutely nothing. He was going to sleep in, skip breakfast, and maybe work on Free’s gift to him.
He’d earned this nothingness.
So when his phone buzzed against the nightstand, he groaned into his pillow.
Wes stared at his agent’s name illuminated on the screen.
If he let it ring, maybe he could pretend no one needed anything from him today.
It rang again. He sighed, swiped green, and croaked, “Yeah?”
“Wesley! Wake your ass up, baby. I got news that’s gonna make you wanna kiss me with a whole lotta tongue!”
Wes blinked up at the ceiling. “Only if you’ve negotiated a ten-year Arvel Comics contract for me.”
“No, but close. I got you a job. A real job. Here in LA at Titan Gate.”
He sat up, suddenly wide awake.
Forrest launched into the details.
“You know the sitcom Spy Guys ?”
Who didn’t know that show? It was in the top ten highest rated series on primetime television and in its sixth season.
“Of course I do.”
“Well, you’re their new special effects coordinator for season seven, episodes two and three. And if you nail it, it could be a longer contract. That’s if you don’t blow anybody up. I negotiated a pretty extensive budget for you too.”
Wes’s heart kicked in his chest. “Holy shit! Are you serious?”
“I am deadass. I pitched the hell outta you, Wes. I’ve been sending your reel of the SFX explosion from Dark Matter Burn to every studio from San Fransico to San Diego. Redline Studios called this morning. You’re in.”
A smile crept across his face. He couldn’t stop it.
Without a second thought, he asked, “What about Law?”
The silence on the other end wasn’t long—but it was telling.
Forrest cleared his throat. “Hard no. Nobody’s lookin’ to bring a loose cannon on their set, Wes, no matter how good his smoke effects are.”
Wes’s smile dimmed. He stared down at the blanket bunched in his lap.
“Wes,” Forrest said, voice dropping, “this is your shot. Yours . No tag team. Just you doing what you do best.”
The words should’ve lifted him. But instead, his heart felt squeezed by a vise.
Free’s voice echoed through his mind: “It’s about knowing you and when to step away and grow on your own.”
He didn’t respond.
“Wesley,” Forrest gritted. “Don’t tell me you’re actually thinking of turning this down. I’ve been working my ass off for free over here. Free , dude. I’ve pulled every favor I had left.”
Wes rubbed his eyes. “When would I have to leave?”
“Your flight is already booked, boarding starts at three.”
He froze. “Three? Today ?”
“Three o’clock. Agency’s covering everything. All you gotta do is show up tomorrow morning at nine,” Forrest said in a grave tone. “Wesley, this is your comeback, man. Don’t blow it.”
Wes stared at the floor.
The clock on his nightstand glared back: 10:14 a.m.
“Okay,” he murmured. “I’ll be there.”
He moved around his room like a ghost, packing slowly.
Clothes. Tools. A few small builds he’d been working on.
When he was finished, he stared at his phone for a long time, thumb hovering over Law’s number.
Just one call to let him know.
But he knew how it would go. Just one tortured whispered, “I love you. Don’t leave me. I can’t breathe without you.” Or one of those damned looks that made Wes forget all logic, survival, or self-care.
No. Why should I stay?
Law had damn near booted him off the task force himself, making him look weak in front of everyone.
He called Free as he zipped his duffel shut.
“Yo,” came the answer, half-distracted, the sound of typing in the background.
“Hey. I um…I wanted to say thanks for everything.”
Wes wanted to say more but his chest ached too bad.
“You okay?”
“I will be.”
There was a long pause before Free asked, “How long will you be gone?”
Wes hesitated. “I don’t know.”
Free’s tone was genuine. “Do you, man. You know how to reach me if you need me.”
“Thanks, bro.”
He hung up and dropped his phone into his bag.
His mother was making her favorite banana and kale smoothie when he walked into the kitchen. She was in her ten-year-old terrycloth robe and slippers that squeaked with every step across the linoleum.
“Hey, Ma.”
She turned, eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You’re up before noon on a Sunday? Are you dating a priest?”
His chuckle lacked humor as he slid an envelope across the table. “It’s rent for the next two months.”
She smiled sadly at it. “Thanks, son.”
“I got a job. In LA. Pyrotechnic work. I leave today.”
Her smile was brighter than the sun as she flung herself into his arms. “Honey, that’s amazing!”
Wes wished he could be that excited. “I’ll call you when I land.”
“You better.”
She kissed his cheek. No tears. No guilt. Only love.
The Lyft ride to the airport was quiet.
He kept his face turned to the window, watching the city stretch by. The buildings, the grit, the ghosts of his childhood.
They passed Lake Lanier, where he and Law had once lit a hundred mini fireworks in sync, just to see if they could fake a Fourth of July finale show.
The gas station he almost blew up after he used a pump to do a test run of his shooting flame mechanism.
He passed it all, feeling numb.
He hesitated at the terminal doors, phone back in his hand.
He wanted to call him and tell him, “Don’t hate me.”
And let him know, “I have to do this for me ,” and “Yes, I do love you too.”
Instead, he switched his phone to airplane mode and walked toward his gate, heart aching, and future undecided, but for the first time, he didn’t look back.