Page 9 of Over and Above (Mount Hope #4)

Chapter Nine

Magnus

Sean shooed me away from the scene even before the fire department finished. The scene . That sounded way more clinical and tidy than the more accurate description of the smoldering remains of my house .

“There’s nothing more you can do tonight.” Sean’s eyes were kind, but I simply wasn’t in a position to process what that meant. “Take the dogs. Go to Eric’s. Get some rest.”

“I will.” My voice was wooden. Nothing more. The entire right side of the roof had collapsed, and smoke enveloped much of what was left of the house. Tomorrow, I’d need to worry about things like finding my fireproof safe with all my key documents. Because of how much I traveled and poured into The Heist, I’d always said I collected memories more than stuff, but I’d never expected that belief to be tested like this. However, at the moment, all I could focus on was immediate needs. “I’ve got leashes in the SUV, at least.”

“That’s good. Caleb can help you load them up.” Sean motioned to another firefighter, but I waved him away. Eric’s ambulance crew had already departed, but the firefighters continued looking for hot spots within the walls.

“I can handle it. I don’t think they’re likely to run again.” I rubbed my head, finally releasing my grip on the dogs, who, as predicted, didn’t budge from my side. “They’re probably hungry. Heck. Think the store by the highway is twenty-four hours?”

“Yep.” Sean nodded. “Do you feel up to going to a store? I could call?—”

“No calls. The fewer people who know tonight, the better the chances of Diesel not finding out too soon.” I forced a firm tone I absolutely did not feel, and it worked because Sean waved me on.

“Okay. Be safe.”

Somehow, I made it in and out of the store, collecting kibble, dog shampoo, and some treats to reward the runaways for returning home. As I headed to the register, I added a toothbrush, a pair of flannel pants to sleep in, and jeans for the morning. I had enough black T-shirts at The Heist to last a while. The SUV smelled like sour dogs, and by the time we reached Eric’s, I had just enough energy to grab the dog shampoo and find the hose Eric had mentioned. Fortunately, it was a warm July night, and neither beast was a stranger to a quick rinse-off by a garden hose.

Of course, afterward, my dress shirt was completely and totally toast, along with my pants. I would have preferred to make a better impression for a sleepover at Eric’s, but like everything else, my soggy state was out of my control. As I unloaded the kibble and my change of clothing, Eric arrived home.

“Hey. Sorry if I kept you waiting.” He handed me two towels from the back of his SUV like he’d had them there for exactly this reason.

“No worries.” I toweled off the dogs as best I could. “Needed to wash the stinky boys before letting them in your house.”

“Now you’re the one who needs a wash.” Smiling, Eric ushered me and both dogs into the house. As I remembered from my brief visit the week prior, his kitchen was large and welcoming, with white cabinetry, a large island, and a farmhouse-style sink. Eric took the kibble bag from me and set it on a table in the breakfast nook. “How does a hot shower sound?”

“Like a miracle.” I started to exhale, only to tense again as the dogs explored Eric’s pristine white kitchen. “I can’t leave Ben and Jerry though. They can be a handful until they settle. Most of the time, they’re lazy potatoes, but tonight was a bit outside the ordinary.”

“For you as well.” Eric headed for a hallway off the kitchen. He looked freshly showered himself with damp hair, and he’d replaced his uniform with a pair of faded jeans and a long-sleeve T-shirt advertising Mount Hope football. “I never had a dog growing up, but Jonas’s dog Oz tolerated me fine. I’m sure your two will like me loads when I set out their food while you shower.”

“Thanks.” It was about all my weary brain could muster.

Eric opened the door to what would be the primary bedroom in most houses, a large, airy room with an attached bath, but the number of boxes in the room gave me pause.

“Yeah, I know.” He gestured at the unmade bed and collection of boxes. “The kids are after me to move back into this room. I’ve spent the last eighteen months or so in a little room in the attic near Maren’s old room. Moving back into the primary makes sense on paper…”

“It’s a process. I get it.” I’d been vaguely aware of Eric since before his husband died, and for all he revved my personal engine, I’d never presume to tell the man how to grieve. “And I don’t want to put you out.”

“You’re not. No one’s slept here since the room was Declan’s over the winter. I got as far as bringing the boxes in.” His mouth twisted as he kicked a box labeled Winter Clothing . “But this will work as a guest room tonight. You hit the shower, and I’ll make up the bed and hang a towel on the bathroom door.”

“Okay.” Still holding the package of flannel pajama pants, I stumbled toward the bathroom before collecting myself enough to add, “Thank you.”

Somehow, I went through the motions of a shower, collected the towel Eric had left on the door as promised, and fumbled my way into the pants. No T-shirt to be found. Eric would have to deal because my dress was not going back on. I made my way back into the kitchen, where my dogs were only too delighted to be dealing with someone who fed them giant portions of kibble in mixing bowls. Eric himself was standing in front of the fridge.

“Hey.” Eric’s eyes went wide from either my lack of shirt or my collection of tats. His pink cheeks said he’d definitely noticed both. “When did you last eat something?”

“Lunch-ish.” As usual, I’d worked through the dinner rush, intending to grab something later, but later had involved the burning of my house, so yeah. Lunch would have to do, but Eric was already pulling ingredients out of his fridge.

“Eggs okay?” he asked as a block of cheese joined the carton of eggs, a package of pre-shredded potatoes, and bacon on the counter.

“You don’t have to feed me.” I had to look away from the cheese so my stomach wouldn’t growl and give me away. “You’re doing more than enough.”

“I’m hungry too.” Eric was quite possibly lying, but I wasn’t about to stop a man who was already grabbing two shiny skillets. “I’m in the mood for eggs. No Wren this week, so we actually have some bacon.”

“Here. At least I can help.” I grabbed the package of potatoes. “You’re thinking hashbrowns?”

“Yep. The required oil says I should think of them less, but as you know, I love anything potato.” As easily as if we’d cooked together a thousand times, he passed me a skillet and a bottle of oil.

“Potatoes and cheese are a pretty unstoppable combination.” Standing beside him at the stove, I preheated the skillet as Eric started bacon frying in the other skillet. “And breakfast for dinner is a late-night classic.”

“Agreed.” He handed me a flat spatula before I could even think to ask for one. “You seem calmer. Did the shower help?”

“Yeah.” I directed most of my attention toward spreading the potatoes out in a single layer. “That and cooking always relaxes me. I’m no trained chef, but like your pal Denver, I worked in a kitchen off and on for years, even before I opened The Heist. Taught myself how to cook out of self-defense as a kid because my folks were always trying some special diet or another.”

“Health professionals?” Eric used tongs to flip the bacon.

“You give them far too much credit.” I snorted. “No, more like nomadic hippy types with more family money than common sense. If the guru of the week recommended seaweed three times a day, they were game to try it. At least until the next fad rolled through.”

“I see.” Eric likely didn’t. He was the type to value stability, the whole picket-fence lifestyle, and undoubtedly wouldn’t have a clue what to do with folks like my flighty parents. “I’m glad you’re feeling more centered, but expect your emotions to be all over the place for a long while.” He gestured with the tongs. “A fire takes folks some time to recover from, and a big one like that will leave a scar.”

The way he emphasized scar before busying himself with more turning of the bacon told he had more than professional experience with fire.

“When was your fire?” I asked casually while checking the hashbrowns.

“Good catch.” He exhaled hard, taking a long pause to fetch a plate and some paper towel for the bacon to drain. That was fine. I wouldn’t press. He’d either tell me or not. But I also wasn’t shocked when he resumed talking. “We had a house fire when I was a teen. Older house, ancient heaters, no one’s fault. I’d already been considering medicine as a career choice, but the firefighters and paramedics who saved us made a lasting impression.”

“You…all made it out?” Despite my curiosity, I chose my words carefully.

“Yeah. For some families, the fire might have drawn everyone closer together, but with mine, it gave my parents even less incentive to stick around the Mount Hope area. Starting over was as good a reason as any for them to retire early to Arizona.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was what it was.” Eric punctuated his words by cracking four eggs into the hot skillet. “Even before I came out, we weren’t a warm and fuzzy family. However, I’d told them I was gay a few months before the fire so they’d stop pushing for a certain evangelical college. Things had been…tense all winter.”

“I can only imagine.” Although I’d only really explored being pansexual in my later years, I’d grown up around my parents’ free-spirited friend group, so the realization that my dick wasn’t always picky about gender hadn’t been any sort of crisis. “You were rather brave.”

“Eh.” Eric shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with the praise. “They were going to find out eventually. And the fire was a good excuse for them to withdraw further. Easier to justify a lack of contact with several thousand miles between us. My sister was younger and moved with them, so that was that.”

“I doubt it was anywhere near that simple, but I’m glad you found a family of your own later.”

“Sad to say, but my friendships have been far deeper and more meaningful than any relationship with my parents.” Eric busied himself with plating the food.

“I’m not particularly close with my family either, which is likely why I fought so hard to raise Diesel myself. My parents bounced between varied communes and minimal employment.” I didn’t usually talk this much about the past. Perhaps the fire had loosened my tongue. Whatever the reason, I kept chattering as I followed Eric and the plates to the breakfast nook. “When I met Flo, we bonded over a lack of stable upbringing, but neither of us knew how to create said stability for a kid.”

“Seems like you did a decent job.” Eric gave a sharp nod as we sat opposite each other. “I know I haven’t been easy on Diesel, but I can tell you care. You have a close relationship. That’s something to be proud of. And I’m sure his mom is proud as well, even if you didn’t work out as a couple.”

“Flo died when Diesel was in tenth grade.” I kept the story as matter-of-fact as possible. “Overdose. She’d been in and out of our lives, mainly out, for years at that point, but he took it hard nevertheless.”

“I’m sure. I’m sorry.” Eric took on a more pinched expression, facial features drawing together. “And I know those words don’t truly help, but for what it’s worth, I’m proud of you and Diesel for making it through. And you’ll make it through this too, even if it doesn’t feel like it tonight.”

“I hope you’re right.” I took a deep breath, released it, and started eating before I could get overwhelmed. The pile of tasks ahead was likely a mountain of things I’d rather not deal with. If I slowed down at all, let myself think, really think, I might fall apart, and like when Flo died, melting into a puddle wasn’t an option. Thus, I ate and tried not to think beyond the next bite, let alone the rest of the night or tomorrow.

“Is there anything that would help?” Eric asked softly as we finished the food. It had been hot and in decent portions, but I couldn’t say as I’d registered the flavors.

And in keeping with my conscious effort to not think, my reply flew out of my mouth. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”