1
Callan
“Daddy, I’m going to miss Chester.”
I glance at my daughter, her mess of blonde hair bouncing as she skips down the near empty hallway beside me. Her bright sequined backpack is weighed down with a year’s worth of artwork and the Chester she’s referring to is the class pet, a cute guinea pig with white and butterscotch fur. With summer vacation now upon us—Kaitlyn’s last day of kindergarten behind her—Chester will be going home with the teacher until the school years starts back up in the fall.
“I’m sure he’s going to miss you too,” I say, and ruffle her hair as the last of the kids rush from the school to enjoy their summer vacation. Luckily, I have the next few days off from the fire station and I was able to pick Kaitlyn up myself.
She pouts up at me, and my heart squeezes in my too-tight chest. She’s been without a mother and baby brother for two years now, and every fucking morning, right after I peel my eyes open, I pray to God I can do right by her.
“Can we get a guinea pig?” she asks.
I swallow against the rawness in my tight throat, and grin at my little girl. I have such a hard time saying no to her, especially when she blinks up at me with those big blue eyes—her late mother’s eyes.
“Please, Daddy.”
I scrub my face, and remember the goldfish fiasco. Who knew overfeeding a goldfish would create ammonia in the bowl? I’m a firefighter, not a damn fish keeper. But, yeah, I should have Googled it. Kaitlyn shed a lot of tears in the makeshift funeral in our backyard, and I’d hate for her to go through that again. Then again, every child should have a pet, right? A guinea pig would be less work than a dog.
“We’ll see, okay?” I say.
“Yay,” she squeals and claps her hands. I can’t help but smile. At six years old, she’s smart enough to know ‘we’ll see’ really means yes. My little girl has me wrapped around her pinky finger. I’m just glad I found the nail polish remover last night, after she painted said finger neon pink. The guys at the station would have gotten a kick out of that. They’re all good guys though, even if they love to goad me. There isn’t a single colleague that wouldn’t jump to lend a helping hand, and she gets lots of motherly attention from her aunt Melissa—my late wife Zoe’s younger sister—and both sets of grandparents, who dote on her.
I arch one brow. “You promise you’ll take care of him?”
She gives me an enthusiastic nod, and I just shake my head as we round the corner. “I’m going to call him Gilbert.”
“Why Gilbert?” I ask.
Her mouth drops open, like I might be dense. She’s probably right. Just when I think I’m nailing this single parenting thing, she grows and changes, presenting different challenges and a hundred more Google searches. Can’t wait for her teen years—said no dad ever.
“Because it’s cute,” she says.
I laugh, but it dies an abrupt death when I take the hallway corner and smack straight into something…or rather someone. A squeal of surprise wraps around me as books and papers and pens scatter to the floor at my feet. I reach out to steady the woman I nearly knocked on her ass.
“Whoa, are you okay?” I ask, instantly realizing I’d plowed right into Gemma Davis, an old friend from high school. She teaches seventh grade, so we rarely cross paths in the school, but I’ve always liked her. Zoe took Gemma under her wing when Gemma moved here in high school.
“I’m okay,” Gemma says and lifts her head. A wide smile splits her lips when she sees it’s me. “Callan. Hi. It’s so good to see you, or rather, bump into you.”
I sink down and begin to gather up her books. “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”
Her gaze goes from me to my daughter. “How are you, Kaitlyn?” she asks as she crouches with me to clean up the mess.
“I’m getting a guinea pig,” Kaitlyn sings out.
I groan, and cut Gemma a glance. “Lucky me, huh?”
Gemma grins at me. “Don’t worry. You’re not alone. I think every child in Mrs. Anderson’s class wants a guinea pig now. Chester is awfully cute.” She gives a roll of her shoulder. “I guess it could be worse. The class pet could have been a snake.”
I eye her. “Don’t tell me—”
“Not me,” she says with a quick shake of her head that loosens a tendril of honey-blonde hair from the small clip straining to hold it all together. “Mr. Baily has one.” She holds her hands up palms out. “Just preparing you for first grade.”
I exhale, my shoulders slumping. “Maybe I shouldn’t have given in so easily to the guinea pig.” She chuckles as we finish gathering up her music sheets. “I hope I didn’t mess everything up.”
“It’s fine,” she says. “I’ve always wanted to hear Beethoven played out of order.”
I cringe. “I’m—”
She puts her hand on my arm. “I’m kidding,” she says, and when she realizes she has her hand on me, she pulls it back and clutches the papers tighter. “It’s not a big deal. I have lots of time to get them in order, before my summer lessons start.”
I swallow and work to ignore the sensations trickling through me. Christ, she barely touched me; it shouldn’t be triggering any kind of reaction, especially around the vicinity of my crotch. Jesus, I haven’t been with a woman since Zoe, and have no desire to be with anyone. I might not have seen Gemma in a while, but we go way back. No way should a simple touch from her spark something deep inside me. Awaken something that has lain dormant for a very long time now.
“Sounds like an exciting weekend,” I tease. But who am I to talk? I can’t remember the last time I’ve been to Burgers and Brews Pub with the guys. Maybe that’s why my traitorous cock jumped to the occasion. The guys at the station are always trying to set me up—especially my best friend Mason and his wife Lisa. When Zoe was alive, we always hung out as couples, and our children played. Maybe I ought to take them up on it. Any girl I hook up with would have to know up front that a quick roll in the hay is all I’m looking for, though. I have no more to give.
“I’d prefer a weekend with my music sheets to your dangerous job any day, Callan,” she says, her eyes wide. “Running into burning buildings.” A quake goes through her. “No thank you.”
“It’s not so bad,” I say and turn to look at Kaitlyn. She’s spinning in circles, her arms wide, as she chants Gilbert over and over. For a child who’s been through a lot, she’s always happy and that brings a smile to my face. I must be doing something right. I turn back to Gemma, find her staring at me. The last time we talked she’d just taken the job at the school and was dating a police officer. I remember him being quite a bit older than her.
“How’ve you been?” I ask. “Are you still with…Ah…” Shit what was his name?
“Brad. No, we broke up. A few months ago.”
She averts her gaze, her lids fluttering rapidly as her body tenses. Okay, I’m not an expert on reading body language or anything, but I’ve clearly hit a sore spot here. Did the guy break her heart or something?