Smoke & Mirrors by Skye Jordan

6

Isabel

“He forgot I was naked,” I tell my reflection, turning to get a better look at the bruise on the back side of my hip. “For-got.”

That’s all kinds of painful for my tattered ego. “What man forgets a woman is naked?”

My reflection doesn’t have any decent answer.

I dress in my last set of clean clothes, finger comb my hair, and head downstairs. I left all my toiletries at the motel because I was half-asleep and disoriented.

In all the years Tucker, Cole, and Logan have been firefighters, I’ve never been in a firehouse. I left town before they joined the fire service. At seventeen, I grabbed a scholarship that wasn’t truly mine and ran to New York, a fashion designer wannabe. I liken it to women who come from the Midwest for a shot at Hollywood. And just like ninety-nine point nine percent of those women, I washed out.

When I walk into the dining room, all eyes turn to me. There are eighteen people here, not counting me. Sixteen guys plus Natalie and Betsy.

“That smells amazing,” I tell Natalie.

“Sit,” Natalie says. “I’ll fix you a plate.”

“Bless you.”

I go for an icebreaker. “Okay, let’s see if I can get all your names.”

“Twenty bucks she gets them all.” Tucker pulls out a twenty and slaps it on the table.

“No way,” Carter says, tossing out another twenty. “Ten out of eighteen.”

Betting is clearly a thing with these guys. They toss bets at Tucker, and he jots them down on a napkin. Wallets come out of back pockets and money appears on the table. With most of the guys tossing in twenty bucks—everyone except Logan and Cole—there is quickly nearly three hundred bucks on the table, which looks very appealing to someone who hasn’t seen that much cash since Cocksucker drained her bank account.

“What do I get out of this?” I ask.

“If I win,” Tucker says, “I’ll split it with you.”

“But I’m doing all the work. Eighty”—I point to myself, then to Tucker—“twenty.”

“Sixty”—he points to himself, then to me—”forty.”

“Seventy, thirty,” I say. “Final offer. You’re treating me like a circus act. I should be compensated.”

“She’s a shark,” Royal murmurs.

“She’s Tucker’s sister,” Cole says. “What did you expect?”

“Fine,” Tucker says. “Go.”

I look around the table and let the silence linger. I swear all the guys are leaning in, on the edge of their seats, waiting. Tucker is kicked back, arms crossed, smiling like a cocky playboy. If I didn’t need the money, I’d lose on purpose, just to mess with him.

I take a breath and point at each guy as I rattle off all their names in thirty seconds, finishing with “Natalie and Betsy.”

When I’m done, all jaws hang open except for Tucker’s, Logan’s, and Cole’s. I’ve always had a strong memory. Tucker’s grinning and reaching for the money. I want to grab my portion and pocket it like a greedy squirrel facing winter, but I’m too aware of the conversation Logan overheard last night. Too mindful of his eyes scanning my face, searching for the answers to his questions, validation for his concerns. Despite my dire circumstances, I still have some pride. Probably too much, or I would have asked for help sooner.

The losers deflate. Everyone moans and mutter things like “That’s impossible” and “How’d she do that?” Some lean back, hands clasped on their heads. Others drop their foreheads to the table on a groan. And some try to bargain their way out of losing by claiming I mixed first names and last names.

“She gave the names as Logan introduced them,” Tucker says. “Can’t argue with that.”

A couple of the volunteers say their goodbyes, and Natalie and Betsy fill those seats at the table. While I devour Natalie’s amazing cooking, others wolf down dessert, a berry streusel à la mode.

If it weren’t for Betsy—who’s showing a keen interest in my life in New York—I could have eaten, grabbed the money, returned to the motel, and called the night a success. But she’s asking me all the questions most people outside New York and the fashion industry want to know. And as soon as the word “fashion” popped up, all the guys’ eyes glazed over. Except Logan’s.

He’s always been a sleeper, hanging in the background, unassuming, quiet. But I know there’s a lot more to him—intuition, street smarts, intelligence, and the most compassionate, protective soul I’ve ever met.

“Do you love New York?” Betsy asks.

I smile. “There’s a lot to love.”

“Where do you live?”

Fuck. Where do I live?

“Manhattan,” Tucker says for me. “Are you still in that killer apartment?”

I just smile.

“What do you do there?” Betsy asks.

“Tucker told us she’s in fashion, Mom,” Natalie reminds Betsy. I understand there’s some concern over a mental decline, but she seems awfully sharp to me.

“What’s that like?” Betsy asks. “Is it as glamorous as it looks?”

“Oh, there’s a whole different side of the industry that you only see when you work in it.”

“Have you done runway shows?”

“I have.” Because acting as a changing room assistant to the models counts, right?

“Do you watch Runway Wars? Is it that competitive?”

I’ve never had time to watch much television. I don’t even own one. “Oh, it’s competitive all right.”

Trying to field Betsy’s questions without lying is awkward, and I’m exhausted from trying to pretend I have a life I don’t. From battling an ex who’s been trying to control me for months. From driving across the country, worrying about every penny I spend, and stress over what I’ll do next.

I want a fresh start, something I didn’t fully realize until right now. I want out of these lies, out of my dead-end jobs, out of my false personas.

Which would mean I’m a big, fat, epic failure. Not only didn’t I make it in the fashion industry like I’d planned and told everyone I would, I’ve passed my five-year mark, the amount of time I gave myself to make it in New York before I gave up, without any notable accomplishments to my name.

I never imagined being in such a complicated mess when those five years were up. The spider’s web I’ve been caught in has wrapped and wrapped and wrapped around me like an unbreakable cocoon, and the wolf spider living there just spotted me. Lunch.

“Check out her Instagram,” Tucker suggests to Betsy. “It’s amazing.”

My stomach falls, and my food sticks in my throat. I force myself to swallow. “You follow my Instagram?”

“Of course. You’re all I got, girl, that gives me bragging rights.”

I’ve just stepped into quicksand, and I’m sinking. Fast.

My Instagram has been geared toward showing potential employers what I can do in hopes of getting work. And, yeah, it gives the impression I am what I’m not. My posts don’t specify that I created only the window displays and not the designs showcased in those displays. Or that I took that low-level position in hopes of climbing through the ranks to become a buyer until something higher in the industry opened up for me.

Then along came Aiden, a manager in the company with enough clout to get me promoted to assistant buyer. I wasn’t thinking about that when I agreed to date him. We had a lot in common, a lot to talk about. He’s good-looking, successful, and made me feel like somebody. The job turned out to be nothing but glorified admin, but it had potential. The longer we dated, the more controlling and manipulative he became, and when I broke things off, he summarily got me fired. The only thing that keeps me from completely hating myself over that prick is that I didn’t sleep with him.

My lies didn’t just follow me here, they arrived even before I did. And there are so many, I’m bound to get them mixed up, which is when Logan will pounce. Not in a bad way. I know he cares. But in a way that will rip away the veil I’ve lived behind for so long. A veil I don’t know how to live without.

After only a day here, I can clearly see that ending the lies without giving up any of my secrets or contradicting one of my earlier lies is going to be a tightrope walk—over a lagoon of hungry alligators.

I’ve got to escape so I can think. “I’m pretty tired from the last few crazy weeks. There’s always a lot of cleanup when a season ends. Thank you so much for dinner. I’m going to head out.”

“Grab your things and head over to the loft,” Tucker says. “You can take the bed. When I come home, I’ll take the couch.”

“Oh, hell no.” I huff a laugh. “I know you. If you washed the sheets after she left, I’ll give you all the cash I just won. If you didn’t, you give me all your cash.”

“Don’t be like that. How hard is it to throw sheets into the washer?”

“Beats mice,” one of the volunteers says.

“And cold water,” another says.

Tucker laughs and tells Logan, “That place is such a dump, dude.”

Logan doesn’t take the bait, but I can tell from his expression, he’s irritated, and as it turns out, he’s not the only one with protective instincts.

“Have you guys seen his apartment?” I ask.

“When he bought it a few months ago,” Tucker says. “Can’t be that much different.”

“It must be, because if you saw the apartment I saw, you wouldn’t be giving him shit. His renovation is top-shelf stuff.”

Cole looks at Logan. “Why didn’t you tell us it was finished?”

“It’s no big deal.”

“You sank big money into that place,” I tell him. “Don’t minimize its value to you just because these guys have no vision.” To the others, I say, “Logan’s going to be laughing all the way to the bank while you guys are trying to survive on a civil servant’s salary.”

“What do you mean?” Tucker asks.

“I walked around the property, looked at the other rooms, did a few quick calculations based on other rentals in the area. Even at only thirty percent capacity, which is extremely conservative, Logan’s going to be pulling in at least twice his firefighter’s salary every year, just from the motel. I don’t see anyone else around here with the self-confidence and initiative it takes to nail down a project like that.”

The room goes silent, like all their brains are working overtime. I glance at Logan, and his mouth tips in a barely there smile. A silent thank-you.

“Anyway,” I say to Tucker, veering back to the previous topic. “I’d rather live with rodents than clean up after you. I’m fine right where I am.” I look at Logan. “If it’s okay with you.”

“Come on,” Tucker says. “Don’t make this a big deal.”

“Natalie,” I say. “Am I making this a big deal?”

“I’d say not. I’d have cut off his cheesecake by now.”

I laugh. “An interesting euphemism.” I turn my gaze on Betsy, who’s watching all this with amusement. “What do you think about all this, Betsy?”

“If he was my boy, his rear end would be tarred and feathered.”

Tucker sits back and lifts his hands. “When did everyone get so sensitive?”

“A better question would be, when did you become a jackass?” I look at Logan. “Has he always been this big an ass, or has it gotten worse over the years?”

“Both,” Logan says. “And you’re welcome to stay as long as you like. I’m working a double, but when I get off, I’ll get the hot water working and put in a few mousetraps. Since I’m not using the apartment, you really should stay there. And like I told you,” he says with a look at Tucker, “I haven’t been hooking up in the sheets.”

But they’d still smell like him. I’d never get any sleep.

“Thanks, but I’m okay where I am. While I was trying to unwind last night, I made some sketches of room layout designs and some landscaping ideas to maximize the view. I’ll show them to you when you get back.”

“View?” Carter asks.

“Yeah. All he has to do is take down a dozen trees or so and the property will have an amazing view of the river. The property value will go through the roof.”

When the quiet, dumbstruck sensation fills the room again, I roll my eyes. “You’re all such…men.”

“We’re just razzing him,” Tucker says. “It’s all in good fun.”

I look at Logan. He’s biting the inside of his lip and his jaw is jumping. He could be pissed at me for bringing all this up, or he could be pissed that no one has been supporting him in this endeavor.

“Is that the expression of someone who’s having fun?”

“Ooo,” Betsy says with glee in her voice. “I like this girl.”

That makes a few people laugh.

I push to my feet and face Logan. “Looks like I’m not the only one who has a hard time asking for or accepting help. Which reminds me, if you give me some cash, I could start working on the place while you’re on duty.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Stop. It. It will keep me busy and out of everyone’s business.”

“Give her the money,” Tucker says.

Logan pulls out his wallet and asks me, “How much?”

“Five hundred would give me a good start.”

Logan chokes. “What the hell are you going to do with five hundred bucks?”

“It will cost three hundred just to buy the cleaning supplies I’ll need.” Yeah, I know the figure off the top of my head from cleaning houses while struggling to land a job in fashion.

“It’s a good deal, Logan,” Natalie says.

“Good deal?” Betsy says. “It’s a steal. Give the girl some cash.”

“I don’t have it on me.”

“I’ve got forty,” Jake says, standing and tossing two twenties on the table in front of Logan, then slaps his back. “I want to see this renovation.”

“Thanks,” Logan says. “I’ll get it back to you.”

“I’m not worried.” To me, he says, “We could use a fighter like you in our ER.”

Carter offers a twenty. “Sorry we’ve been ragging on you, bro. Sounds like we need fresh material.”

I grab a pen and napkin from the center of the table and jot down names and amounts. It doesn’t take any time at all to rack up four hundred bucks.

When the volunteers are gone and Carter and Royal move into the rec room. I’m left sitting at the table with Tucker, Cole, Logan, Natalie, Betsy, and the puppy. A well-behaved puppy, but one far too interested in me for whatever odd reason.

I ignore the dog whining at me with a tail wag and stack up the bills, straighten them out, fold the wad in half, and stuff it into my back pocket. “That might make a dent.” To Tucker, I say, “If you don’t step up and treat your friends right, you’re gonna lose them. I should know. Learn from my mistakes, Tuck.”

“Hey,” Tucker says to Logan. “You know we’re only giving you a hard time.”

“I know.”

My phone starts buzzing. It’s late on the East Coast. Aiden’s been to a couple of bars by now and is drunk texting me.

“You gonna get that?” Tucker asks.

“I’ll catch the messages later. Hey, can I pick up work at the bar? You know, to stay busy and get to know people here?”

Tucker’s still looking at me sideways and Logan has joined in, but Cole is all for it.

The puppy yips for my attention.

“Someone wants pats,” Natalie says, smiling at the dog. To me she says, “We can always use help at the bakery.”

“That sounds fun.”

“Come by anytime. We open at six.”

I’m a night owl, not an early bird, and I fake choke at the hour, making everyone laugh.

“Well,” I say, “I’d better get going. Things to do, people to see…” A life to build. Secrets to hide.

Tucker and Logan walk me toward the engine bay, and when Tucker veers toward the stairs with talk about changing for a run, Logan stops on the sidewalk, the pup easily cradled in one arm and squirming to get out of his hold.

“Sure you don’t want to hold him?” Logan asks. “Because he really wants you to.”

“Boys don’t always get what they want,” I tell the puppy. “The sooner you learn that, the better.” To Logan, I say, “I guess I’ll see you when you get back.”

“Will you?” he asks, making me stop and look at him.

“What?”

“Be there?” His expression is serious, and there are nuances there I can’t define. “Or did I just give you get-out-of-town cash?”

“Ouch.” That dig was a little too close to home. “I guess you’ll find out.”

He pulls his key ring from his pocket and juggles the dog while working a key loose and offers it to me. “To the apartment, in case you want to use the shower.”

“Thanks.”

“If you don’t stay,” he says, “just leave it on the counter.”

He turns and disappears into the engine bay, and I’m left feeling like I’ve abandoned him again, before I’m even gone.