One Hot Secret by Sarah J. Brooks

Chapter 17

Grace

“You’ve had this happy grin all day,” Isla says from the kitchen where she’s washing lettuce. It’s a twenty-four-hour shift and our turn to cook dinner.

“Can’t a person be happy for no particular reason?”

She stares at me. “I’m so happy for you. For what it’s worth, I think that Kyle is a pretty decent person. Everyone here says so.”

“I think he’s great too.”

“So what is his place like?” Isla says with the enthusiasm of a child, making me laugh.

I describe his house for her in excruciating detail and tell her about his staff, who seem to be in his house all the time.

“That’s to be expected, though, isn’t it? His personal assistant probably works from his house as well as his driver and bodyguard,” Isla says.

“You make it sound so normal to have five or so people in your house,” I tell her.

“It is normal for him.” Isla has a point there.

“Something else happened. Kyle told me about this friend of his. He owns one of the largest galleries in New York, and he saw my paintings at Kyle’s place. He wants to see the rest of my work.” My heart pounds as I say this. I’ve never harbored dreams of going to the next level with my artwork. It’s always been a hobby and an escape for me when life gets tough.

“Oh my goodness, what exciting news,” Isla cries out. “When is he going to see them?”

I wear a sheepish look. “I told Kyle I’d think about it.”

Isla places her hands on her hips. “Oh no, you’re not doing this. This is a heck of an opportunity to get your beautiful art in front of people.”

“I’m not sure it’s what I want.”

She drops her hands from her hips and looks away. “You have a special talent that brings joy to people. Remember the first piece you gave me? The landscape of the beach.”

I smile. “You loved that piece.”

“I still do, and it will always be my favorite. When I look at it, I feel happy, even when I’m sad and low. It’s a promise that tomorrow will be a better day and I won’t always feel sad. Imagine having that effect on other people, not just your best friend and boyfriend.”

Guilt kicks in. I know that art impacts people in a deep and meaningful way, but I’ve always told myself that I wasn’t yet good enough. I always put off showing off my art until a few years down the line, but now the opportunity has brought itself.

“I don’t get it,” Isla says. “What is stopping you?”

I think fast. I hadn’t planned on telling her about my past, but something makes me think again. I remember how it felt when I found out who Kyle was. I felt angry and betrayed. I saw it as proof that he didn’t trust me. When you trust someone, you’re open with them. Isla and I call each other best friends, but I don’t behave like one. I inhale deeply and make a snap decision to tell her because I trust her.

“It’s a long story.”

“We have all night,” she says.

It’s a good thing that we can multitask because, in an hour’s time, the guys are going to want dinner.

“I told you I was adopted, right?” I ask her.

“Yes.”

“Well, what I never told you was that I went to live with my adopted parents when I was ten years old. For the first decade of my life, I lived with my birth parents.”

“What was that like?” Isla asks me, creases of worry on her forehead.

“It was horrible,” I tell her. “You see, my parents were famous. My dad was Rick Ross.”

Her eyes widen. “The rock star?”

“Yeah, and my mom was a musician too.”

“I’ve read about them,” she says quietly. “My sister was obsessed with rock stars growing up. Oh my God.”

I can imagine what is going through her mind. She’s probably remembering the horror stories she’s read about my parents.

“I’m so sorry,” she says. She gets it. I might have grown up surrounded by wealth, but I lacked what I needed the most, which was love and stability.

I tell Isla a little bit about my childhood, and talking about it again, after Kyle, is not hard at all. I’m not emotional at all. I could be talking about a visit to the grocery store.

“Now that you mention it, there’s a resemblance to your dad,” she says and then goes still. “This is weird, but you resemble your adopted mom too.”

I grin. “That’s because she is his sister. That’s why it was easy for her to take me in.”

“That makes sense. I always thought it a wonderful coincidence that you and your aunty look so alike,” Isla says.

“I told you this because I know from first-hand experience how hurtful it is when someone you love and trust doesn’t come clean to you.”

“I’m glad you told me, though I do understand why you didn’t at first. It’s something you want to shove in your past,” Isla says. “So what does it have to do with your work?”

“I’d hate the attention it might bring to me. I know you can’t compare painting and singing but still … I like my adopted parents’ lives. Quiet and private. And that’s how I want to live as well.”

“That may be but Grace, what if it’s not your destiny to live a quiet life?” Isla says.

I swallow hard and shudder internally at her words. “I don’t want my destiny to be in the limelight. I’ve seen what it does to people.”

“Is that why you became a firefighter because it’s sort of safe?”

I raise an eyebrow. “I fight fires every day. I wouldn’t call it safe.”

Isla stares at me, but she does not pursue my deliberate misunderstanding of her words. “Text or call Kyle. Don’t let this chance go. Besides, artists are not usually in the limelight. It’s their work that is.”

I’m frightened at the thought of an expert looking at my work, but then again, I really want it. I grin at Isla. “Okay, you’ve convinced me.”

Isla jumps up and down. “Awesome. This is so exciting.”

Before I can respond, the bell goes off. Isla and I groan simultaneously. It always happens. Just as we’re about to ring the bell for dinner, a call comes in. It’s a fire, and it’s in a building downtown. I hate those, and I’m tense as I race to the bay and pull on my safety gear.

I hop onto the driver’s seat and pull on my headset. Minutes later, we are driving to the sight of the fire. We see the smoke from a distance. The tension is thick in the rig as we get closer and closer. Our response time is faster at night as there are no crazy drivers or traffic to contend with. I park the rig as close to the building as I can.

“It’s abandoned,” one of the guys says, and relief floods me.

The next two hours are crazy as we force entry and spray the building with jets of water. Even if the building is abandoned, we have to check it out carefully in case homeless people have found their way in and made it their home. Plus, there’s the issue of the next buildings catching fire.

When we have the fire out, Isla and I are given the duty of going into the adjacent apartment blocks and checking if there is smoke inside. We split up, and each takes different buildings.

I knock on the first apartment. I do this several times before the door swings open, and a giant of a man in a robe stands at the doorway glaring at me.

“What do you want at this time of the night?” he bellows.

“There was a fire in the building next to yours. We’re just checking that you folks are all right and can breathe just fine.”

His eyes almost pop out of his head. He drops the attitude and clutches his robe tighter. “A fire?”

“Yes, but we’ve put it out; there’s absolutely nothing to worry about.”

He looks visibly relieved. He lets me into the house, and the living room and kitchen are okay. Normal air. I do this with several apartments, and when I’m done, I go back downstairs and meet up with Isla.

It takes another couple of hours before we can return to the station, and by then, it’s way past midnight. My stomach growls with hunger, but I need a shower first. Isla has the same idea. Lucky for us, there’s just the two of us and four shower cubicles.

Afterward, we all congregate in the kitchen/dining room to have dinner. Later, after dinner and cleaning up, the guys all return to the dorms for naps before another call comes through. We’re all hoping nothing else happens tonight. We are tired, but emergencies don’t care about that.

Isla yawns as she changes out of her clothes into a nightshirt. I do the same and slip into the bed.

“Goodnight,” she murmurs sleepily.

“Night.” I’m too wired to sleep, and I reach for my phone and click on it.

I smile when I see a message.

Kyle: Have a good shift and take care of yourself. Text when you can; I’ll be up late, working on some scenes.

Me: Hey. I’m good; just come from putting out a fire downtown. Luckily, the building was abandoned so no casualties.

He is not asleep as a message soon comes in from him.

Kyle: I wish I’d been there. Not to fight the fire, but to keep you safe. Yeah, I know you’re trained and can look after yourself. But you’re my woman, and it’s my job to keep you safe.

Wild sensations race around my body. I should be offended, but I’m not. It’s flattering that he feels so strongly about me. I would feel the same, but I refuse to allow myself to. I don’t know how long this affair will last. Kyle is a movie star. I don’t know his track record with women, and I refuse to Google for this information. It could be a few, or it could be a truck load. Either way will hurt, so why do it?

Me: I like being your woman.

Kyle: I’m hard as a rock. I wish you were here.

I remove images of Kyle’s cock from my mind.

Me: I refuse to be drawn into dirty thoughts.

Kyle: You’re no fun.

Me: I know. Not when Isla is on the bed next to mine. Anyway, I made a decision about Greg seeing my paintings.

Kyle: Don’t keep me in suspense.

Me: Okay.

Kyle: Okay? Oh, sweetheart, I can’t tell you how happy that makes me. Hang on while I do a little dance.

I laugh. His enthusiasm is catching, and I find myself grinning in the darkness. I won’t think too much about this. I’ll just flow with it. If Greg likes my paintings, awesome. If he doesn’t, life continues. I’m sure Kyle will be more than happy to console me. In bed.

Kyle: Can I bring him over later in the afternoon?

Butterflies fill my stomach. What if’s crowd my mind. I shove them away. He’s just looking at my paintings. Not a big deal.

Kyle: There’s nothing to be nervous about. Greg doesn’t bullshit. If he likes the rest of them, he’ll let you know. I’ll be right there with you.

Tears sprout in my eyes. Kyle understands. That alone is comforting.

Me: You’re awesome, do you know that? Late afternoon is great.