Page 52 of Stay With Me

The ferocity on Trina’s face as she throws rapid fire punches is something I haven’t seen on her in years. The last time was in fire academy when she felt she had to constantly prove herself to the assholes who made no secret of the fact they didn’t believe a woman should be a firefighter.

I guess she showed them—she’s now the captain over several of them. And boy, have their attitudes changed. She’s saved several of their butts more than once, either by carrying them out of a building when injured, or with her quick thinking and amazing firefighting skills. Not a soul could ever claim she didn’t one hundred percent earn her spot as captain.

Distracted, I grin just thinking about it. Which is my first mistake, because Trina takes advantage and lands a roundhouse kick that has me flying two feet toward the wall. My second mistake is throwing down the strike pads we use for our sparring and lifting my hands out toward her to stop her assault.

“Okay. You win today. But don’t think you could normally knock me back like?—”

She rams me smack in the torso like a damn bull, knocking the wind out of me and pushing me so far back I actually hit the wall this time.

When I catch my breath, I say, “Jesus, woman. What’s gotten into you?”

Apparently satisfied that she’s handed me my ass, she allows herself to flop down on the ground, lying flat on the dusty gym floor while she catches her breath. I retrieve our water bottles from the bench and hand her one, then take a long drink of mine. She leans up just long enough to chug down half of the bottle of water, then returns to her supine position. I set my bottle on the floor and lie next to her, staring up at the ceiling.

“So, do you want to talk about what’s bothering you?”

Trina snorts. “Um, do you know me? Of course I don’t want to talk about it.” As if realizing she just admitted something is, in fact, bothering her, she adds on, “And there’s not even anything to talk about.”

“Hmm.” I turn my head to face her.

Trina whips her head around to look at me.

“Hmm? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Trina practically hisses the words at me.

I lift a single eyebrow and cock my head at her.

“You tell me. Emily said you’ve been acting weird since you returned from the Fire Service conference in New Orleans last week. Not to mention I’m pretty sure you were imagining someone’s face on those strike pads.”

A sarcastic huff flies from her, and she mutters something inaudible under her breath.

“Does it have anything to do with the flowers you got at work last shift?”

“What the actual hell? Men love to say women can’t keep their mouths shut but you guys at the station are the gossipiest littles bitches I know. Tell me who was running their mouth?” Her words are demanding, but she forgets that she’s my best friend, not my boss.

“Calm down. No one was gossiping about you. I saw them in the trash when I came into work the next day and asked what that was about. One of the guys said you got them, tore the card up into tiny pieces and tossed it all in the trash.”

She lifts herself off the ground, resting one forearm on her bent knees and using the other to pour the rest of her water down her throat.

“Are you dating someone you haven’t told me about? And, if so, what did he do to piss you off so bad you tossed his flowers?” I run my hand through my hair—I’m worried about her.

She’s usually grumpy, but in an endearing way. Right now, she just seems stressed out and pissed off.

“I wish it were as simple as that.” Her voice is so low I almost miss her words. Before I can respond, she stands and extends a hand to help me up. “C’mon, we need to hit the showers. We’re supposed to be at Annie and Jack’s for their March Madness party in an hour and we still have to stop and pick up Emily.”

I take the olive branch of her extended hand, but once I’m standing, I don’t release it right away. She pins me with a glare, but I’m not afraid of her. I know when she’s like this, something has made her feel off kilter.

“Hey, listen. I know I’m not, you know, like very good with words, but I love you, Tri. And if you need to talk or need me to help you bury a body or something, remember I’ve got a lot of land”—I smile at her and she rolls her eyes in response—“and I’ve got your back. Anything you need.”

She pushes me in the shoulder with her free hand. “Can we braid each other’s hair, too?” Her voice is dripping with sarcasm, but I know that’s her defense mechanism, and the smirk threatening to escape her tight hold on it as she turns away from me betrays her.

I chuckle, following behind her as we head to the locker rooms.

“I thought maybe painting nails would be fun, but if you really want to braid hair instead, we can.” I’m rewarded for my attempt at humor by hearing her laugh echo through the locker room door after she disappears through it.

An hour later, we’ve picked up Emily and just parked on the street across from Annie and Jack’s house. Trina jumps out of the truck, and I pull the back door open for Emily. I carry the taco dip and chips that Emily made and the plastic storage container of homemade chocolate chip cookies she insisted on baking when I said I was going to buy some store-bought cookies to bring. As we stroll up the driveway, I chuckle and both Trina and Emily look at me.

“What are you laughing at?” Trina asks.

“I’m just remembering how Emily’s eyes nearly bulged out of her head, and she went white as a ghost when I suggested bringing store brought cookies.”

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