Page 40 of Burn

Jacey screams. Loudly. Too loud for someone who drank half a bottle of whiskey last night. “You didn’t think to grab onto something and hold the sheet there?”

My hands fly to my junk. “It’s my room. Get out if you don’t like it.”

When she leaves, my hands are still on my dick, so I move to the bathroom and take care of my problem behind a locked door, all the while thinking of Mila’s tight pussy and cursing myself for not getting her number.

HAVE YOU SEEN the movieChristmas Vacation?

What aboutAnimal House?

Well, take both those movies together, and you’ve got a holiday with the Ryan household.

As soon as Jacey and I walk inside the house, she disappears to help my mom, and I’m arguing with my brothers and dad. I’m not sure how we swing it, but most of the time we all have Christmas off. It’s surprising because aside from Kellan, we’re all firefighters and work odd shifts.

Evan and I work at Station 25, and both on A-shift but Gavin’s at Station 17, Taylor’s a probie at Station 10, and Dad’s the Battalion Chief with the 2ndBattalion. Grandpa, he’s the big cheese. Fire marshal.

As I’m searching for a glass to put some whiskey in—the only way I’m getting through today without drop-kicking someone—I notice my dad trying to help mom out by making Stove Top. I guarantee you she didn’t ask him to make Stove Top stuffing for Christmas dinner, but he probably saw the box and decided he wanted some and knew she wouldn’t make it.

I lean against the counter with my arms crossed over my chest after pouring my straight Midleton. You can’t dilute Midleton. Or I should say any man who knows a good whiskey wouldn’t dilute it. Taylor would, but he’s a pussy and only nineteen, so we don’t let him touch the Midleton.

“You’re supposed to bring the water to a boil before you add the stuffing, Dad.”

He glances at me out of the corner of his eyes, his graying hair evident under his blue Seattle Fire Department hat. “Yeah? Maybe I’ll put this spoon down and kick your ass.”

Remember when I said the Ryan boys like to fight? We learned it from this guy.

I snort and reach for my glass. “Maybe you’ll have a surprise waiting for you, old man.”

“I taught you how to stay alive.” He smiles, watching his crunchy stove top not boil. “Have some respect.”

“Oh, I have respect for you, Dad. But that’s not how you cook Stove Top stuffing.”

He’s about to tell me off when Mom comes into the kitchen, an apron on and looking a little stressed out. She hugs me quickly and then frowns. “Why do you have scratches on your neck and your face all banged up, Caleb? Did Gemma do that to you? Or did you get in another fight?”

I touch the side of my neck searching for scratches. I remember the bar fight but not the scratches. “I don’t have any scratches.”

“Yes, you do, and I’ve raised five boys, Caleb Matthew Ryan. I know a woman’s scratch marks when I see it.”

I smile and kiss my mother’s cheek and then back away, noticing Evan just walked in with his girlfriend. I grin mischievously at the two of them and distance myself a little more before saying, “Evan scratched me because he found out my dick’s bigger than his.”

Mom glares at me like she wants to smack me with the spoon in her hand across my face. Wouldn’t be the first time either. “Why are you so nasty?”

I shrug, sipping my whiskey. “Must be the way I was raised.”

Dad smacks the back of my head. “Watch your mouth, boy.”

Heath Ryan’s a no-nonsense type of man, but if there’s one kid that gets away with more than the others, it’s me. I’m his favorite. I don’t know why but I think it’s because out of the five Ryan boys, I’m not technically a Ryan. I’m a Thomas, but you wouldn’t know it looking at us today. I even look like my brothers though we’re not blood.

Some might go as far to ask if I feel left out because technically I’m not a Ryan. No, I don’t think that at all. They never made me feel that way growing up.

Heath and Lindy adopted me when I was two. My parents died in a house fire along with my older brother, Wyatt. It’s hard to say if I even remember them. I like to think I do and when I look at their picture, it sparks something inside me, I just don’t know what it is. Maybe’s it’s only a distant memory I had them around.

Though I was in the house when it happened, I don’t remember the fire. I dream about it, but I don’t know what’s real and what part my brain is making up.

I don’t know why I’m the only one who survived either. Sometimes I wish I wouldn’t have. I think in some ways being the only survivor is a weight on my shoulders I don’t want it, but it’s there. Maybe they’re even the reason I’m a firefighter now, or maybe it’s Heath.

Heath, my adopted father, was one of the firefighters who was at the fire that night and was our neighbor. Our parents were friends, and Evan and I were inseparable since birth so naturally, they took me in because I didn’t have anywhere else to go.

For a long time, Evan was my best friend, and I didn’t know any different once I got older. They all treated me like family. Like I said, I never felt like the odd kid out or anything like that.

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