Page 18 of Ignite

Jazz arched her back to relieve the pressure on her spine. The bell over the door rang, and she spoke over her shoulder without turning. “Be right with you.” To Liz she asked, “Will Leo be there?”

Liz rolled her eyes as she drained the cup. “No. Stupid jagoff left me again. I don’t know where he’s gone this time. Fucker comes home when the court starts chasing him for child support, then takes off when he’s caught up.”

Jazz didn’t blame Leo much, although she thought he needed to step up as a father to his children. Ian, the oldest, had a different father, and Liz had never named him. Jazz was sure it was because her sister didn’t really know exactly who impregnated her when she was just out of high school. Leo had come into the picture and helped make Ivan and Isaac.

Over the years, Liz—she hated being called Elizabeth—had grown more and more like their mother, bitterly complaining about her lot in life. Leo hung on as long as he could, but Liz’s constant nagging and demands for more had the potential to wear down a saint. The fights they got into turned into epic battles. One such episode recently happened on their parents’ front lawn. Leo apparently started seeing someone on the side, and when Liz found out, all hell broke loose. She screamed obscenities at him and threw his stuff out the door. Leo lost his shit and yelled back about how her never-ending demands, relentless criticisms, and regular put-downs had driven him to this point. Nothing was ever good enough for her. Not his job. Not his clothes. Not his plans for the future. Not his family. Throughout the few years they’d been married, he would leave for a few weeks, then return until Liz chased him off again. Jazz was afraid this was the last time, as papers had been filed.

She changed the subject before Liz started on her exhaustive list of Leo grievances. “Have you talked to Hugo lately? He got moved to shift manager.”

Liz scoffed. “He makes dog treats, for Chrissakes.”

That pissed Jazz off. “He’s an adult with Down syndrome who’s highly functional and living on his own. So what if he works at a dog treat bakery and stays in a group home? He supports himself, and now he’s in charge of other adults living with disabilities who work there. I think we should be proud of him and happy for him.”

“He doesn’t want to come home for Easter either. I don’t know whatsamatta with you two. Can’t visit your family once in a while.”

I don’t want to hear about my single state. Hugo doesn’t want to hear about his decision to move out from under Mom’s thumb. We both don’t want to listen to who bitches more, you or Mom. “The group home probably had something going on, and he’s helping with it.”

Ivan spilled his milk on the table and started splashing it around. Liz moved only to lift her coffee mug. “Get me a refill when you fetch a towel, wouldja?”

Taking the mug, Jazz stepped back into a wall and nearly fell.

A large wall.

A large, hard wall.

A large, hard, hot wall.

Wolf grabbed her upper arms and steadied her, holding her back against his front. “I’ll get the towels. You get the refill, yeah?”

“Um… okay.” Jazz froze, unable to move.

Liz’s eyes popped wide as they observed the man standing so close behind her sister. “Ishethe reason you’re not coming over for Easter?”

Ian stood up on his chair. “Are you Auntie J’s boyfriend?”

Jazz’s whole body jerked at the child’s innocent question. Just a coworker this week. He’s a friend.“Co-friend.”Dammit!

Ian cocked his head in confusion. “What’s a co-friend?”

Wolf answered as if he was used to translating Jazz-speak. “Friend and coworker. I’m helping out around the bakery until the owners get back on their feet. Now put your butt back in the chair.” He turned to Liz. “Jazz hasn’t told you about Madge and Bill?”

She snorted. “Jazz never tells us anything.” Her eyes turned speculative, and her tone changed as if a switch had been flipped. “How old are you?”

Jazz noted the difference, and so did Wolf by the way his hands tightened on her arms.

“Thirty-six. Let’s get this mess cleaned up, yeah?”

Jazz spurred into movement at Wolf’s growl and pulled away from his grasp. “I’ll get the mop.”

Wolf wiped off the table while Jazz poured another cup of coffee before tackling the floor. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched her sister ask Wolf questions as he worked. Even though they were too low to hear, Jazz had a good idea of what they were.

“What do you do for a living?”

“Married?”

“You got kids?”

“You got a house?”

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