Page 48 of Jump

“Matt?” I toss my keys to the small table by the door, but I leave my phone in my pocket, in case Jase calls me back to work. “Hey, Matt? You h—”

He pops his head through the doorway, making me jump, but his smile is infectious enough to leave me curious. His eyes glitter with playfulness, and his hands are busy: one holding a wooden spoon loaded with steaming ground beef smothered in sauce, and the other, a glass of wine, which he thrusts into my hand.

“Drink this,” he instructs. Then he hovers the spoon in front of my face so I’m witness to the steam coming from the top. “Taste this.”

“Matt…” I look past it and into his eyes. “I don’t—”

“I cooked,” he pushes on. “And I paired your wine, so you have no reason to bitch at me about garlic and beer making each other gross.”

But when I remain as I am, his teasing eyes dim a fraction.

“Sit down and take a load off,” he murmurs. “Then you can tell me what’s wrong.” He grabs my arm, rough but not painful, and steers me into the kitchen that is surprisingly—considering the scents he’s created—spotlessly clean.

My massive stainless-steel pot sits on the stove, the lid perched off-center to vent the steam. Two plates rest on the counter, a bread basket beside them.

We’re eating Italian, it would seem. And though I don’t entirely feel like a feast tonight—particularly one shared with a man who rarely wants to string more than five words together—my grumbling stomach reminds me I haven’t eaten in at least seven hours, and my last ‘meal’ comprised of a banana and a cup of coffee. So…

“I guess I could eat.”

Matt pulls out a stool and steals my wineglass to free up my hands, then while I sit and exhale a groan of exhaustion as the weight on my feet dissipates, he sets my glass down within reach before grabbing two paperback books from the very end of the long counter.

He sets them both down in front of me, then circles away, flipping a hand towel over his shoulder before he strains the pasta.

“Tell me what’s on your mind.” He glances over his shoulder, but he’s careful to avoid the wafts of steam billowing up from the sink. “Why are you so sad?”

“I’m just tired.” I grab my wine and take a long sip. “Rough day. How was yours?”

He breathes out the world’s softest laugh and shakes his head. “I worked a twenty-four. Had to sleep on a bunk beside Axel fuckin’ Feeney—which is never my favorite thing to do—and I almost clocked an asshole who bolted out of his house at a job we went to.”

“You’re mad because he ran out of his house?” I think about his words for a beat and swirl my drink. “Was it on fire?”

“Yep. Fully lit up.”

“Oookay… Don’t you typically want people to get the hell out?”

“Sure.” He sets down the strained pasta and moves to the pan simmering with rich red sauce. “Except this motherfucker bolted and left his wife and newborn child upstairs. The baby was asleep, Mom was recovering from a C-section. A beam from the roof fell and blocked the door, so even though she tried, despite her entire guts having been stapled back together and her being given strict orders to chill the fuck out, she got her baby. While he,” Matt snarls on the word, “was coughing up a lung and crying about how scary it was inside.”

He stirs his sauce and smiles the smile of a man ready to commit murder. A little manic and threatening. “Dude was a coward.”

“Did they die?” Tears itch the backs of my eyes. I’m too tired. Too emotionally wrung out. I’m done with today, but still, I ask the question whose answer I’m not sure I want. “Will he be burying his family this week?”

“No. Feeney and I went in. He shielded the baby, I took Mom. We got them both out and straight into an ambulance, and when Dad tried to climb in after them, I pushed his ass out again and suggested he go with the cops.”

“The cops?” My eyes shoot wide with surprise. “Do you suspect he set the fire?”

“No. Not intentionally, anyway.” He turns his back on me and scoops pasta onto each plate. “I have no clue how the fire started, and won’t know until I head back into the station in a day or so. But it seems legit from first glance.”

“So…” I swirl my wine again and set my elbow on the counter, lowering my chin onto my hand. I destroy my posture, but find comfort in my slouch and allow myself to rest. “If you think it was just a terrible accident, not his fault, and his wife and child are being rushed to the hospital… why wouldn’t you let him go with them?”

“Because he’s a fuckin’ pussy! I was merely giving the new mom time to decide if she should get a lawyer and have divorce papers drawn up.”

I roll my eyes skyward and purse my lips. “You’re emotionally investing yourself in a relationship that has nothing to do with you.”

He glares over his shoulder, but his shoulders bounce with soft laughter that breaks the tension of what could turn into our next night-ending fight. “Crazy when that happens, huh?” Humored, he goes back to work. “People inserting themselves into other people’s relationships. You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

Shots fired.

Note to self: Stay the hell out of Ainsley and Matt’s relationship.

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