Nuclear Heat Read online

  Published by Velvet Pen Books

  Copyright © 2016 Jordyn White

  ISBN 978-1-945261-27-5

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. You must not circulate this book in any format. Thank you for respecting the work of the author.

  Cover Design: Letitia Hasser | RBA Designs

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Nuclear Heat (Firework Girls, #4)

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  EPILOGUE

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  Nuclear Heat

  by Jordyn White

  Chapter 1

  Samantha (That’s Sam to You) Lawson

  One more Firework Girl succumbs to marriage. I’m happy for her and everything, but it goes without saying: that will never be me.

  Last weekend, Ashley and Erik got hitched in this gorgeous old stone church in Boise. Apparently, it’s the first place they ever performed in the same building, and her first piano performance ever. It was for some competition clear back when they were in high school. So she puts on this (admittedly) gorgeous lace, white wedding gown and curls her long, beautiful hair with flowers and lace, and Erik puts on this tux that (let’s face it) isn’t that different from a suit, and we all put on our finest and trot over to Boise and watch them get married and have a big party afterward and then we all go home.

  I mean, I like weddings all right, I guess. You know, they’re fine. But I don’t think I’ve ever once dreamed about what colors I’d use to decorate some reception hall or what kind of white dress I’d wear. Honestly, I’d probably burst into flames if I tried to step into a church in a white dress.

  Anyway, our genuinely adorable lovebirds are getting ready to start a national tour (because they fucking rock the piano like nobody’s business) and decided to tie the knot first. They’ll be gone off and on all summer, before heading back to Rosebrook so Erik can finish his second year of grad school at Hartman College.

  It’s all good, you know. Like I said, I’m happy for them. I think they can make it work, and that’s the most important thing. But even though Isabella, Chloe, and now Ashley all have their man—you know, the man—they went through a hell of a lot of heartache to get there.

  I don’t need to be as smart as Isabella to know I can live without all that drama. Every time someone asks me if I hope to fall in love someday, I can only think, what for? What do you get out of it? Sex and companionship? I’ve never had any trouble fulfilling the first need, and I have my friends for the second. If you try to put sex and companionship in the same relationship, that’s when you’re destined to fuck things up.

  Especially for a girl like me.

  Well, a girl with my background anyway. Let’s put it like that.

  I’ll give you the short version. No need to get sappy about it. My dad’s an absentee, alcoholic fuck up who’s spent a couple stints in jail and (probably) hard-wired me to fall in love with an asshole just like him.

  That’s how it works. I read all about it the same year in high school I was learning about genetic makeup and my increased likelihood of being an alcoholic myself (thanks dad). From what I understand, I could try to fight things all I want, but the truth is, girls fall in love with what they’re used to. We can’t help it. So, thank you, but no.

  I decided a long time ago I can have sex, but I won’t get attached, and I can drink, but I’ll never get smashed. It’s really not that complicated.

  And let me tell you what, life is pretty grand. Turns out, the no-strings attached policy is a rockin’ way to go. Last night I had a little naked time with a guy who’s a solid 8 out of 10 in the sack and who had zero complaints about me going home afterward to sleep in my own bed.

  (I have a super-plush top, king-sized mattress and a collection of the best feather-down pillows ever. That guy had two pillows. Two.)

  Today, I’m with one of my best friends, Jack. Now there’s companionship. No drama with this guy, that’s for sure.

  He showed up at my house this morning to help tear out the gawd-awful carpeting of the forty-year-old house I bought at a bargain price last year. I finally decided it’s time to start refurbishing things, but neither one of us were in the mood for it today. Especially with those blue skies calling. It’s fucking gorgeous out. Jack suggested we ditch the carpet and make the hour and a half drive from Rosebrook to Swan Pointe and spend our day at the Central California coast. It took me approximately three seconds to agree.

  Two hours later, we’re settling into our low beach chairs with my oversized bag between us, filled with the snacks we picked up on the way. My mini cooler is stocked with a few beers and several bottles of water. The vast ocean stretches out in front of us, the late morning sun glinting on the water. The waves crash along shore, then give a kind of fizzing sound as they reach high up onto land before retreating back into the water.

  I love that sound. I close my eyes and sink deeper into my chair. The warm sun is already starting to heat up my skin.

  “Oh yeah,” I say. “This is way better than tearing out carpet.”

  “I still think we should knock down the wall first.”

  “Meh.” Jack’s been trying to convince me to tear out a wall and open up the space between the kitchen and dining room, but man. It sounds like such a pain. Even with him helping me. Anyway, I think he just wants to take a sledgehammer to something.

  “It’ll look so much better, though.”

  Eyes still closed, I shrug a noncommittal acknowledgment. Yeah, it’d look better, but... I take a deep, relaxing breath. The warm sun is making me too cozy to think about that weird wall in the house. There’s a million weird things about that house. I can’t fix all of them.

  “Oh—” he says and I glance over at him. He’s long and lanky, this guy. All arms and legs and that shaggy hair Ashley calls his Benedict Cumberbatch look. Only Sherlock doesn’t have the striking, electric blue eyes Jack does. It’s his secret weapon, I think, because he knows good and well the girls go ga-ga over those eyes.

  His tan legs and bare feet are stretched out on the sand, and he’s digging into the bag between us. Instead of bringing out something to eat, like I expected, he pulls out the bottle of sunscreen.

  “Oh yeah.” I sit up and hold out my hand. “Thanks.”

  He deposits a generous dollop of the white stuff onto my palm before putting some on his own. As we start working it into our arms, I breathe in that invigorating summer smell of suntan lotion.

  Jack continues. “It’ll be easy. The carpet’s coming up in the dining room anyway, so you don’t
even have to worry about protecting the floor. We knock down the wall, patch up the hole, then lay down the new flooring.”

  “I don’t know.” I grab the bottle and get more lotion. Before I put it back, he holds out his hand and this time, I give some to him.

  “It’s only one extra step,” he says as we start lathering up our legs.

  “Two. Tearing it down and patching the wall.”

  “But then it’s only ten more inches of flooring and that stupid wall is gone.”

  “You just want to smash the shit out of something.”

  He grins.

  “You’re such a boy,” I say easily. I finish up my legs and turn my back to him. He starts applying lotion to my shoulders and back, tucking his fingers underneath the string of my bikini, to make sure he doesn’t miss anything.

  “Two tiny, little steps.”

  “Three!” I say, suddenly, thinking of something else. “We’ll have to cart out all the junk. I don’t even know where to take it.”

  “I’ll handle it. Come on, Sammy. Just think how much better your table will fit.”

  I sigh. My table would fit better and I do hate that stupid wall. I’m starting to relent, but I’m not willing to say so yet.

  He finishes my back and we both turn so I can do his. I squeeze the lotion directly onto his shoulder blades, a white line on his tan skin.

  “So what’s the latest on Maria?” I start to rub the lotion onto his firm back. I’m changing the subject and he knows it, but I do want an update. I haven’t heard much about her lately, though, so I have a feeling I know already.

  He groans.

  “That good, huh?” I suppress a laugh, for his sake, but I’m grinning. Jack and his girls. I swear.

  I get more lotion and rub it along his lower back and sides. He’s solid muscle, this boy. If we weren’t such good friends...

  “I just couldn’t do it,” he says. “She was driving me crazy.”

  This time I do laugh. “Hey, at least it’s a new record. You made it three whole weeks.”

  He groans and I laugh again.

  “I don’t know why you’re forcing it. Who cares if it goes anywhere or not?” Jack’s been obsessed with finding a ‘relationship’ lately. Hell, if I know why. It’s like he thinks he’s supposed to, but I don’t think he really wants it. He’d be making completely different decisions if he did.

  I finish up with the lotion and we settle back into our chairs. I drop the bottle back in the bag and he goes fishing in it again. This time he does pull out a snack. Doritos. Good choice. I want some, too.

  He tears it open with one quick movement, then holds the open bag in my direction. I dig in and pull out a handful.

  “Don’t you sometimes think...” he begins, but then he frowns. He takes out a couple chips and chomps on them instead.

  “What?” I pop a chip in my mouth. Tangy cool ranch. Mmmm.

  “Well.” He exhales. “I don’t know, I see the kind of relationships other people have and think, I don’t know. It’d be nice, you know?”

  This again. “Other people like who?”

  He gives me an incredulous look. “Ashley and Erik. Chloe and Grayson. Isabella and—”

  “Pisssh. They don’t count.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because they weren’t fuck ups to start with, so they’ve got a fighting chance.”

  “I’m not a fuck up.”

  “Of course not,” I say and I mean it. His family’s pretty amazing too, so he doesn’t have all the bad programming I probably do. But some people just aren’t the relationship type. Since I met him, he’s been through more girls than I have guys, and that’s saying something. Lately he’s been trying to force this whole relationship thing, and it’s been an epic disaster.

  Jack’s just not like that. He’s like me. Free as a bird. Comfortable in his own skin. Not needing anyone else to make him complete.

  It’s way past time for him to just accept that about himself.

  I chew on a few more chips, then say, “Jack, you keep saying you want a relationship with someone, but you obviously don’t.”

  “What do you mean?” He digs for more chips, the bag crinkling. “Yes, I do.”

  He hands me the bag and I take a couple more chips. “No, you don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t keep picking up these bimbos.” I down one chip and hold the next one at the ready while I’m munching.

  “They’re not bimbos.” We’ve joked around plenty about the type of women he goes for. His job is to deny it, as if he doesn’t know. I don’t ever push things, because we’re just messing around anyway, but come on. He needs to see what he’s been doing lately and stop torturing himself.

  I look at him with a serious expression. His vibrant, blue eyes meet mine and I dare him to deny it again.

  He sits back, frowning at the ocean. His chips are in his open hand, waiting.

  I laugh. “It’s alright, sweetie. Nothing wrong with picking up good-time girls when that’s all you’re after.”

  “Is that what I’m doing?” he says quietly.

  I cock my head at him. Why’s he so worried about this?

  “Babe, if you really wanted a relationship, you’d be going after a completely different kind of girl. Maybe you need to ask yourself why you’re not.”

  “Huh,” he says, as if this is a revelation. I grin and drop the chip bag next to my chair and start digging around for the Milano mint cookies. He’s finally made short work of his chips, so I hand him a couple cookies and take a bite of one myself, gazing back at the ocean.

  We don’t talk for several minutes. It’s just easy companionship and the sound of surf, seagulls, and some kids stomping all over their abandoned attempt at a sandcastle.

  My phone goes off. It’s in the string bag I use for our cash, credit cards, IDs, and keys. I dig it out, mainly so I can silence it, which I forgot to do. The last thing I want to do on the beach is be pestered by my phone. By the time I pull it out, I’ve missed the call. It was from my mom and I think about calling her back, but if it was important, she’d call again or text.

  I silence my phone. Before I put it away, a text from her comes through. I can only see a bit of the text in the preview, but it’s enough to make me freeze.

  Hi honey. Thought I should let you know your dad’s been—

  I drop the phone to my lap and frown out at the ocean. A creeping feeling starts somewhere inside me and oozes out until it’s all over my skin.

  “What’s up?” Jack asks.

  I take a hard breath and steel myself. Whatever it is, I’m not going to let it ruin my beach day. I erect that handy wall I keep inside myself and swipe my phone so I can silently read the rest of mom’s text.

  Hi honey. Thought I should let you know your dad’s been calling. I’m not answering. He’s left some messages. He mentioned you in the last one. I don’t think he has your address but you may want to keep an eye out.

  That creeping feeling blooms into full-on dread. It’s ballooning almost out of control as I consider all the possibilities implied by my mom’s message. I haven’t heard from this asshole in years, and neither has she. What the fuck does he want?

  “Sam?”

  I huff, and drop my phone in my bag. “My dad’s been trying to contact my mom.” I say it with a ‘no big deal’ tone in my voice, for my sake more than Jack’s. He knows the story, anyway. But I’m irritated that I’m letting just the mention of my dad get under my skin.

  Jack pulls out my phone and reads the text.

  “What’s that mean?” he asks, sounding concerned. That’s not helping me.

  I shrug. “Fuck if I know.” Translation: I don’t want to talk about it.

  I’m not playing either. I really don’t. I’m here for the beach and I’m going to fucking enjoy it. I just have to put this out of my mind. There’s nothing I can do about it anyway.

  “Hmm.” Jack puts my phone back in the bag and resumes his snacking. He hands over a cookie but I shake
my head. I’ve lost my appetite.

  After a few minutes, my heart’s pounding too hard and I can’t seem to relax. It pisses me off, too. All these years later, and look what that asshole does to me. He’s not even here.

  Jack stands up suddenly, brushes the crumbs off his shorts, and extends his hand to me. “Come on, Shorty.” I’m a scant five feet four inches and Jack never lets me forget it.

  I glance at his hand, then squint up at him. “What?” I ask, too grouchy to try to read his mind.

  Instead of answering, he grabs my hand, pulls me into an abrupt stand, bends over, and lifts me over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes. I feel the swoop in my stomach as he raises me up and starts running.

  I half scream, half laugh. “Jack! No!”

  Hanging upside down, I see his rear end—some grains of sand sticking to it—and his bare legs kicking up sand as he rushes us toward the water. This wouldn’t be the first time Jack has sneak attacked me, so when he’s thigh-deep in the waves and hefts me unceremoniously over his shoulder, I know to take a deep breath before I go under.

  My body, warm from lying in the sun, jolts from the shock of the cold water. I come up gasping. “Oh, you’re a dead man.” I scan the water quickly until my eyes land on him. He’s grinning at me and slowly backing up. He wants me to catch him, or he’d be bounding away and well out of reach. No way can I outrun those long legs.

  I still feel some of the blackness my mom’s text created, deep inside my chest, but Jack found the perfect thing to chase it away and I’m all in. I cup both hands and skim them sharply across the surface of the water in his direction, sending an impressive spray toward his face. Laughing, he turns away and I lunge at him, landing hard against his back and wrapping my arms around his neck.

  He starts to sink down so he can go underwater, but hangs onto my forearms so I can’t break free and drags me with him. The sound of an oncoming wave is deadened once I’m under the water, and we’re pulled slightly toward shore as the wave goes through.

  He releases me and we come up again, grinning at each other. “Brat.” I spray him again.

  He laughs his big Jack laugh and just like that I’m back to being me again, with no darkness pulling on me. We mess around a bit more, then take to jumping over the oncoming waves. Once we’ve worn ourselves out, we haul our tails onto the sand, water beading up on our skin. Jack shakes his head, water splaying everywhere and his long, wet locks hanging down in that way that makes him look so adorable.