The Heat Is On (Boston Five Book 1)
The Heat Is On
Poppy J. Anderson
This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, businesses, organizations, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Heat Is On
Copyright © 2015 by Poppy J. Anderson
Cover design by Clarissa Yeo
http://yocladesigns.com/
Translation © Claudia Rapp
Edited by Annie Cosby
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Publication: April 2015
Book Description
When Hayden's fiancé breaks off their engagement, her whole world falls apart. After all, she has loved Heath Fitzpatrick since they were children. Though she can hardly believe he really wants the breakup, she picks up the pieces of her life and tries to accept the new situation.
But her efforts are thwarted time and again by the rest of the Fitzpatrick clan, who have always been part of her life—and who are notorious for being outspoken, persistent, and downright meddlesome. None of Heath's siblings are above adding their own two cents. Or twenty.
Even Heath himself, a daring firefighter, seems to be having trouble adjusting to his new single life. So how in the world is Hayden supposed to move on, forget the plans they made for the future, and get Heath off her mind? And even more difficult—she'll need to banish him from her heart, forever.
Prologue
Heath Fitzpatrick opened his eyes with some difficulty, immediately regretting the move, as the gleaming daylight apparently wanted to make his pupils explode. With a groan, he buried his face in his pillow, which smelled of stale beer, nausea-inducing tequila, and sangria. As soon as he processed that thought, all of it seemed to bubble back up his gullet.
There was a buzzing in his skull as he prayed for a coma that would relieve him of the gruesome queasiness and all the other symptoms of this hangover from hell, but instead, the doorbell rang again.
Annoyed, he rolled over on his back, accidentally stabbing his kidneys with the remote and pulling a pillow over his face. He lay still and panting on his fold-out couch and pondered their mutual need for a thorough cleaning. Both he and the rotten sofa stank to high heaven and would make a lousy impression.
Since the insistent ringing didn’t seem to be ceasing anytime soon, he threw the pillow aside and struggled into an upright position. As he staggered through his one-room apartment barefoot and aching, he barely avoided slipping on an old pizza box. The one advantage of his place was that it was close to his job, but the exact location of the building was an unfortunate one—right next to the main highway and the train tracks. That meant he not only had to live with the constant smell of curry from the Indian restaurant below, but also the incessant noise of traffic.
On mornings like this, the cacophony of the street reverberated in his head in an especially obnoxious way, even though the windows were shut tight. The closed windows were another cause of the awful smell that permeated the tiny den he’d inhabited for a few weeks now. When compared to the beautiful house he had painstakingly restored for the last two years, the dingy apartment could only lose. Not that he even tried to take care of it. He had stopped caring about anything a while ago. Thus, the incessant noise was only a minor source of irritation. In the evenings, he just turned up the volume on the TV and got plastered if he didn’t have an early shift the next day.
He felt exhausted as he rubbed his face, pulled back the chain on the door, opened it, and frowned directly into a pair of all too familiar blue eyes that stared back at him with concern.
The nausea from his alcohol consumption was now joined by a sensation not unlike a kick to the stomach…while someone was choking him. For three months now, whenever those blue eyes were directed at him, he’d experienced the same feeling.
His voice was frightfully hoarse when he asked darkly, “What do you want?”
“Stupid question.” She rolled those blue eyes of hers and squeezed past him into the apartment. “Heavens! This place looks like it’s been hit by a bomb.”
Heath didn’t say anything but slammed the door and followed his uninvited visitor into the only available room. In contrast to himself, she looked crisp, clean, and not in the least bit down and out. Neat as ever, she hugged her purse in front of her red and white polka dot dress, let her eyes roam his post-apocalyptic place, and made a face that did nothing to mar the prettiness of her features. He tore his eyes away from her, ignoring her perfectly coiffed blond hair, as well as the tugging ache in his chest.
“You want a beer?” he asked.
“Heath, you can’t go on like this.”
“I guess that means no beer.” He shrugged his shoulders and turned to the kitchenette. There, he opened the door of the little fridge and, when he realized there was no more beer left, took out a bottle of water. He had demolished the last six-pack last night, together with half a bottle of tequila. The empty liquor bottle was now lying on his stained rug, exuding revolting fumes. No wonder she’d noticed his place looked awful—as if he’d entertained all six members of a rock band. She shook her head just a fraction and pressed her lips together.
He leaned against the rickety sink, opened the water bottle, and drank its contents in little more than a single gulp. The whole time, he was awkwardly aware of her eyes on him, as hungover as he was, dressed only in boxers, his hair tousled and greasy.
When he lowered the bottle and saw her bend to pick up the empty pizza box and a dirt-encrusted plate, he frowned at her. “What are you doing, Hayden?”
“Looks like a pigsty in here. That’s not you, Heath.”
“I don’t remember asking your opinion.”
“You don’t have to.” She shook her head again, looking distressed. It made him want to lower his head in shame and ram his fist into the stained wall in front of him at the same time. He didn’t want Hayden here, didn’t want to see her, hear her voice, or even think of her. He didn’t want to think of anything anymore—at all. For three months, he had been struggling to forget what had happened, but how was that supposed to work if Hayden kept showing up and looking at him with those understanding and compassionate blue eyes of hers?
He cleared his throat. “What are you doing here anyway? Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“It’s Sunday,” she replied. “You missed church again, Heath. Father Brady asked about you …”
Even their parish priest was worried about his salvation. An involuntary smile of amusement lit up his face, even though he was in no laughing mood.
Hayden didn’t seem to be, either. “That’s not funny, Heath. Your mom is awfully worried about you …
I
am awfully worried.”
“I feel terrific. Isn’t that obvious?”
“No. It’s not.” She placed the pizza box and plate on a side table that was already loaded with magazines and Chinese takeout boxes. “You look horrible, you’re living in a dump, and even your brothers haven’t heard from you in ages! You’re not even speaking with Kayleigh anymore.”
“I’m busy.” He pushed his chin forward belligerently.
She dropped her purse on the dirty fold-out couch and raised her hands in exasperation. “Don’t give me that bullshit, Heath. You haven’t shown up to bowling or basketball in weeks. Instead you spend your time getting drunk at O’Reary’s and—”
“Are you spying on me?”
“How is it spying if all your friends are also my friends? Everyone keeps asking me what’s wrong with you, telling me they’ve seen you wasted in the pub. Your family keeps calling me because they can’t reach you.”
“Hayden, we broke up,” he answered lamely. “I don’t need your concern, nor do I need your help. And you don’t have to be my secretary either.”
“You damned idiot!” she burst out. “Do you think I don’t know what you’re going through? Joseph was my—”
“You don’t know anything!” he cut in angrily, clenching his fists. “Why can’t you all just leave me alone?”
“Your family is worried about you!”
“My family suffocates me. You’re suffocating me, Hayden!” He gritted his teeth. “I need some distance, some breathing room, but none of you seems to get that!”
Her pale face spoke volumes. “You’re going to destroy yourself if you go on like this. Are we supposed to stand by and watch?”
“I told you two months ago,” he replied, struggling for restraint. “We’re no longer together, and thus, my life’s not your business anymore.”
She didn’t acknowledge his objection at all. “You’re experiencing a crisis, and we all understand that—”
He snorted derisively. “Shane, too? I don’t get the impression he’d be all that understanding.”
Hayden touched a hand to her face and said, “Your brother is feeling awful, too. It drags him down. He’s worried about you on top of all the grief and pain. Why don’t you talk to him, Heath?”
“Because he doesn’t want to talk to me.”
Now it was her turn to grit her teeth. “You Fitzpatricks are a bunch of pigheaded idiots, all of you! I can’t imagine how your mother managed to deal with four sons this obstinate, and a daughter just as stubborn.”
“If that’s all you wanted to tell me—”
“That’s not nearly all of it, no.” Her expression was determined. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you for two months now, and you’re always dodging me or stalling.”
He crossed his arms in front of his chest and shook his head. “There’s nothing to talk about, Hayden.”
“Then at least try to understand how concerned we are.”
“None of you need worry about me,” he spat angrily.
“We’re family—of course we’re worried about you! We’d be worried just the same about Kayleigh or the twins, darling—”
“Shut up.” He shook his head again, more grimly this time, and tried to refrain from throwing something against the wall. “Don’t call me ‘darling’ and leave me alone.”
She had run out of patience. She took two steps toward him and then slapped him. “You’re unhappy—okay, I get that! I’m unhappy, too. The whole family is unhappy, but you can’t simply run away and pretend everything’s fine. Do you have any idea what you’re putting us through?”
He rubbed his cheek and told himself he wasn’t affected by her upset expression or her brimming eyes—or her lovely scent. He wanted to be left alone, and he didn’t want to see her anymore. “The only thing I know is that I broke up with you, Hayden.”
“Let me be here for you,” she whispered, trying to take his hand.
Heath shook his head and stiffened, pulling his hand away. “It’s over.”
“But … you can’t mean that,” she said, her voice brittle. “We’re Heath and Hayden … a couple since first grade. We love each other.”
Suddenly his throat felt scratchy, and he barely trusted his own voice. His stomach churned as if he’d ingested poison. “Hayden, I packed my things, moved out, and canceled the wedding. How can you believe we’re still a couple?”
When her eyes filled with tears, he wanted to pull her close and offer her comfort, but instead, he remained silent and still.
“I know you don’t mean that, Heath.”
“But I do.” In truth, he’d have rather cut his own wrists than hurt her, but he hoped she would buy his lies now. Willing his voice to sound firm, he said, “I don’t love you anymore, Hayden. Since I moved out, I’ve been meeting other women, sleeping with them and—”