Branded: An Everyday Heroes World Novel (The Everyday Heroes World)

speakers. I accept the call on the steering wheel.
“Hi, Mom.”
“I tried calling you and texting you more than once. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I was out for a run with Liv.” I lean forward and place my forehead on the steering wheel, suddenly feeling every second of that run in my aching muscles.
“I was worried.”
“I know, Mom. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Ever since Jason died, my mom has become a bit of a hoverer. Even now, with me pushing thirty years old, she still worries as much as she would if I were a teenager. Losing a child, especially under the circumstances she did, has taken a bit of a toll on her mentally.
“It’s all right. I’m sorry too. You’re an adult, I know that, but you’re still my little girl.”
“Always will be.” I smile a little even though she can’t see me.
“You sound tired.”
“I am exhausted. It was a long day, then adding in the run—when you know I’m not a runner—has wiped me out.” I lift my head from the steering wheel and stare out toward the track. I can see it perfectly from where I am, which means I have an unhindered view of Isaac as he runs.
“It’s good you’re getting out there though. I was worried you’d become somewhat of a hermit when you left Los Angeles. That was so far from home, but at least you had friends there, but now you don’t even look like yourself anymore. You’re a different human being.”
“I have friends here now too, Liv is great, and I just wanted a fresh start, Mom.”
“Any friends of the male variety catching your eye?”
“There have been a couple, but nothing to write home about. You know men, Mom, they generally suck.”
Isaac rounds the curve in the track, taking the long stretch that is beside the parking lot. I can see the well-defined muscles in his thighs and calves. He runs smoothly, with purpose and strength. It’s incredibly attractive.
“That’s not true at all. You just pick sucky ones.”
At that, I laugh. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Well, it’s true. Remember the biker, what’s his name?” I hear her snap her fingers, a habit she picked up when she is thinking hard on something. “With the skull tattoo on his hand.”
“Bobby.”
“That’s the one. I hated him.”
“Bobby was a mistake I quickly learned from, and I was nineteen years old. I was being a rebel, trying to piss you and Dad off as best I could.”
“It worked wonders. Thankfully, you didn’t make a mistake like that again.” I hear her sigh heavily then she speaks again, “Sawyer, I’m calling because I just wanted to talk. With Jason’s birthday next month, I’m starting to feel so… lost.”
I’ve tried to put his impending birthday out of my head. It’s the hardest day of the year. Even harder than the anniversary of his death. It’s like a punch in the gut thinking about the birth of someone who isn’t here anymore.
“You don’t have to explain. I understand. You can call me or FaceTime me, hell, or even come visit me, anytime you need to. You and Dad.”
I blink my eyes rapidly, trying to fight the tears threatening to fall.
“I’ll talk to him about coming to see you. You know him, though. He throws himself into work this time of year. He’s a tough nut to crack.”
“Always has been.”
“Well, I won’t keep you any longer. I just wanted to hear your voice and say I love and miss you.”
“I love you too, and I miss you so much.”
We say our goodbyes, and when my car fills with the deafening sound of silence, I let true tears fall down my cheeks and burying my face in my hands.
I allow myself to cry, just for a moment, in pure catharsis before I exhale a sharp breath and shake it off.
When I lift my head from my hands to wipe my tears away, I see him, Isaac, standing there, about to climb into an SUV that is parked about twenty feet away from me. He’s staring at me, no doubt having witnessed me crying.
There is clear concern in his eyes, and I think for a fleeting moment, he is going to try to come talk to me, to check on me, so I give him a small smile, which seems to placate him long enough for me to throw my car into drive and head off to meet Olivia for our drinks.
Isaac
There is no greater frustration than seeing a beautiful woman cry and not knowing how to help her. Hell, or even knowing if you should go over to help her.
I knew the entire time I was running, she was in the small compact car in the parking lot, watching me. I could feel her gaze. What I didn’t know was the gaze was accompanied by tears.
I didn’t know why she was crying, but it took effort of monumental varieties not to march over there and pull her into my arms to make sure she was all right, but I refrained. I don’t know her that well, and the last thing I want to do is scare her.
Why was she sad? Did someone hurt her? Did I make her uncomfortable?
So many questions cloud my mind now, four days later, as I sit around the table in the firehouse kitchen with my crew, having a meal lovingly donated by one of the local restaurants.
Sometimes we fix food for ourselves, sometimes meals are donated, but regardless, we are a well-fed fire station.
“Awfully quiet over there, Black,” Grady goads, giving me a nudge to the back of my head with his elbow as he walks by.
“We can’t all be the life of the party like you. I wouldn’t want to step on your toes,” I joke.
“Probably a good idea. Not many people can keep up with me.”
Some shifts tend to be very quiet. Some would even say boring, but I would never say that out loud. That would be a one-way ticket to getting