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  Hayden’s Firecracker

  Holiday Firecrackers, book 4

  Megan Wade

  Copyright © 2020 by Megan Wade

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  1. Zoey

  2. Hayden

  3. Zoey

  4. Hayden

  5. Zoey

  6. Hayden

  7. Zoey

  8. Hayden

  9. Zoey

  10. Hayden

  11. Zoey

  12. Hayden

  Epilogue 1

  Epilogue 2

  Coming soon…

  Also by Megan Wade

  Zoey

  “Do I really have to go?” I ask my dad as he loads the car for our annual Fourth of July trip to Westerfold’s lake. It’s something I look forward to every year—the party, the food, the fireworks, the fun—but this year, I’m wishing we were going somewhere else for a change, because this year, the Corby’s are coming too. Cue meltdown.

  “You do,” Dad says, eyeing me over the rim of his glasses. “Just because you’re eighteen now, doesn’t mean you’re too old to do things with your family. Besides, Hayden will be there. Remember him? You two used to be practically inseparable when you were little—troublemakers, but inseparable.”

  Inseparable? More like Hayden’s favorite pastime was harassing me and refusing to leave me alone. He was the blond-haired ratbag who looked like an angel and made my life hell. Sure, we lived next door to each other since we were babies and spent almost every day together until we were twelve. But when he left me, and the trouble I was always in went away too, I realized I was glad he moved away.

  “Why are the Corby’s coming again?” I ask, my fingers twisting the loose thread at the edge of my cutoff shorts. I really don’t want to see Hayden again. Almost every memory I have of him involves me getting in trouble in some way—he broke my mother’s favorite vase and blamed me; he’d eat all the cookies my mom baked before I got any; he pulled my hair; he pushed me into a patch of poison ivy; he tied my shoelaces together and burned down my treehouse—I could list his crimes against me for hours. I highly doubt becoming a teenage boy helped him any. And now he’s old enough to vote! God help us all.

  “Because it’s been six years since we saw them, and it’s the last Fourth of July before you and Hayden go off to college. Remember how much fun we all had the last time they came with us? Maybe don’t sink the boat this time though.” He gives me a wink.

  Fun? My bed short-sheeted, a capsized boat while I was fully clothed, and a flaming hot marshmallow flicked at my leg… “Hayden has never been my idea of fun,” I say, stepping back as Dad closes the trunk and looks up at me, chuckling.

  “I remember things very differently. But you were young, I suppose. Twelve, I think. You probably recall the grounding you two got over that boat more than anything.” Dad shakes his head at the memory, patting me on the shoulder before he heads back into the house. “It’ll be a great weekend. Just stay out of trouble this time.”

  Hayden

  The cabin looks smaller than it does in my memory. It’s been so long. Six years since I saw that wild girl with the dark curly hair and freckles on her nose. Zoey Storm. The first and only girl I ever loved. A simple dare and she’d do anything just to prove she could outdo the rest of us. An Amazon Queen in the making. So fierce, and so driven that she scared most of the kids in the neighborhood. But she never scared me. I liked to follow her around just to see what she’d do next, tempt her with ideas. I wonder what she’s like now?

  “I think we’re the first ones here,” Mom says as she unclips her seatbelt and climbs out of the car, stretching her arms above her head. “Just smell that fresh air. Don’t get that in the city, hey guys?”

  My stepdad, Bart, climbs out after her, looking out at the glass-topped lake as he places his hands in the small of his back and leans into them until I hear a slight crack. “Quiet too,” he says. “You forget what that’s like.”

  My little brother, Dave, shoots past everyone until he’s at the water’s edge, finding rocks to skip. He tries one, and it lands with a plonk and sinks. He’s only five, and since we live in an apartment building far from any lakes, he’s never been taught to find the smooth flat rocks to throw. I follow behind, doing my big brother duties to show him how it’s done.

  “You need to find rocks like this one,” I say, leaning down to show him. “Then you wrap your finger around the edge and throw it like a frisbee.” I pull my arm back and release, sending the stone skipping across the water, the tiny ripples breaking up the stillness of the surface.

  Dave cheers. “Whoa! Lemme try! My turn!”

  I help him select a rock and adjust his grip. When he lets it go, he manages to get a couple of skips out of it. “You’re a natural,” I say, turning back to see Mom and Bart carrying our bags into the lake house.

  “Keep an eye on him,” she instructs, looking at Dave pointedly.

  “Don’t I always?” I reply, earning myself a glare.

  Now, I don’t have an issue with watching over my little brother. Being thirteen years older than him, I’ve been helping look after the kid since the day he was born. But I do have an issue with being constantly reminded to as if the one time he fell off the bed and hit his head as a toddler is enough of a reason to distrust me for the rest of his life.

  Sure, the kid needed stitches, but it’s not like I pushed him. I was a sixteen-year-old trying to write a book report while watching my little brother until Mom or Bart got back from work. It was an accident. But it’s an accident I’ll never live down because in her eyes, I’m my dad. And she doesn’t like being reminded of him. But I’m not the one who left. He was.

  I continue throwing stones with Dave, encouraging him as his skips go farther and farther. All the while, my mind keeps going back to the last time I did this, six years ago, standing in this exact spot next to Zoey. It feels like a lifetime ago now—another world, a much simpler one. Bart and Mom had just gotten married, and I was pretty pissed that my dad had been replaced. Zoey’s family had invited us here for the first time, even though we’d lived next door for twelve years. That never made sense to me since our parents were friends the entire time, or at least I thought they were. It turned out my dad was an asshole that no one liked, something I didn’t learn until I was much older and saw it for myself. Still, that Fourth of July six years ago is the last time I remember being truly happy despite all the upheaval in my world, and that’s because I spent it with her, getting up to no good like we always did.

  But then we traveled home, and Bart and Mom announced we were moving to the city. And not only that, she was pregnant too. My life was changing. I felt like I was being replaced while also losing every bit of stability I’d ever had. My dad, my home, my school, my friends—Zoey. So, I did whatever any twelve-year-old kid with a predilection for destruction would do; I took all the leftover fireworks from the garage and set them off in Zoey’s treehouse. It burned to the ground, tree and all. And she fucking hated me for it too. But what else was I supposed to do? Let the next kid who moved in next door take my place? No way. Fuck that. That treehouse was our clubhouse. I may have been forced to move away, but I sure as hell wasn't being replaced in her life too. No one could take my place for her.

  Just like no one has ever taken her place for me.

  Six years is a long time for a kid. It's even longer when you're missing someone. This year with the fourth falling on a
weekend, I'll finally get the chance to make her mine. And I won't be taking no for an answer.

  “Let’s go inside,” I say to Dave as I dust the dirt from my hands. “I’ll give you first dibs on what room you want.”

  His eyes light up as he rushes for the house. “I want the biggest one!”

  Zoey

  Squeals erupt the moment I open the car door. But they’re not from any of the children. They’re from my mom and Hayden’s mom who embrace like long-lost family—which I guess they kind of are. There aren’t a lot of memories from my childhood that don’t involve them together in some way. They used to be like sisters, and I suppose they always hoped Hayden and I would be close like siblings too. But I could never see him that way, and I doubt he could ever see me as a sister type either. We were...a clash of personalities, I suppose, thrown together by circumstance. And now it’s happening again.

  Six years later, and we’re being forced on each other once more for old time’s sake. At least it’s just a weekend.

  “Why don’t you take your things upstairs?” Dad says, smiling as he hands me my bag. “I think these two are gonna be awhile.” He gives me a wink, then Hayden’s stepdad—Bart, I think—comes down off the porch with a little blond boy clutching his hand.

  “Zoey!” he says, grinning widely. “You’ve grown so much. It’s been too long.”

  I smile. Not long enough. Which probably isn’t fair. My memories of Bart are quite limited. But he was always pleasant enough—Dad seems to like him. “Who’s this guy?” I ask, indicating to the boy.

  “This is Davey. Davey, say hi to Zoey.”

  The little boy wiggles his fingers. “Hi, Zoey,” he says. And my heart melts.

  “Aren’t you just the cutest?” I say, smiling down at him. “Did you get your room all picked out?”

  He smiles, nodding. “I picked the blue one.”

  “Good choice. It’s the biggest.”

  He rubs at his nose and giggles. “That’s why I like it.”

  “Hayden’s inside,” Bart says, moving past me to say hi to my parents. So, leaving everyone to get reacquainted, I take a deep breath and head into the house, steeling myself for what I’m sure is going to be a terrible weekend.

  “Hello?” I call out, listening for movement before I climb up the stairs. Hearing nothing, I head on up, taking my things into my room and dropping them on the bed. I sit there for a moment, memories from the last time we were here, resurfacing. Hayden was in particularly fine form. Bart and his mom had just said, I do, and Hayden hated having a new man around taking the attention away from him. He was such a spoiled brat. I feel like he probably grew into one of those asshole jocks who thinks he’s god’s gift to women. Well, not this woman.

  Kicking my shoes off, I gather my things and head for the bathroom, wanting to shower off the gross feeling traveling half a day gives you. When I lift my hand to turn the knob on the door, it opens, and a cloud of steam wafts out, hitting me in the face and filling my senses with a soapy, woodsy scent that wakes up my other senses and makes me gasp.

  But it’s not just the yummy scent that makes me gasp. It’s the view my eyes take in as they go up, up, up, taking in the white towel secured around narrow hips, the taut skin stretching across six nicely defined abs, the firm round pecs and cut shoulders covered in tiny droplets of water, the tattooed arm, and the intense blue eyes of the man staring down at me. Whoa.

  Hayden Corby doesn’t look anything like the annoying gangly kid in my memory. Hayden Corby went and did a Neville Longbottom—he glowed up. Holy shit. My mouth goes all dry.

  “I— uh….” I step back and try to swallow and compose myself while my body gets all hot and tingly. What the hell is happening to me? “I didn’t realize somebody was in there.” Gulp.

  I meet his curiously amused gaze as he leans against the doorframe, a smirk curving his lips. “It’s good to see you, Zoey,” he says, meeting my eyes before pushing off the door. “Bathroom’s all yours.”

  Is it wrong if I think that even his voice had a glow-up? It’s deep and smooth, and somehow, it feels like it’s brushing gentle fingers all over my skin. And it takes a moment for me to snap out of whatever thick haze I’m in, and step into the bathroom myself.

  When I lock the door, I take a deep, steadying breath as I try to wrap my head around what just happened. That was Hayden—the boy I’ve sworn black and blue I’ve hated for all of my eighteen years. But this Hayden, the grown-up version of Hayden, is something else altogether. One look, and my entire body stood to attention and took notice. I’ve never reacted like that around a guy before. Hell, I’ve never been interested in a guy before. But suddenly, I’m tingling in places I’ve never tingled over a boy I swore was my enemy only moments ago. This isn’t normal.

  Hayden

  I sit across the table, studying Zoey while our parents talk animatedly, catching up and reminiscing about times gone by, barely paying attention to any of us kids. Suits me fine since I can’t take my eyes off her. She’s the Zoey from my memory, but she’s also different, quieter somehow. She’s older, beautiful and curvy, but she’s also a little withdrawn. What happened to the girl who was loud and always spoke her mind?

  Whenever her eyes find mine, her cheeks heat, and I smile before she looks away, focusing on her barely touched food or pretending to listen to something her mom says with intense concentration. It’s adorable the way she squints her eyes like she’s really involved. I have to cover my mouth so I don’t laugh out loud.

  “Got any plans for college, Hayden?” Peter—Zoey’s dad—asks during a break in the conversation.

  “I sure do,” I say, ready to elaborate before Bart jumps in.

  “College,” he snorts. “It’s just a massive investment with no guarantee of a payout. I keep telling the boy to learn a trade like me. A plumber with a city contract pulls in the dough—it’s how we’re affording this fancy school he insisted on going to.”

  The conversation continues, and since I’ve heard this rant a million times, and I’m not interested in hearing it again—I get it, Bart, you’re a self-made man, and we’re all blessed by your riches—I excuse myself and hold my hand out to Davey.

  “Time for bed, kiddo,” I say, collecting our plates while keeping my eyes down. I don’t want to get into this here.

  “Can’t I stay up a little longer?” Davey whines, getting up from the table.

  “You know the rules,” I say. “The stars are out—”

  “So it’s time for bed,” he finishes, going around the table to say his goodnights. I take the plates to the kitchen, looking out the window at the sink to find Zoey looking my way and offering a small smile and an understanding shrug. Parents, huh? She seems to say.

  I give her a tight-lipped smile back as Davey runs in the house. Then I take him upstairs, run a bath, get him ready for bed, read him a story before I say his prayers with him too—same as we do every night.

  I often wonder during these moments how Mom and Bart are going to manage when I’m not around anymore. Do they even remember how to look after a five-year-old boy? Or will they try to make me take him with me too? No wonder Bart is always so down on college.

  Zoey

  “And God bless Mommy and Daddy and Hayden and Zoey and Peter and...what’s Zoey’s mom’s name?” Davey asks, pausing his prayer.

  “Janice,” Hayden says, kneeling on the other side of the bed from Davey. I shouldn’t even be spying on this private moment, but I’m perplexed by this grown-up version of Hayden Corby. I felt sure he’d be a jerk, the kind of guy who thinks he's God’s gift to women and ruled the halls of his high school with an iron fist. Instead, I’m seeing this quiet and intense man who takes care of his little brother without blinking an eye. Which, to me, is a very selfless thing to do. Dave seems to adore him.

  “Oh yeah, and bless Janice, and bless the fireworks guys and the clouds because I really want to see some cool stuff without it raining. Oh and bless the cow ‘cause we ate bu
rgers tonight. Oh! Oh! And bless the farmers for the salad and the stuff they use to make bread. Amen.”

  “What about the bakers who make the bread?” Hayden asks, and I can hear the smile in his voice.

  “Oh! Hey God, if you’re still there, can you bless the bakers, and like, everyone in the world who does something that helps us eat because I really love burgers. Oh, and thank you for inventing burgers. Amen!”

  “That’s a good one, buddy,” Hayden says, pulling the blankets down and getting up from the floor.

  I take that as my cue to leave, withdrawing from the doorway I was peeking through and creeping back downstairs, slipping out the back before heading to the dock, the cool breeze coming off the water brushing softly against my warm skin.

  Laughter filters out of the house, drunken adults forgetting their troubles and acting like humans for a change, people who actually know how to have fun. I’ve always loved coming to the lake house for that reason. I like seeing my parents relaxed and smiling. And I have to admit that as much as I was dreading coming here earlier in the day, now that I’ve spent the evening around the Corby’s, I don’t hate having them here at all.

  Not that I should keep calling them the ‘Corby’s,’ I suppose. Since Hayden’s mom remarried, Hayden’s the only Corby left. Besides his dad, of course. I wonder if he still sees him?

  Sitting on the edge of the dock, I dangle my feet in the water, enjoying the way the temperature changes the deeper I sink my legs in. The sun isn’t long past dipping behind the trees, so there’s still enough heat under the surface to keep the chill out. I brace myself on my hands, lowering myself as far as I can without getting my cutoffs wet.