The Problem with Fire (The Problem Series Book 1)

  The Problem

  with Fire

  ◆◆◆

  Copyright 2020 Monica Clayton

  Published by M.E. Clayton

  All Rights Reserved

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. The entire content is a product of the author’s imagination and all names, places, businesses, and incidences are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), places or occurrences, is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner, whatsoever, without the express written consent from the author, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Formatting: Smashwords

  Cover: Adobe Stock

  Warning: This book contains sexual situations and other adult themes. Recommended for 18 years of age and over.

  Table of Contents

  ◆◆◆

  Author's Note

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  Playlist

  Prologue

  1. Monroe

  2. Sayer

  3. Monroe

  4. Sayer

  5. Monroe

  6. Sayer

  7. Monroe

  8. Sayer

  9. Monroe

  10.Sayer

  11. Monroe

  12. Sayer

  13. Monroe

  14. Sayer

  15. Monroe

  16. Sayer

  17. Monroe

  18. Sayer

  19. Monroe

  20. Sayer

  21. Monroe

  22. Sayer

  23. Monroe

  24. Sayer

  25. Monroe

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Other Books

  Contact Me

  Newsletter Sign-Up

  Author’s Note

  ◆◆◆

  Just a couple of things before I let you go and get your read on. While I am doing my best to work with better editing and proofreading software, all my books are solo, independent works. I write my books, proofread my books, edit my books, create the covers, etc. I have one beta who gives me feedback on my stories, but other than that, all my books are independent projects.

  That being said, I apologize, in advance, for the typos, grammar inconsistencies, or any other mistakes I may make. Since writing is strictly a hobby for me, I haven’t looked into commitments in regard to publishers, editors, etc. My hope is that my stories are enjoyable enough that a few mistakes, here and there, can be overlooked. However, if you’re a stickler for grammar, my books are probably not for you.

  Also, I am an avid reader-I mean an AVID reader. I love to read above any other hobby. However, the only downside to my reading obsession is when I fall in love with a series, but I have to wait for the additional books to come out. And because I feel that disappointment down to my soul, when I started publishing my works, I vowed to publish all books in my series all at once. No waiting here…LOL. Now, the exception to that will be if enough readers request additional stories based off the standalone, such as in Facing the Enemy. At that point, if I decide to move forward with a requested series, I will make sure all additional books are available all at once. As much as this is a hobby for me, I am writing these books for all of you, as well as myself.

  Thank you, for everything!

  Acknowledgements

  ◆◆◆

  The first acknowledgement will always be my husband. There aren’t enough words to express my gratitude for having this man in my life. There is a little bit of him in every hero I dream up, and I can’t thank God enough for bringing him into my life. Thirty years, and still going strong!

  Second, there’s my family; my daughter, my son, my grandchildren, my sister, and my mother. Family is everything, and I have one of the best. They are truly the best cheerleaders I could ever ask for, and I never forget just how truly blessed I am to have them in my life.

  And, of course, there’s Kamala. This woman is not only my beta and idea guinea pig, she’s one of my closest friends. She’s been with me from the beginning of this journey, and we’re going to ride this thing to the end. Kam’s the encouragement that sparked it all, folks.

  And, finally, I’d like to thank everyone who’s purchased, read, reviewed, shared, and supported me and my writing. Thank you so much for helping make this dream a reality and a happy, fun one at that! I cannot say thank you enough!

  Dedication

  ◆◆◆

  For My Readers –

  You guys really, really rock!

  Playlist

  ◆◆◆

  Gotta Tell You – Samantha Mumba

  Shook My All Night Long – AC/DC

  You’re So Vain – Carly Simon

  Nobody Wants To be Lonely – Ricky Martin ft. Christina Aguilera

  Sorry, Not Sorry – Demi Lovato

  Talking Body – Tov Lo

  Bliss (I Don’t Want To Know) – Hinder

  What If – Kane Brown

  The Woman In Me – Shania Twain

  Maybe It Was Memphis – Pam Tillis

  Prologue

  “I want a divorce.”

  I stopped rummaging through my dresser drawer, as I had been searching for my favorite pajama pants. I turned to face my husband who was standing on the other side of the room, our queen size bed like a battle line between us.

  He looked serious.

  “What?”

  I watched as he straightened taller, his hazel eyes clear and determined. “I want a divorce,” he repeated, and I was still having trouble following.

  My hand gripped the edge of the opened drawer as my stomach pitched. “Yo…you want a divorce?” We’d been married fourteen years, together for fifteen. We’d met our sophomore year in college, but our friendship hadn’t turned romantic until our junior year at Stanford. We had married as soon as we had graduated and had Leta two years later.

  And now, fifteen years later, he was standing in our bedroom, telling me he wanted a divorce. My handsome husband with his sandy brown hair, beautiful hazel eyes, and impressive physique for a man edging towards forty, was standing in our bedroom, looking at me, ending our marriage.

  “I haven’t been happy for a long while, Monroe,” he announced, as if I were supposed to have known this, even though he’s never said anything. “And life is too short to spend it unhappy.”

  Normally, I’d agree, but…

  “I don’t understand, Thomas,” I replied, confused and…in shock, I think. “If you’ve been unhappy, why didn’t you say anything before now? Couns-”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said, cutting me off. “I’m saying something now.” It had to be shock. For me to stand here, so calmly, listening to him say words he won’t ever be able to take back, it had to be shock. “And I’m not going to waste my time or yours with counseling that I know won’t work.” The tone of his voice wasn’t hard to miss. Thomas has already moved on both emotionally and mentally, if not physically, and he wasn’t suggesting divorce. No. He was telling me he was getting a divorce.

  I wasn’t quite sure what I was supposed to feel right now. My marriage was suppose
d to last, and I didn’t have a Plan B. I knew somewhere in the back of my mind that I should be crying, or screaming, or pleading for…a chance? For his love?

  I mean, I should be feeling something, right?

  But then, like most mothers, my maternal instinct kicked in and reminded me that, even though my marriage was falling apart right now, there was still someone more important in all this that needed me to fight for her. “What about Leta? Have…have you thought about what this will do to Leta?”

  “She’s young. She’ll get over it,” he replied stoically.

  And that’s when I felt the first twinge of emotion. “She’s young? She’ll get over it?” I repeated. “Are you serious? How…she’s a twelve-year-old girl,” I said, feeling the need to remind him. “She’s going to be devastated.”

  “And like most kids from divorced families, she’ll get over it, Monroe,” he said again.

  I stared at this man in my bedroom, who I didn’t know, and wondered what in the hell was going on. Thomas was a good father. He always has been. He and Leta had a wonderful relationship. So, for him to dismiss her and her feelings so casually…well, that told me that, even if I did get on my knees and beg for a chance to make our marriage work, he wouldn’t.

  He was done with me.

  Too bad I’d been the last ones to know it.

  I knew I was going to feel rage, betrayal, pain, and sadness further down the line, but, right now, I felt anger on Leta’s behalf. “Well, then, if you’re so sure that she’ll get over it, then you’re going to tell her you’re divorcing me,” I spat.

  He nodded. “I’ll just explain-”

  “No,” I snapped, stopping him. “You don’t get to dismiss how this will affect her and still try to come out of this mess squeaky clean. If you want an uncomplicated divorce, then you’re going to have to be completely honest with her. There won’t be any of this ‘me and your mother’ bullshit. You’re going to tell her the truth, Thomas. Which shouldn’t be too hard since she’ll eventually get over it, right?”

  “I think it’s best if I stay in a hotel tonight,” he said, ignoring my conditions.

  “I think you’re right,” I agreed, and wondered, again, what the hell was going on.

  Chapter 1

  Monroe~

  What the hell was wrong with me?

  I was a grown ass woman with a fifteen-year-old child, a marriage and a divorce under my belt, and creeping up on forty. I should not be lusting after youngsters.

  I wasn’t a pervert, for Christ’s sake.

  But then, what was the age limit for pervertedness?

  A three-year difference?

  Five?

  Ten?

  Twenty?

  And did it depend on the age range? If a person was fifty but their partner was forty, that sounded more acceptable than if you were forty and your partner was only thirty, for goodness’ sake. And ten years might not seem like much to people, but if you were twenty-five and you were chasing a fifteen-year-old. They’d put you in prison for that shit.

  So, what in the hell was age appropriate?

  And if it was a forty-year-old man with a thirty-year-old woman, how did that stack up against a forty-year-old woman with a thirty-year-old man?

  And if you were fifty and found yourself attracted to someone your children’s age, then what? Was that wrong? Was it okay as long as your children approved?

  Since I needed to finish my coffee and start my day, I closed my eyes and turned away from my kitchen window before I gave myself a goddamn headache.

  I knew my neighbor was only thirty-five. I knew he was a firefighter, and a grown ass man, living in his own home, paying his own bills, and was a full-fledge productive member of society. And how did I know all this? My neighbor to the left, Kerry Florence, was a fountain of neighborhood information. And when Mr. Sayer Hayes had moved into the house to the right of mine, Kerry had done her best to welcome him to the neighborhood. And in the two months that he’s lived there, I’ve only exchanged a couple of hellos with the man, and that’s been it.

  Being a firefighter, he worked weird hours, but every now and again, I’d catch him coming home from work or leaving for work, and it was all I could do to keep my tongue from lolling out like a love-struck cartoon character.

  Sayer Hayes was everything you’d imagine a hot, sexy firefighter to be. He was well over six-feet tall, with muscles that couldn’t be contained no matter how loosely he wore his shirts. He had dark brown hair and bright blue eyes (that bit I got from Kerry because I’ve yet to talk to the man beyond the mumbled hellos), and a face carved from perfection.

  In short, the man was smokin’ hot. And, God bless his soul, he was a firefighter to boot. What was more sexier than that?

  And here I was, a mousy thirty-nine-year-old, who was heading towards forty in a few months. I wasn’t a complete hag, but I wasn’t gravity-free either. And I had a child who’d left proof of her existence behind on my wide hips, stretch-marked tummy, and not-so-perky breasts. And even though I worked out and did my best to stay in shape, age was the motherfucker of all wars. You could fight it all you wanted, but age prevailed like a damn five-star general.

  Of course, my uncontrollable drool could also be a result of my three-year penis hiatus. After Thomas had dropped the bomb that he had wanted a divorce, I had spent that first year putting all my efforts into making the change as painless as possible for Leta. I had totally failed, by the way, but that hadn’t stopped me from doing my best as her mother.

  I had also spent that first year doing everything I could to get promoted at work. My personal life had been a disaster, but I had managed to work my way up from a county clerk to one of the three Silias County building inspectors. The pay increase had been a godsend, and it had allowed me support Leta without the benefit of child support or alimony.

  Even though Thomas had turned out to be a jackass, he had always been a good father, so I hadn’t fought him when he had demanded fifty/fifty custody of Leta. And with fifty percent custody, he hadn’t been required to pay child support. He also had offered to let me keep the house, but pride had been my best friend during that first year, and we had ended up selling everything and splitting it all right down the middle. It was how I had been able to buy the house Leta and I lived in now.

  The second year had been spent digging into my new role at work, and still working on getting Leta through the shitty thing her father had done. After months of crying, raging, hurting, and going through all the other stages of divorce, I had found that the one thing I had resented the most was how Thomas hadn’t given us a chance at all. Instead of coming to me when he had first started feeling the signs of unhappiness, he had sat on his feelings until he had no longer felt anything for me. That was the crap that pissed me off. Not because I was still pining over him, but because he had ruined my daughter’s chance at having a happy family, and all because he hadn’t wanted to bother with trying to fix what had been going wrong.

  The dick.

  And this past year had been all about being happy. Other than Leta still being pissed at her father and being just a moody fifteen-year-old girl, life was pretty good. I had a great job, a nice house in a nice neighborhood, a healthy moody daughter, and a best friend I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world.

  So, penis hasn’t been a priority these past few years, what with me trying to get my life back together. And on the weeks Leta was with Thomas, I worked that frustration out by going through batteries by the dozens. I was fairly certain me and my vibrator were a large part of what was destroying the planet’s environment, even if I did try to buy recycled double-As.

  And even though Thomas had broken my heart, he hadn’t turned me into a man hater. He had turned me into a Thomas hater, but I hadn’t fallen into that trap of believing that all men were awful. I didn’t think all men were awful. I had just fallen into a nice, quiet, safe existence, and I wasn’t exactly eager to cause any waves after the tsunami Thomas had already pu
t me through.

  However, my need for a peaceful, uncomplicated life hadn’t made me blind, deaf, or dumb. And every time I saw Sayer Hayes coming or going from his home, my lady parts tingled. He was truly a magnificent male specimen, and he was just another reason for me to believe in God, because…

  Oh. My. God.

  My phone rang, blessedly snapping me out of my inappropriate thoughts about my young neighbor. “Hey.”

  “We’re planning a camping trip for the week after next, when Leta goes back to stay with Thom-ass. Do you want to come with us?” Karma asked, no greeting necessary.

  I let out a soft laugh. “One of these days, you’re going to accidentally call Thomas that in front of Leta,” I said, instead of answering her about the camping trip. “Then what?”

  “She’ll probably get to calling him that all the time,” she replied.

  “Exactly my point, Karm,” I said.

  “So, do you want to go camping or not?”

  “I appreciate the offer, but Sarah’s on vacation that week, so me and Kevin are dividing her inspections to help out,” I told her.

  “Maybe you can talk to Thom-ass and Leta can come with us,” she suggested. “We’ll be gone Friday through Sunday, but it’s during his Friday through Sunday.”

  Thomas and I had shared custody where we traded Leta off every Friday. Whoever had Leta would drop her off at school on Friday mornings, and the other parent would pick her up from school Friday afternoon. We’d been doing this for three years, and I still wasn’t used to it. I didn’t like having my child away from me for an entire week, even if she was already fifteen and called me during her weeks away.

  “I’ll let her know she was invited,” I replied. “She can ask him.” Leta and Karma’s daughter, Jennifer, were close and often did things together. Karma and her husband, Vernon, had two kids, Jennifer being their youngest and an older son, Tennison, who was a freshman at USC. Apart from her parents giving her a stripper name, Karma’s life was pretty perfect.