Chapter 42
42
Jack
W hen I was a kid, I was obsessed with fire. If I got my hands on a match, I’d burn anything I could: Rebecca’s hair scrunchies, Micah’s notebooks for school, my father’s newspapers. I could sit and watch the flames forever.
Until the night my mother “forgot” to turn the burners off on the stove. A paper towel near the stove caught fire, setting off the smoke detector. We’d had to file out of our home late in the night and wait for the firemen to come. Fortunately, they were able to put the fire out. I took the blame, not wanting my father to hit my mother, even if she never stood up for us. He took it out on me; it was the only time he almost put me in the hospital.
The house survived, and my mom repainted the kitchen, but I swore I could smell smoke every day in that kitchen until the day I left home.
I could smell smoke now. And even though I hated fire and wanted nothing to do with it, I was about to confront it head on.
“Jack, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Isaac stared at me in shock and fear. “You can’t go in there.”
I pulled my hoodie up over my head. “Too fucking bad.”
Aviva was in there. I could see both tracker dots somewhere inside the building, right on top of each other. The building that currently had smoke pouring out the windows as a fire alarm blared from somewhere inside.
Parents with kids at Reina complained a lot that the fire station was manned by volunteer firefighters. Firefighters with other jobs, who were known to arrive late on the scene here. A frat house had burned down a few years ago for that very reason.
How long could someone inhale smoke before they had permanent brain damage or died? What if she was trapped? I couldn’t take that risk.
“Call 911,” I told Isaac. “And when Judah and Levi get here, see if you can figure out a plan to get her out.”
“ Her out?!” Isaac was furious. “What about you, man?”
I didn’t answer him, just said: “Look, I’m sorry about what I did. I?—”
I couldn’t finish the sentence. With one last look at Isaac, I ran into the building.
Hallister Hall was choked with smoke. Wooden frames had caught fire; a wooden bust of one of the university founders was engulfed in flame. I looked down at Aviva’s dots on the app, ignoring how my overheated phone burned in my hand .
She was on the move.
Toward me.
“Oh, thank fuck,” I breathed. Relieved, I ran toward the stairs, which she seemed to be heading down.
And then paused.
One of the dots was moving.
The other one was still.
What the fuck?
I stared at my phone. Fear choked me more than the smoke did.
“Jack? What the hell are you doing here? We need to get out!”
I looked up. Joshua Jensen was running down the stairs, one hand covering his nose. His ear was bleeding. But if he was here, where was Aviva? And why was one of the dots still moving toward me?
No.
I swallowed.
The asshole had her phone.
“What are you doing here, Coach?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Work thing. But come on, we need to leave. Now. ”
“Were you alone?”
He looked me over warily. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I dropped the act. “Where is Aviva, Josh?”
“Jack—”
“Don’t even,” I spat. “Where. Is. Aviva?”
So did Joshua. “So you do know. She’d said as much, but I’d hoped?—”
“ Where the fuck is Aviva ?!” I roared.
“That girl has gotten into your head,” he said. “Look at you, standing inside a burning building when I’m trying to save both of us.”
“I know you lied about Asher Gold,” I told him. “I know he had nothing to do with Vice and Vixen, because I run the Vice and Vixen game. What else are you lying about, Coach?” I sneered the word.
He threw his hands up. “He wanted it! He liked it! Liked me! Was always around after practice, asking for extra training, being helpful when he didn’t have to be. Always had a question for me about ‘improving his game.’” Joshua scoffed. “He didn’t need help with his game. Kid’s practically one with the ice. But he wanted me .”
I stared at the coach in horror as the lobby grew hotter, smokier. How had I never known him at all?
“What the actual fuck, Josh? How can you think that’s okay?”
“What, are you going to let this ruin me? I made you, Jack Feldman. I was there for you when the rest of your family wasn’t! I am your family.”
I shook my head. “Aviva’s my family, not you.”
“That little bitch? She was practically begging for it earlier.”
I froze as red filled my sight—and not from the flames.
“What did you just say?” I asked quietly.
“She was all over me earlier. Looks like she was trying to trade up.” He said. There was pity on his face, false pity.
Aviva was right. My past had made me blind to who he really was, had gotten in the way of my lie detection. I’d been so fucked in the head when it came to him…and to her.
Aviva…
I took a step toward him, ignoring the fire surrounding me. “If you so much as touched her, Joshua Jensen, you will regret it. I will tear you apart, limb from fucking limb. You hear me?”
He shook his head. “You’re crazy.”
He had no idea. So I let him see just how crazy I was, staring at him, unleashing the madness inside of me at the thought of him laying a hand on Aviva. And where the hell was she?
“Where is she?” I asked. “You obviously have her phone.”
“Jack,” he pleaded. “Come with me. You don’t need her. Choose me, choose your future. Choose her, and you can say goodbye to not only our relationship, but your future in the NHL.”
Maybe what he was saying made sense. Maybe it didn’t. I had no idea. The red haze hadn’t cleared, and my whole body went stiff with tension.
“I’ll kill you,” I told him quietly, sure he could see the flames reflected in my eyes.
“Crazy,” he said again, but this time he sounded afraid. “Well, I’m getting the hell out of here, Jack. One more chance to choose me and not be a complete idi?—”
With a crack, a beam fell from the ceiling, dropping directly where he’d stood a moment before.
He screamed, trapped by the flaming piece of wood.
“Jack, help me! Help me, son! Get me out of here, I’m going to die! You can’t leave me!”
But I was already moving past him on the stairs. Aviva had to be in his office.
Oh, shit.
Stopping, I walked toward him.
“Oh thank god,” he coughed.
But I was reaching in his pocket to fish out his keys.
“I’m not your son,” I told him—for the first and last time .
And then I was running up the stairs toward his office, heart racing. How much time had I lost arguing with him? Was Aviva still alive?
I couldn’t think that way. I’d give up everything—my team, the Frozen Four, the draft, my future in the NHL. My motherfucking life. As long as it meant she was okay.
As long as it meant she lived.
Behind me, I heard a man’s screams.
Ahead of me, I heard what sounded like a woman crying out my name.
I left him behind, racing toward her, hoping I wasn’t too late.