Chapter 34
Becca
“Welcome to Somebody Said in Sweetbriar. You can walk out of the smoke steady on your feet, but the part of you that was afraid stays inside, breathing slow and waiting for the next spark. That’s the part nobody sees.”
The paramedics had cleared me—lungs okay, no burns beyond the raw scrape of smoke, a handful of shallow claw marks on my collarbone that one of them had cleaned and covered with the bored efficiency of someone who’d seen worse before breakfast. Matt had told me Aggie was at Rosemary’s.
They’d taken Gerald to the vet, and now they were both safe with her.
I pictured her wrapped in one of Rosemary’s quilts with her cat pressed against her chest and held onto that image and tried to let it be enough for now.
Levi was still at the fire.
That was the part I kept coming back to.
Everyone else had moved away from the flames—that was the human instinct, the sane and reasonable one—and Levi had moved toward them, the way it was his job to do, and I knew that.
I understood it. I had always understood it in the abstract.
It was different, understanding it while I could still smell the smoke in my own hair.
Matt had stayed close through all of it, a steady presence at my elbow while the paramedics worked, while I breathed through an oxygen mask, while the trucks moved and the radios crackled, and the organized chaos of it sorted itself into something manageable.
He hadn’t pushed. Hadn’t peppered me with questions or told me I’d been reckless, though I suspected that conversation was coming at some point, and I was grateful he was saving it.
Then he’d steered me gently toward his truck with one hand between my shoulder blades, and I hadn’t argued.
Now he pulled to a stop in the gravel drive as the sky warmed to afternoon gold, hazy from the smoke-filled air. He killed the engine, and for a long moment the cab was quiet except for the faint crackle of cooling metal and my own uneven breaths.
He turned to me, face soft in the dim glow from the dashboard. “You’re staying here, Bec. No arguments.”
I nodded, too tired to fight it. And too aware that my trailer was twenty feet from a burned-out Airstream, and that Levi was still somewhere back there in the forest behind the campground, doing his job, and that I wouldn’t sleep until I heard his voice.
He got out first, came around to my side, and opened the door before I could reach for the handle.
When I stepped down, my legs felt unsteady, like the ground was still shifting under me.
Matt steadied me with a hand under my elbow—gentle, automatic, taking care of me the way he’d done since we were kids.
“Come on,” he said quietly. “Let’s get you inside.”
He walked me up the steps, arm around my shoulders now, solid and warm. The door creaked open to the familiar smell of lemon cleanser and coffee, undercut tonight by the lingering bite of ash that clung to both of us. He flicked on the hall light, soft and yellow, chasing the shadows back.
“Fridge is stocked,” he said as we moved toward the kitchen.
“Milk, eggs, leftovers from last night if you’re hungry later.
There’s coffee in the cupboard. Tea is in the tin on the counter—chamomile if you want to try to sleep.
” He gave my shoulder a light squeeze. “Help yourself to anything. You know where everything is.”
I managed a small nod.
He steered me toward the stairs. “You need a shower. Towels are in the linen closet—clean ones on the top shelf. Use whatever clothes you want from my room. Flannel shirts, sweats, whatever fits. Don’t worry about it.”
At the top of the stairs, he paused outside the guest bedroom door and pushed it open. The room was simple—a quilted bed, a small dresser, and a window looking out over the yard. He flicked on the bedside lamp, warm light pooling across the floor.
“You can crash here,” he said. “Bed’s made.
Extra blanket in the chest if you get cold.
” He turned to face me fully then, hands on my shoulders, eyes searching mine the way only a big brother could—steady, worried, but trying not to let the worry show too much.
“I’ve got to head back to the station. The fire marshal is meeting me there, and I need to talk to a couple of people before things cool off.
But I’ll be back before it’s too late. Levi will be here when he’s done—he texted me ten minutes ago.
He’ll find you here. Charge your phone. I have chargers everywhere, you know that. ”
“Okay.” My throat tightened. “Matt—”
He pulled me into a hug before I could finish, arms wrapping around me firm and careful, like he was afraid I might break but knew I needed the pressure to stay together.
I pressed my face into his shoulder, breathing in the smell of smoke and his familiar cologne, and for a second the world narrowed to just me and my brother holding me up.
“You’re safe,” he murmured against my hair. “You’re here. Gerald is okay. Aggie is okay, too. You took care of them. You did good tonight, Bec. Real good.”
He held on until my breathing evened out a little, then eased back just enough to look at me. “Shower. Eat if you can. Rest if you can’t. I’ll lock up when I leave, but my door’s always open for you.” He brushed a strand of hair off my forehead. “Text me if you need anything. I mean it.”
I swallowed hard. “I will.”
He gave me one last long look—big-brother assessment, cataloging every scratch, every smudge of soot, every tremor—then nodded to himself.
“Love you, Bec.”
“Love you too.”
He squeezed my arm once more, turned, and headed down the stairs. I listened to his footsteps fade, the front door open and close, the police SUV start up and pull away. Then the house settled around me.
I stood in the doorway of the guest room a moment longer, arms wrapped around myself, before I finally moved toward the bathroom and the promise of hot water.
Every time I closed my eyes, I was back in the closet, Gerald’s small body pressed to my chest, smoke pouring in faster than I’d believed possible.
I showered and changed into one of Matt’s worn, soft flannel shirts and a pair of baggy sweats that were about to fall off. Tying the strings tight, I headed to the kitchen, plugged my phone into one of Matt’s million chargers, and started a pot of coffee.
I was staring out the kitchen window into the dark when my phone buzzed.
Matt: Travis is in my office. For questioning.
He was lurking at Aggie’s trailer and just admitted to flicking cigarettes at the campground.
Pretty sure the fire is his fault. You can come and talk to him if you want.
Your call. No pressure. Also, keep quiet about this.
This is your brother talking. Not a cop.
I read it twice.
My first impulse was to set the phone down, walk away, let Matt handle it the way I’d let him handle everything my whole life. He was good at it, and I was exhausted. Aggie’s Airstream had burned to nothing tonight, and I’d nearly burned with it. I had every reason to stay right here.
Me: I’m on my way.
I pocketed the phone, grabbed the keys to Matt’s truck, and left.
The Sweetbriar Police Station was eight minutes from Matt’s. I made it in six, parked crooked, and sat gripping the wheel for half a minute, staring at the lit entrance.
I’d told myself, more than once, that if Travis ever came near me again, I was finally going to lose my temper and kick his ass all the way back to that fancy condo we used to share.
I never had. Every time he appeared, I stayed measured, careful, the version of myself that gave him nothing he could twist. I’d been so determined not to be the unstable one—the dramatic one, the one who proved every ugly thing he’d ever said about me—that I kept my voice level, my hands steady, and swallowed the rest.
He’d taken every calm response as permission to keep coming.
I got out of the car.
Matt waited in the hallway, arms crossed, expression careful. He looked at me, glanced at my shoes—still flecked with ash—then back up.
He almost smiled. “He’s in there.”
“Under arrest?”
“No. Not yet, anyway. He knows the fire investigation is open. I think he’s scared.” He paused. “He should be.”
I stared at the closed door. My pulse had started a slow, heavy drum in my throat.
“Five minutes,” Matt said. “I’ll be right here.”
“I won’t need five minutes.”
I opened the door.
The room smelled of burnt coffee grounds and the sour edge of someone who’d been sweating through his shirt.
Travis sat hunched in the chair in front of Matt’s desk, jacket zipped to the throat like armor that no longer fit.
His hands were locked together so hard the tendons stood out in white ridges across his knuckles.
When the door clicked shut, he jerked, head snapping up.
“Becca.” The word came out wet, half-choked. His pupils were blown wide, the way they used to get when he knew he’d crossed a line and was waiting to see how far I’d let him fall back.
I didn’t sit. I planted myself in the center of the room, feet shoulder-width apart, weight forward on the balls of my feet like I was ready to lunge at him or bolt out the door.
The air between us felt charged, thick enough to taste.
I could smell the stale cigarette smoke that still clung to his collar.
I let the silence press down until his breathing turned audible—short, ragged pulls through his nose.
“You deleted my podcast episode,” I said. “It was you, wasn’t it? You figured out it was me and got rid of it.”
His eyes flicked to the side, then back. “Becca—”
“Don’t.” I took one step. The floor squeaked under my shoe. “I spent weeks trying to figure out how someone got into my laptop. Then I realized the only other person who ever knew my password was you.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed violently.