Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
AVERY
There are things you should know.
B ob’s text ran through my head on repeat as I made the fifteen-minute drive to Wild Haven Brewing.
My mind was racing, trying to figure out all the things he could tell me.
He’d changed his mind again on the holiday event—Matthew was out, and I was back in.
Or Matthew had told him some outrageous lie, and he wanted to know if it was true.
Maybe Matthew had been fired from Bear Run Brewing.
Wishful thinking. There wouldn’t be a satisfying resolution to the situation with Matthew. I’d made my bed, and I’d used poor judgment in who I’d invited into it. Now I was dealing with the fallout.
It wasn’t just that I’d broken up with Matthew.
Knowing him, my guess was that being fired was a bigger hit to his ego than the end of our relationship, but the fact that I’d dumped him first couldn’t help.
I’m sure in his mind that’s not how this was supposed to go.
I was supposed to fall in line, happily providing him with sex and my business to run, while I did what I was told and brewed amazing beer.
There was only one part of that I was interested in, and it was the part about brewing amazing beer. Not Matthew.
One thing I could say about myself—I wasn’t perfect, but at least when I made mistakes, I tried not to repeat them. No more workplace romances. Of course, that thought sent my brain ricocheting straight to West.
After I talked to Bob, I was going to hunt down West Garfield, apologize for being a jerk, tell him to stop trying to boss me around, and hope we could put this bullshit behind us.
I felt a flush of shame at the way I’d overreacted.
I was on a hair trigger these days when it came to being told what to do by men who thought they knew everything.
But my issues with my father weren’t West’s fault, they were mine.
It wasn’t cool of me to make West pay for my bad judgment with Matthew, or my instinctive pushback when it came to being told what to do.
Anxiety tugged at my gut. West might not give me another chance. I hadn’t said anything unforgivable, but I’d been a jerk. But everybody was sometimes, right? Mentally, I crossed my fingers, hoping West was as forgiving as I thought he was.
The parking lot of Wild Haven Brewing was deserted except for a single car, parked on the edge of the lot.
I didn’t recognize it, but I didn’t know what Bob drove.
Since Wild Haven didn’t have a taproom, do tours, or sell beer on-site, it made sense that no one would be here on a Sunday.
And I knew better than anyone how much paperwork I could plow through when no one else was around.
Still, there was an abandoned air to the place.
If that was Bob’s car, why had he parked so far from the door?
I shook my head. I was just looking for trouble, that’s all.
I pulled in, choosing a spot a few spaces from the door—unlike Bob—and hopped out.
The glass door sported a colorful logo with illustrated hops and wheat spilling from a basket.
I tugged at the handle. It swung open in silence to reveal the cavernous interior of the brewery.
With concrete floors and high ceilings, the building was basically a big warehouse divided into sections.
In one corner, tall stainless-steel vats were lined up in neat rows.
On the other side, Bob had set up his bottling and labeling equipment.
Wild Haven wasn’t a rival to one of the big commercial breweries closer to Asheville, but it was a whole lot bigger than Sawyers Bend Brewing. I looked around with envy.
Someday, I told myself, I’d have a big, fancy bottling machine like this one. Someday, I’d brew beer in vats the size of Bob’s. I’d have to recover from the current slowdown in business first, but I could get there. I wasn’t going to give up, no matter how much trouble Matthew caused.
It was dim inside, and only half of the overhead lights were on. I walked in further, calling out, “Bob? It’s Avery.”
I’d never been in his office, so I wasn’t sure which direction to head.
My eyes scanned the big space. On the other side of the bottling machine, I caught sight of a few doors, all closed.
Two had windows that looked out into the main space of the brewery, and in one of them, the lights were on.
Bingo. With his door closed, he probably hadn’t heard me arrive.
I made my way across the brewery, ducking under the rolling track of the bottling machine. “Bob?” I called out again, not wanting to sneak up on him.
No answer. No sound at all. A tickle of nerves went up my spine.
There wasn’t anything wrong that I could see, but still—it was too quiet. Why was it so quiet?
Because no one’s here, Avery , I told myself.
I reached the door to the office I thought was Bob’s and knocked. No answer. Okay, that was weird. I stood there for a second, my hands at my sides, wondering what to do. Knock again?
I did. Still no answer. I tried the knob, and it turned in my hand. I pushed the door open.
“Hey Bob, sorry to barge in, but?—”
The office was empty.
Not what I was expecting. Lights on, door unlocked, Bob nowhere in sight. Could he be in the bathroom or something? Maybe. I pulled out my phone and texted him.
Bob, I’m here. Can’t find you.
The message went undelivered.
“Bob?” I called out again. I’d take a walk around. If I didn’t spot him, then what? Logic said: go home and try again later. There are things you should know. Fuck, I wanted to know the things I should know, and I didn’t want to wait. I wanted to know now .
Something on the other side of the room caught my eye—a shadow of movement and a sound.
A rustle. Kind of a splash. A splash of what?
My heart stopped at the thought that maybe one of the vats was leaking.
But no. No. These looked like perfectly maintained, newish stainless-steel vats. No way they had a leak.
The smell hit me, acrid and sharp. That wasn’t beer. That was... Gas.
What?
I barely had time to register the scent filling the vast room when flames exploded on the other side of the brewery. Holy shit, that was a lot of fire. I wasn’t close enough to be singed, and still the heat was a slap in the face, the smell choking my lungs.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. How the hell had that happened? My mind raced, thinking through what could cause spontaneous combustion. Nothing came to mind.
I bolted for the front door, only to find it locked. It must have locked behind me, but even as I had the thought, I realized, wouldn’t it open from the inside? There was no reason for it to lock from the outside on its own.
My brain caught up with my panic in a rush.
The fire was moving fast, licking up the walls to touch the metal ceiling, consuming the drywall as if it were ravenous.
Thank God most of what was in here was metal and glass, but that wouldn’t stop those flames.
And I was right in the center of it, thick, black smoke displacing the breathable air faster than I could have imagined.
There had to be another door. Think , Avery.
The metal receiving door was on the side of the building where the flames had started.
If it had been open, I might have been able to get out that way.
But not if I had to stop, unlatch it, and wrestle it up.
The whole wall was on fire, and I didn’t know how long it would be before this whole place collapsed on my head.
I knew fire could move fast, but not like this.
What had it been—a minute, a minute and a half?
Backing away, I didn’t even realize I was retreating from the flames until I slammed into a metal vat. I had to get out. The front door was glass, but... Could I break it by throwing something through it?
I inched past the vat, looking along the wall for another exit.
There couldn’t be just the two doors. There had to be another way out.
I ran, jumping over a crate on the floor, turning to ease past another vat, looking for a window—anything—and finding only white drywall.
Fuck. Black smoke was filling the room. I pulled my shirt over my face, coughing, and got down on my hands and knees.
My brain couldn’t catch up with my body.
My nervous system had tilted straight into abject terror.
I had to get out, and I couldn’t believe how fast those flames were devouring the walls, already nibbling at the edges of the ceiling above.
Was the whole thing going to fall on my head?
It could, but I’d probably be dead from smoke inhalation first. Fuck.
My shoulder bumped into a metal stool, and I thought of the glass front door.
I was probably shatterproof, but I’d seen enough movies to know there was some kind of backdraft thing with opening doors and a fire.
But my other choice was to stay here, and that would definitely kill me. Metal stool and glass door it was.
Dragging the stool, I crawled as fast as I could to the door, trying to stay under the smoke.
I only stood when I was there, struggling to drag in a breath through my shirt and coughing instead.
I swung the stool, the hit glancing off.
Spiderwebs crackled across the glass. I swung again, my lungs catching on the black, acrid smoke, the cough doubling me over.
I didn’t have time to cough. The heat was unbearable, sweat pouring down my face and stinging my eyes.
I slammed the metal stool into the door again, the distant shriek of sirens hitting my ears.
Thank fucking God. I held my breath until I saw stars, slamming the stool into the door again and again, the spiderweb of cracks spreading, deepening, bits of glass crumbling out.
My vision was going grey, I gave one last desperate swing of the stool, and the glass shattered enough for me to dive through.