Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
WHITNEY
“Everything okay?”Ana asks me. Brinley is propped on one hip, her Winnie the Pooh bear tucked into her chest. I nod, giving my mother-in-law something between a smile or a grimace.
I hope it looks more like a smile. Or that maybe she’ll bunch my off-kilter demeanor in with our recent talk.
Can she see the sweat growing on my skin and the nausea churning in my stomach? “I just need to make a call.”
It must be convincing enough because Ana just gives me a gentle smile in return.
“I’ll go ahead and get her bath started,” she pinches the tip of Brinley’s nose.
My daughter giggles, the sound lightening my mood for a fraction of a second.
I squeeze her shoulder as they brush past me, “Thanks, Ana.”
I don’t bother grabbing my winter coat as they waltz off to get cleaned up.
I’m surprised I even manage to slip on my boots and step onto the porch.
My body feels mechanical—like it’s moving on instinct and memory rather than on willingness.
Once I finally dial Wyatt’s number with a shaky hand, the heart thundering against my ribcage becomes unbearable.
What will he say? Will he rush home? Tell me to hang up and call the cops?
I know I should be calling the sheriff but… I need him first.
The phone rings. And rings, and rings, and rings. “Come on, Wyatt,” I mutter to no one but myself.
Eventually it falls into his familiar voicemail.
I try one more time, but it’s useless. I can’t say I blame him.
I wouldn't want to talk to me either. I sigh, shoving my phone into the back pocket of my jeans.
My eyes instinctively trail my hot breath as it clouds the cold air.
I blink when they snag on a set of footprints.
Just one set. It starts right where the snow does—at the top of the steps. Then it wraps around to the left. All the way to the back of the house. Wyatt and the rest of them had to have left over an hour ago. There shouldn’t be any footprints left. And with the way this snow has been coming down…
I shake my head. My mind must be playing tricks on me. Just to ease my tight chest and uneasy stomach, I yank my phone out again and open up the camera app Wyatt made me download. My lips turn down when all I see is a black screen with bright red letters.
Error.
No connection.
Dread settles heavy in my chest. Fast. Sharp. My instincts roar to life and sing wrong, wrong, wrong. Something is wrong.
I bust back through the front door, not bothering to close it in my pursuit to find Ana and Brinley. Benji lets out an excited bark, nails skidding across the floor as he follows me. I rip Brinley’s winter coat off the front rack and scoop down to grab shoes from the walk-in mat without looking.
I quickly find them in the bathroom. The water is running, but thankfully Brinley is still fully dressed as Ana lays out her pajamas.
Ana startles when I burst in. “We need to go,” I snap. “Now.” My words are breathless and urgent as I reach around her and slam down the faucet on the tub. Ana begins shaking her head. “What are you-”
“Ana.” I cut her off, shoving the shoes into her hand and crouching to yank Brinley’s coat on. “Please. We need to go.”
Ana continues mumbling, her face red with confusion and nerves. I don't pay her anymore mind as she slips on her shoes. “I’m calling Wyatt again,” I mutter to myself, pressing the phone to my ear. My hands shake around the device, panic making it nearly impossible to focus.
My stomach plummets when ring after ring fills my ear. “Pick up your fucking phone, Wyatt!”
Then the call drops.
And then that’s when I smell it. Faint, but familiar.
I will never forget that smell. The way it wraps around me and chokes what little hope I have left. That smell haunts me, and my intuition is screaming so loudly it hurts.
Smoke.
I race to the front door—twisting the knob and cursing. It jerks once and stops. Like it’s being blocked from the outside. I spin around and sprint for the back door too. My heart stutters. The second I round the corner, heat slams into me.
Vibrant flames curl up the back windows and lick along the door frame. The back porch must be gone, causing the flames to climb higher and faster. “Ana, get Brinley!”
The bathroom door slams open as I run for one of the living room windows. I tug at the frame, but it doesn’t even budge. Then I move to the next one. And the next one. I push and pull at every single window in the house. None of them open, all of them are sealed shut.
A sob breaks from the back of my throat as I slap the glass window in the kitchen. Panic surges to the surface and takes over. I throw my hands over my head and whip around to where Ana keeps Brinley tucked into her chest, T-shirt covering my daughter’s mouth.
Our eyes meet for a moment–an understanding settles between us. This is bad.
My chest begins to pick up, panic settling deep in my bones. My limbs ache to reach for Brinley, to shield her–
Brinley. Brinley.
My eyes drop for a fraction of a second and I spot the barstool. I don’t think twice. “Step back!” I shout, waving Ana backwards. She listens as I grab the stool from beneath the island and haul it over my shoulder.
All of the strength—all of the anger and fear I can muster goes into my swing. I reel back and slam the metal bottom into the glass.
Once.
Twice.
CRACK.
The window finally spider webs and I toss the stool somewhere to the side before rushing to the living room and pulling out a throw blanket.
Brinley’s startled cries and Ana’s heavy breaths are deafening.
Laying the blanket over the sharp shards, I shove the broken pieces aside with my bare hand.
A small part of my brain registers the flash of blood in my vision.
It’s stupid—but I don’t care. Can’t dwell on what I should have done. I’ll feel the pain and regret later. It doesn’t even matter if I stay here and burn or bleed to death—what matters is saving her.
Ana hesitates when I turn to her, but I take Brinley from her hands and jerk my head towards our only exit, “Out. Now.”
Once she’s through, I pass Brinley through the window and into her awaiting arms. She doesn’t bolt like I want her too—she waits and stares with Brinley tucked into her chest. Like she’s waiting for me to follow.
But I can’t. Not yet. “Go! Get her away from the house.”
“But-”
“Ana.” I shout, voice raw, “Now!”
Benji whines behind me, tailed tucked. I rush back into the main room, spotting Ivy from where she hides behind the couch. “Come on, you little shit,” I whisper, coaxing her out and into my arms. She’s quickly shoved through the open window. I just hope she has enough sense to take off.
“Come on, Buddy,” I breathe to Benji, bending down. But the dog falls into a defensive position. He begins barking wildly. His tail and head whips, his body refusing to stay still long enough for me to grab him. “Benji, please.”
Maybe it’s the desperation in my voice. Or maybe it’s the smoke that’s thickening the air and making it harder to breathe, but he finally lets me scoop him into my arms. His nails dig into my bare arm, but I don’t care.
I hoist him to the window and shove him through, thankful it’s not a big drop to the ground.
A small shock of relief tugs at my heart as my foot comes up to haul myself over next—because everyone is safe.
But then I feel hands on my waist. And my world spins.
I fall backwards.
Into the heat.
But not onto the floor.
Into the arms of Andrew.