Chapter 9 #2
“Really, it won’t be.” She managed to keep her smile in place until they left.
Alone now, she sighed, then flipped the closed sign on the door, moving through the store, turning off lights, straightening up things here and there.
She had the radio on and was dancing to Taylor Swift when a door creaked behind her.
Whipping around with a surprised gasp, Summer watched as the small bathroom door just behind the counter slowly opened.
With a hand on her racing heart, she stared at Braden. “I thought you were already gone.”
“I am.” Dressed in his usual black from sleek stud in his ear to his ass-kicking boots, he walked toward the front door.
“What were you doing in there?”
He shot her a bland look over his shoulder.
“Right.” But her heart still hadn’t slowed. “You going out with Chloe tonight?”
He sent her another baleful glance.
“Let me guess. None of my business.”
“You’re quick.” He reached for the door.
“It’s just that I’m sort of fond of the spoiled brat,” she said. “So be kind, okay?”
When he looked at her again, surprised, she smiled at him. He offered her a half smile in return, more than she’d ever seen out of him, and shook his head. “Don’t stay long,” he said.
“Why not?”
“It’s your last night.”
Right. And she had so many other options open to her.
When he was gone, Summer continued closing up. Tina had a thing for candles, and there were some burning throughout the shop for ambiance. She blew out each of the votives as she went, then hesitated because the dark seemed so complete.
Odd, because when she was out on a camping trip, in charge of the trek, with no city lights around for miles and miles, she was never afraid of the dark.
But here, alone in the store with most of the lights off, she felt jumpy.
Out of sorts. Maybe because this was her last time alone in the shop for a good long while.
In a few days, she’d be taking a group of twelve down the Colorado River, where teapots and end tables and lamps would be a distant memory.
She moved into the back of the store to shut off those lights as well. There was another door here that led downstairs to a small room they used for employee breaks. Gregg had left it open and the light on, which made her frown. So much for routine.
She stared down the long, deep, dark steps. She wasn’t afraid of much, but dark, tight places and spiders topped the list. Still, this had to be done. She had to go down there and turn it off. “Just do it,” she said out loud, as if that would help.
The stairs creaked as she slowly made her way down. So did a beam overhead. She nearly jumped out of her skin and then laughed at herself. “Scaredy-cat.”
The little TV and stereo were off. The table was cleared and clean. But what really caught her attention was the huge beanbag chair. She’d once had one just like it, it’d sat in her room at the house she’d grown up in. Many mornings she’d woken up to find Joe asleep in it.
She toed the thing, decided it was as comfortable as the original, and sank onto it. Leaning back, she studied the TV. She couldn’t reach the remote and didn’t feel like moving. She hadn’t realized how tired she was and let her eyes drift shut.
She thought about what she’d done here, trying to find herself. Find her way back to the ties she’d once had. Had she made progress? She wasn’t sure. The old Summer would have packed it up days ago, hell, weeks ago, but she’d lingered because that was not who she wanted to be.
And yet she didn’t have a clear picture of who she did want to be…
She jerked awake, confused, not sure how long she’d been out. A sharp, putrid scent penetrated her brain.
Smoke.
She choked on the thick, clinging cloud of it and could hardly see. No. No, this wasn’t happening.
Coughing, she pulled her shirt up over her mouth.
The smoke had settled over her like a blanket, smothering.
She had to get out. She knew that much. Staggering upright, she flew up the stairs, or tried to, but her feet wouldn’t seem to cooperate.
Confused, she felt like she moved in slow motion, everything fuzzy and gray so that suddenly she wasn’t sure if this was real, or if she was simply reliving an old nightmare.
There’d been stairs then, too, she remembered in growing panic. Downstairs while her father—
Don’t open the door.
She’d made that mistake twelve years ago, not setting her hands on the door first, just ripping it open. Back then, the smoke and flames had overcome her. She’d stood there, hearing her father’s screams, a horrifying, hoarse sound of unthinkable pain, and blindly she’d run straight ahead.
Behind her, Joe had called out, tried to catch her.
But she’d just run faster—
And then blackness. Oh God, such all-consuming blackness and despair. She remembered nothing more, nothing until she’d woken up in the hospital two days later.
Now she squeezed her eyes shut, her body fighting the images before she opened them again. The smoke still surrounded her.
This nightmare was real.
The door was hot beneath her pounding fists. It was her only exit but she couldn’t get out, which made her feel intensely claustrophobic. Coughing uncontrollably now, she sank to her knees on the wrong side of the door, torn between sheer terror and fury.
Her stomach felt loose and hollow, and her body shook even as she began to sweat. With her breath lodged in her throat, she set her forehead to her knees and did her best to pretend she was anywhere else. On the pier eating cotton candy and a hot dog. On a mountain bike in Scotland.
In Joe’s arms.
Then her phone rang, startling her out of the living terror.
Gasping, sobbing with relief, she searched deep in her pockets in her full silky skirt, but by the time she located it, the caller had given up.
Missed call from her mom. She started to return the call, but had the presence of mind to pound out 9–1–1 instead.
Somehow she gave the dispatcher the information, then sat there huddled against the door, choking on the smoke and panic and memories, running out of air, hoping they made it to her in time.
Joe’s phone vibrated at eight o’clock that night. He reached for it, thinking if Cindy hadn’t ditched him two weeks ago, she’d surely have done so now. Just about every evening since had been interrupted for one emergency or another.
He called dispatch, and when he got the address downtown in the center of Ocean Beach, he forgot about everything as his heart kicked into high gear.
Creative Interiors II. He raced there, breaking a few laws and possibly the speed of light to stare in dread at the flames hurdling out of the building and into the night sky.
There were fire trucks, an ambulance, a few squad cars, and curious onlookers as the fire raged its war.
Beneath their feet lay a sea of water hoses while firefighters battled to get the blaze under control, also protecting the buildings on either side.
He rushed forward but Kenny came out of nowhere to block his way.
“You’re not suited up,” Kenny said, holding on to him with shocking strength. “They’ll get the fire out. They’ll get her.”
He stared at Kenny. “They’ll get who?”
Kenny looked at him with anguished eyes. The kind of look you give someone when they have really, really bad news.
Joe’s stomach sank to his toes. “No.” Still restrained, he whipped his head back to the building. Flames pushed and shoved their way through the opening where the front glass door had been. From the windows. From the roof. The entire thing was ablaze.
And Summer was in there.
“She fell asleep downstairs,” Kenny said. “And woke to smoke. She had a phone in her pocket and was able to call for help. They’re going to get her out, Joe. They are. It’s Jake Rawlins in there, you know how good he is.”
“Is she hurt?” he said hoarsely.
“Don’t know yet.”
The flames were hot and out of control, and he knew no one would be coming out the front door. Don’t be hurt. Please, God, don’t let her be hurt.
Kenny used his free hand to turn up the volume on the radio at his hip. As he did, one of the side windows blew out, and two firefighters appeared in the opening, one of them Jake, with a third person held between them.
Summer.
Joe twisted free from Kenny and rushed forward, meeting them as they cleared the building.
Someone put an oxygen mask on Summer, another wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. They were all drenched, having been nailed by the water hoses aiming in the window.
Joe nodded his gratitude to Jake and the others, and crouched in front of Summer, reaching for her hands.
He’d told himself for days now, ever since she’d shown up at his office with that bittersweet offer of chips, that they had no place in each other’s lives anymore.
The physical attraction had been a fluke, nothing more.
The yearning to know her again…that couldn’t be explained away as easily but he wasn’t interested in following through.
He’d told himself this until he was blue in the face, all the way through the second bag of chips he’d bought himself at the grocery store.
And then the third. He’d almost started to believe it.
Until right this second, looking at her. “Red.”
“Isn’t it funny?” she asked, her voice so hoarse it was unrecognizable. “The one thing I’m most afraid of, and I keep ending up in the middle of it.”
He rocked back on his heels and studied her carefully. The night was lit up like day so it wasn’t difficult. “You hurt?”
“No, I—”
“Save your voice.” He passed a hand over his eyes and took a deep breath. She was alive. Alive was good. He pushed the hair from her face. “I think you just shaved ten years off my life,” he murmured. “What were you doing in there this late?”
She tried to clear her throat and winced. “I—”
“No, damn it. Don’t.” He cupped her throat as if he could take her pain. “What else hurts?”
She shot him a wry look but kept her mouth shut.
“Right. I told you not to talk.” He sat back on his heels, marginally relieved by the mixture of temper and amusement on her face. “Like you’ve ever listened to me.”
The paramedics looked her over. She’d inhaled the smoke and had a couple of deep scratches on her legs from climbing through the window, but nothing that required stitches, and no burns.
Around them, they’d contained the blaze but were still working on killing it. Their work was just beginning, but Joe found he couldn’t leave her side.
“I’m okay,” she said, and the paramedic at her side nodded his agreement.
The verdict was for her to go home, clean herself up, and rest.
Kenny pulled Joe aside. “You take her home. I’ll stay until the site cools, secure the scene, and then we can meet back here at dawn.”
“What about Camille and Tina?”
“They’re being called now.”
Joe glanced down at Summer’s bowed head. She needed out of here. She’d held up so far, she’d stayed strong, but he saw her fingers shake as she drew the blanket tight.
“I can drive myself home,” she said, reading his mind.
“No.” No way in hell. He looked at Kenny. “I’ll take her.” Once again he crouched in front of her. This time when he took her hand in his, he was alarmed to find it cold as ice. Her entire body was trembling now. Delayed shock. “Red?”
Her eyes were huge. “Do you think I left a candle burning?” She fisted her hand in his shirt. “Oh my God, is that what started the fire?”
“Shh, not now. Come on.”
“I did this.”
“Baby, come on. I’m taking you home.”
She lifted her head and leveled him with those sea green, crystal-clear eyes, red rimmed and tortured by the smoke. He pulled her up, tucked her against his side, figuring it a bad, bad sign that she didn’t resist.
At his car, she stopped. “You said I could drive next time.”
“One more next time.”
“I’m leaving tomorrow,” she said, her voice craggy.
“Yeah.” He didn’t want to think about it.
“You coming inside tonight, Joe?”
He stared down at her bent head, her hair in his nose and so full of smoke he nearly choked. Try to resist this one, Walker. “Yeah, I’m coming inside tonight.”
She set her head on his shoulder and didn’t open her eyes as he walked her around the car. She didn’t move anything more than her feet, as if doing so was too much of an effort for her poor, exhausted body. “You called me baby,” she whispered. “Before.”
“Did not.”
She let out a ghost of a smile. “Know what I think? I think I still have a shot at getting your friendship back.”
“Is that what you want? Friendship?”
“Well, friendship with benefits would be nice. But after having to beg all of my family to like me for the past three weeks, I can’t handle another rejection, so you’re safe.”
Is that what she thought? That she had to beg him to like her? Couldn’t she see the truth all over his face every time he so much as looked at her? “Red—”
“Did you throw out the chips I brought you?”
“No. I ate them. Every last one. And then bought more. I’ve had to run an extra mile every day since, damn it.”
She laughed, then winced, clutching her throat.
“Don’t. Don’t talk. Don’t do anything.” He got her in the car. Eyes closed, face pale and filthy, her lips curved into a wry smile as he pulled the seat belt across her hips and fastened it for her.
“You’re good at that,” she said.
He took an inappropriate second to sweep the hair out of her eyes. And then another to gently swipe over her filthy cheek with his thumb. And then one more to just look at her. Christ, he was bad off. “What am I good at?”
Lifting up a hand, she held his fingers to her face. “Taking care of people.” She turned her mouth into his palm and kissed it, then let out a shuddery sigh. “And you know what else?”
He was absolutely certain that the look in her eyes should not make his heart soft. Or that the feel of her lips on his palm make the rest of him the very opposite of soft. “That you talk too much for a woman who should be resting her vocal cords?”
“No.” A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “I was going to say the way you shoved to the front of all those other firefighters to get to me was really sexy.”
He sighed.
“And also, you’re cute when I make you squirm.” She laughed softly. “I have more chips at home.”
“Stop.”
“And a heavenly ranch dip.”
“Going to kill me.”
“Yeah.” Her eyes were still closed. “It’s really a shame I’m too messed up to take advantage of you tonight. This newfound quiet sarcasm you have going turns me on.”
She thought she was messed up? She should jump into his head. “Yeah, too bad.” And he put the Camaro in gear and drove her home.