45. Chapter 45
forty-five
It’s not how I wanted to spend my Saturday. I wanted to spend it with Calder. We were supposed to have a date tonight. But with fire evacuees and news crews filling every hotel room in a hundred miles, Grant ended up in the guest bedroom.
First thing this morning, he told Bowie he’d take us all out to lunch. Grant Prescott is always in charge, no matter where he is.
I stopped myself from calling Calder. He never responded to my text that Grant was here. Maybe he’s asleep somewhere, exhausted after fighting that fire. Maybe he saw it and didn’t want to talk to me.
“Buckle up, Buddy,” Grant says, ruffling Bowie’s hair as he gets him into his car seat. He’s chipper, almost theatrical. “Do you like Mexican food?”
“What?” Bowie blinks.
“Mexican foo—” Grant cuts his eyes at me. “Guess you’ve never had any.”
So condescending. “Jesus, Grant.”
Bowie looks at me, checking my face.
“You’ll like it,” I tell him gently. “You can get nuggets.”
“Nuggies!” He pumps his fist.
Mom and Dad climb into their car, leading the way. Dad wasn’t about to ride with Grant. He’s been… not hostile, but cold.
Grant tried small talk a couple of times— How’s work? Watch the Cowboys game? — until he finally got the message. It’s like he’s trying to pretend none of this ever happened.
He saw an ad for the grand opening of Dos Senoritas, the new Mexican place Mercy and I tried, so of course that’s where we’re going. Typical Grant. Gotta be at the grand opening.
I convinced Mom and Dad to come with us. As soon as this is over, I’ll tell him if he wants to see his son, he needs to find a hotel room in Marble Falls or Austin. One night under the same roof was enough.
And then a tiny nibble of empathy hits me. That damned guilt I’ve carried like an albatross. How can I feel sorry for him? After everything?
I guess because I slept beside Grant for years.
I know the weight of him in a bed, the way he breathes when he finally drops into heavy sleep, the warmth of his arm when he reaches for me without waking.
A familiar kind of love—but not the kind that lights you up from the inside. Not the kind I have with Calder.
I should never have married him. But then I wouldn’t have Bowie.
“They need to extend their parking,” Grant grumbles as we pull in, seeing the overflow cars in the grass. “We’re not parking out there.”
Of course not.
We wait while people pile into a front-row car and it backs out, Grant drumming his fingers on the steering wheel until he can slide into the spot.
Grant.
Getting out near the highway, Dad stares over the roof of the SUV toward the activity down the road. Firetrucks line the shoulder, flames and smoke rising beyond them.
“That fire must’ve flared back up from yesterday. It’s too damn close for comfort,” Dad growls. “Let’s go to the Red Wagon.”
“Wind’s from the south,” Grant says, unbuckling Bowie. “Pushing it away from us.” He studies the scene. “Looks like they’ve got plenty of men and equipment.”
“I don’t know,” Mom murmurs, watching the smoke.
Mom, Dad, and I exchange glances. We three know Calder’s down there. Somewhere. So is Tanner. And here I am, about to sit across from my soon-to-be ex-husband, pretending I can eat lunch while the man I love is in danger.
“Come on, everyone!” Grant announces, swinging Bowie onto his hip. “Let’s have some chips and salsa. Yum!” Bowie giggles as Grant tickles his tummy.
Good grief. He’s in showman mode.
It’s embarrassing… him in this context. That big Nashville persona he thrives on—the room owning, spotlight chasing charm—falls flat out here.
Inside, like Grant, no one seems bothered by the pasture burning down the road.
But I can’t stop thinking about Calder. He’s down there. I know it. What’s he doing? How is he doing?
He texted me earlier. I didn’t see it until we were loading up, but it eased my worry from last night. He couldn’t get my reply now, anyway. Maybe this fire will be out soon. Maybe I can see him tonight.
“What would you like to drink?” the server asks, passing out menus to the table.
“Nuggets!” Bowie pronounces, proud.
“Bowie.” Grant scolds, tapping the table beside Bowie’s hand. “Mind your manners.”
Bowie’s eyes go big, his lip quivering as he stares at his father, then looks at me.
“Grant,” I snap. Hard.
Our eyes meet.
“He needs to learn manners, Laurel. You’re overprotective.” He flicks his hand at the server. “You can bring our chips and salsa.”
God, why have we been as civil as we have? He is such a jackass.
“Daddy?” Bowie whispers, his lower lip quivering.
I want to grab him and run.
“Yeah, Buddy.” Grant’s eyes are on the menu.
“Are you mad at me?” Tears spill down Bowie’s little plump cheeks—and my heart cracks like an egg.
Grant spares Bowie a glance. “No, Buddy. Not mad. I just want you to learn manners, that’s all.” He doesn’t thumb away his tears.
“Manners?” Bowie blinks, his lashes wet.
“Yeah. Like, you don’t speak around adults unless you’re spoken to.”
“Jesus, Grant!” I whisper-shout. “That’s not how I’m raising him.”
“I see that.”
I wipe Bowie’s tears with my fingers. “It’s okay, Baby. Daddy’s not ma—”
A deep rumble rolls under us—the floor trembles—and then a violent BOOM tears through the building. The front plate glass window fractures in a spiderweb of cracks.
Outside, the sky flares orange.
Calder.
People scream.
Chairs scrape.
A stampede surges toward the door.
Grant stands, puffing up like he’s in charge of the room, yelling, “Everyone be calm! We’ll get out of here calmly!”
No one listens. Of course they don’t.
As people open the front door to rush outside—smoke billows inside.
People are coughing. Hacking.
Horrified, I grab Bowie, pulling him against me, my hand on the back of his head, folding my blouse over his face so he can breathe.
His little hands fist in my shirt as he cries, “What is it, Mommy?”
Dad shields Mom with his body, taking her arm. “Stay low. We need to get to the cars before—”
A woman runs from the kitchen, screaming, “The grass is on fire! It’s all around us!”
My ears are ringing.
People shove past, knocking into chairs, tripping over each other.
Someone stumbles. Someone else steps on them. A server screams hysterically.
Dad tries to push toward the exit, but the doorway is jammed with people pressed together, everyone trying to squeeze through the only door at once.
Grant is staring at the chaos like it’s a math problem he can’t solve.
“Grant!” I shout.
He snaps out of it, reaching to grab Bowie from me. “Come on! Come on!” he barks, pulling too hard.
“Stop!” I yank Bowie back. “You’re hurting him!”
Grant throws his hands up. “I’m trying to save us!”
Before I can answer, he wraps an arm around Bowie and me, pushing us through the doorway— flames are everywhere.
It looks like we’re standing in the middle of hell.
Heat slams into us—a blast oven wave that steals my breath and scorches my skin.
Dad turns, his eyes wide, calculating. “We can’t drive out.”
We’re trapped.
“Mommy!” Bowie cries. “Mommy!”
I whisper in his ear. “We’ll be okay. Just hold onto me.” I keep his face tucked to my chest because all around us, it’s chaos. People are hysterical. Shouting, running, fumbling for keys.
Beyond the paved parking lot, where the overflow cars sit in the high grass, the ground is a sheet of fire, racing beneath vehicles, flames licking up their tires and bumpers.
“Fuck!” Grant hollers, pointing. “If those cars blow we’ll be shredded! Get back inside!”
He’s right!” Dad yells. “Those gas tanks can rupture! Hurry!”
Another tire bursts.
“Mommy!” Bowie screams, trembling in my arms, and I tighten them around him.
Grant shoves the café door open with his shoulder, and we stumble back into the building, the mob with us.
The door finally slams, shutting out the roar of the fire.
But not the terror. Calder is gone. We're all going to die.
I swallow panic crawling up my throat, my gaze roaming the panicked room. We’re like a herd of cattle in a boxcar surrounded by fire. A wooden boxcar.
How do I save my son?
The tile bathroom. I noticed it when I was here with Mercy. Maybe if I can get Bowie inside the bath—
Headlights cut through the thick smoke outside.
Bright. White. Blinding.
A fire engine noses into the parking lot, angled sideways, and water arcs across the front of the building, hissing as it hits flames. For a second, the world goes white with steam.
A man roars, “Get back!” A brutal, explosive shatter of glass rips through the air as a heavy hammer smashes into the window—again and again—until the whole pane gives way.
Through it steps a shape. Broad shoulders. A familiar stance. A silhouette against the spray.
My breath catches.
“Calder!” Bowie screams, reaching for him.
My knees go weak.
“Laurel! Give him to me!” Calder’s boots crunch across broken glass, smoke swirling around him, water misting in the air around him.
I don’t hesitate. I push Bowie toward him, and Calder yanks open his jacket, tucking Bowie tight against his chest. Bowie disappears behind the yellow fabric as Calder carries him through the smoke, surrounded by the panicked mob.
I know I need to run. My body just won't respond. All I can do is watch, as if it’s a movie, while Calder steps through the glass window, passes Bowie to another firefighter, and comes back inside, smoke curling around him as people file out on either side of him.
Dad passes Calder with Mom hollering, “Laurel! Come on!”
But I’m still frozen, watching Calder. It’s like my mind’s clicked off the instant I saw he was alive, passing Bowie to him.
Grant staggers toward the window.
Calder gives him a hard shove. “Go!” He turns to me, motioning, “Laurel, come on!”
I try to move, but my legs won’t listen. Smoke claws at my throat. My body just… won’t.
The ceiling groans. Heat sears my skin.
Then I’m in Calder’s arms, carried through the shattered window as something inside the café collapses with a deep, rolling roar.
Calder sets me on the pavement, and through the spraying of the water, the steam and smoke—all I can do now is scream, “Bowie!”
Dad hands him to me, and I fold around him, falling to my knees, pressing my face to his hair. My whole body collapses around my son. I can’t stop sobbing. Neither can he.
Calder’s above me. “You okay?” he asks.
I nod, breathless, peering up at him. “You came for us.”
“I always will.” He looks at me like I’m the only thing in the world as he asks, “Bowie? You okay?”
Bowie nods, still in shock.
Then Grant drops to his knees, wrapping himself around Bowie and me—pulling us both into his chest, crying into Bowie’s hair, babbling, “Oh, God, Buddy, I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”
I’m too dazed to push him off. I’m just holding my son—for how long?
Oh, my God. This is what Tanner felt—too stunned to move.
Bile rushes to my throat, poison pumping through my veins. “Get off of me!” I scream at Grant, standing— turning to Calder. “Calder!”
He’s gone. “Calder!” I scream, turning in a circle.
No! He can’t be gone! “Calder!”