Chapter 19
Smoke curled from the roofline of the community center—thick, black, rising fast.
A crowd of kids clustered near the fire lane. Noah, Hailey, Lucas, Addie—all there, wide-eyed, tears threatening.
“Doctor J went back inside!” Noah cried, pointing. “Grace is still in there.”
Declan’s gut turned to ice.
“Jinx,” he called, already heading for the door. Jinx skidded up beside him out of nowhere, as always, fast and full of attitude. “Stay with the kids. I’m going to help Syd.”
“I’m coming too.”
“No, you’re not.” His voice left no room for argument. “Make sure the fire department knows Sydney and Grace are still in there. The truck is close—I can hear them.”
“But—”
“Jinx.” He turned and hit her with the full weight of his big-brother stare. “That’s an order. Watch them.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she nodded. “Go.”
Declan took a deep breath, ducked low, then stormed through the open door.
Smoke rushed around him like a wave, heat roaring behind it.
The building groaned above him as flames clawed their way across the ceiling.
He pulled off his top shirt, pressed it to his mouth and nose, and pushed forward into the haze.
“Sydney!” he bellowed. She was here, somewhere, and she’d be fighting. He had to do the same.
Nothing but the sound of crackling wood and the distant whine of sirens.
He moved through the hall, squinting past the smoke. Heat built fast, turning the air sharp and punishing. Ahead of him the stage blazed like a bonfire, the curtains long gone, the frame glowing orange.
An explosion split the air—deafening, violent. Declan ducked, shielding his head as bits of ceiling hailed down.
A scream tore through the smoke.
“Help!”
Declan shoved forward, following the voice.
He found Grace halfway under a tangle of uneven mats and fallen gym gear near the stage stairs. A bent metal bar lay nearby. Her elbow was scraped and red, and she was coughing hard.
“Sydney—she pushed me out here when something exploded,” Grace choked out. “She’s still up there!”
Declan’s chest twisted with fear. Of course she’d gotten the girl clear first. Time was flying, but he moved decisively, scanning the stage even as he struggled to shift the debris off the girl. He’d get Grace out as quickly as possible, but he could use her help at the same time.
The heat was worse now, and the fire danced as if it was hungry for more.
“Point to where you were,” he commanded Grace as he lifted the final pieces of wood off her legs.
She lifted a hand, and for a moment, he couldn’t see anything but flame—until he spotted movement through the smoke. A dark figure. Slumped.
“Sydney!”
She didn’t answer. Just shifted a little, dragging herself to one knee. Her other leg was tucked strangely under her, and even from a distance, Declan could see she wasn’t getting off that stage alone.
He hauled Grace into his arms and sprinted with her to the nearest wall, the area clear of all signs of the fire. “See the open door there? Run straight for it, got it? Help’s coming. I’m going for Sydney.”
She nodded, coughing again, tears streaking the soot on her face. She pumped her legs and sprinted.
In spite of every nerve screaming for him to move, Declan waited until she reached the door before he turned and ran.
The stairs to the stage groaned beneath his weight. The heat was a wall now, blistering his skin. Flames licked at the rafters. Somewhere overhead, beams snapped. He grabbed a fire extinguisher from the wall and sprayed a path ahead, just enough to get through.
“Sydney!”
She looked up this time. Her face was streaked with ash, hair damp and plastered to her cheeks. “Go back!” she rasped. “You can’t—”
“Like hell,” he growled, pushing toward her.
She tried to rise again and failed. Her ankle was already swelling—badly twisted or broken. Declan crouched, slung her arm over his shoulders, and half-carried, half-dragged her as he turned to retrace his path—
A section of ceiling groaned then crashed to the floor in front of them. Their way out vanished in a cloud of smoke and cinders.
Panic clawed at his chest. No time. No space. No way.
“Sydney—”
“Declan!”
He turned toward the voice.
Jinx.
She was crouched behind a gap in the back wall of the stage, eyes wide, one hand waving them forward.
“Crawlspace! This way! Move!”
Declan didn’t hesitate. He tightened his grip on Sydney and all but dragged her toward the hole. The passage was barely high enough to crouch through—some kind of maintenance corridor under the stage, dry and dusty, but cool and sheltered compared to the inferno above them.
Jinx led the way with the flashlight on her phone, ducking and weaving.
“Almost there,” she panted. “The path hooks behind the dressing rooms.”
The narrow passage opened into a utility door, and sunlight poured in the open door that led onto the back side of the hall.
The fresh air hit him like a blessing, and he stumbled out, Sydney still held tightly in his arms.
Jinx bolted ahead, waving down the fire crew as they prepared to rush into the building.
“We’ve got her!” she shouted. “We’re out!”
Firefighters surged forward, some dragging hoses, but one glance at the roof and their grim expressions said it all. They weren’t going to fight the blaze. They were there to stop it from spreading.
Declan lowered Sydney to the grass. Grace rushed over and threw herself into Sydney’s arms, crying again. Sydney hugged her tight despite the pain.
Jake arrived seconds later, driving one of the ranch trucks. He took one look at the smoke rising into the air, jaw tight.
“You okay?”
“I’ll live,” Sydney said, her voice raw. “My ankle’s messed up, but I think it’s a sprain, not a break. Grace has got some scrapes. Everyone else stay safe?”
“The kids are shaken but fine. Jinx kept them clear.” Declan looked over at the girl in question. “Until you left them to come get us. I’m thankful…and pissed.”
Jinx glared back. “I made sure the kids were all far from the doors. Then Grace mentioned Sydney was stuck on the stage, and I remembered about the crawlspace from when I did that school drama night. Some of the kids found it and figured it was a cool secret tunnel.”
Sydney raised an eyebrow. “A secret tunnel?”
“Yeah,” Jinx said, looking suddenly sheepish. “They were sneaking down it to go fool around in the utility room. I didn’t. I swear.”
Declan coughed—might’ve been smoke, might’ve been laughter. “Well, lucky for us you knew about it.”
One of the firefighters came over, helmet off, face streaked with soot. “The building’s done. We’ll keep the flames from jumping to the adjacent lot, but the hall is a total loss.”
Sydney nodded. Her hands trembled slightly, but her eyes were steady. “Thanks for being here.”
Declan sank down beside her, the weight of it all crashing down now that they were safe. He could still feel the sting of smoke in his lungs—but it didn’t matter. She was here. Alive.
He reached over and took her hand.
For one terrifying moment, he’d thought he would lose her.
“I saw you go in,” he said quietly. “You knew I was coming, yet you went anyway.”
“It was the right thing to do,” she whispered.
She was brave—too damn brave. Yet it was part of why he loved her. Even if it broke him.
He didn’t say another word. Just held her hand tighter, breathing in the clean air and listening to the sound of the fire hoses spraying and steam hissing as the voices of children—all safe—rose in the distance.
There were moments in life when the universe came right out and said what needed to be done. Sydney wasn’t always happy to be taught her lessons so bluntly, but she was always grateful in the end.
She’d spoken with the fire marshal, and now fresh from a shower, her sprained ankle expertly wrapped by Lexie, Sydney sat on the porch swing at High Water, her foot propped in Declan’s lap.
It was time.
Declan stared into the distance and she stared at him, taking in every line and every shadow. He had a small abrasion on his temple, and his knuckles were cut and bruised, and she didn’t think he’d ever looked more handsome.
She hadn’t ever needed anyone this much, and it was time to stop denying her heart.
“Declan?”
His blue eyes drifted to hers. “Yeah?”
“I love you.”
His eyes widened. “Oh hell.”
His grin was slow, wide, stunned.
Which made Sydney laugh out loud. “Right?”
He scooped her into his lap and cupped her face in his hands. “Excuse my language, but I figured it would take me until Christmas to get you to admit it.”
“Time flies when you’re having fun—you know, getting lit on fire, tangling with gangs, losing your funding.
” She pressed a finger to his lips. “And I mean those things in a totally okay, now that I have my head on straight as to what the real issues in my life are way. Telling you how I feel isn’t nearly as scary by comparison. ”
“You might have to say it a time or two more for it to sink in,” he warned.
“I love you, Declan Skye,” she offered. “And we’re alive after a fire that we have no idea how it started.”
She kissed him, firm and direct, pulling back before he could take over.
“I love you, Declan Skye,” she repeated, “Sometime in the next week or so, there will be a solution to the issue with Logan and his fucked-up brother’s problems.”
He clued into the routine impressively fast. He kissed her this time, hot and quick enough to leave her breathless.
Sydney went for the final round this time. “I love you, Declan Skye. And I refuse to stay silent anymore, which means I need to call my grandpa. Now.”
Declan made a face. “Now?
“Now,” she confirmed.
Declan didn’t say anything else, just gave her a nod and squeezed her hand once before shifting to help her sit up straighter.
Sydney adjusted the porch swing cushion behind her, reached for her phone, and opened the video call app.
Her fingers were steady. That surprised her.
The phone rang once. Twice. Three times. Then Grandpa Nate’s face filled the screen.
“Well,” he said without preamble. “You look like hell.”
“Hello to you, too.” Sydney let her mouth fall into something resembling a smile. “It’s been a week.”
“I heard,” he said, voice cool. “Your grandmother told me. A fire. Property loss. Minor injuries. What you were doing risking your skills teaching a babysitting class, I’ll never understand. It’s as if you go looking for chaos.”
“I didn’t find it,” she replied evenly. “It found me.”
“Still, I warned you when you moved to that place. Small towns are fine for children and the unmotivated, but they rarely contain anything a woman like you needs to thrive.”
Sydney tipped her head. “You might want to hold your judgment until I finish what I called to say.”
Grandpa Nate leaned back in his chair—leather, high-backed—the library behind him. She knew the whole aesthetic well. It was a room she’d studied in. Cried in. Learned Latin and anatomy and how to keep her face blank when it mattered.
“Well, go on then,” he demanded.
“I’m in love,” Sydney said plainly. “With Declan Skye. And I’m not willing to hide that anymore.”
There was no change in her grandfather’s expression. No intake of breath or furrowing of his brow.
“You’re aware of the conditions under which I fund your clinic.”
“I am.”
“And you’ve chosen to ignore them.”
“I’m choosing to reject them,” she corrected.
“You’ve spent my entire adult life telling me what I’m allowed to do in exchange for support.
But that support has strings attached that are wrapped so tight they’ve cut off my circulation.
You made it clear that love, especially for a woman, is a distraction from greatness.
That men like Declan are fine companions but not fit to anchor ambition. ”
“He runs a ranch that rescues dogs,” Grandpa Nate sneered. “Yes, I know who he is.”
She ignored the fact that meant more interference and security than he’d ever admitted before.
“Declan leads a community. He mentors men coming out of addiction, prison, and grief. He saved a twelve-year-old girl from a burning building yesterday. He’s good and strong and kind, and I’m not giving him up to keep your name on the donor list.”
Grandpa Nate’s mouth thinned. “You’d choose love over medicine?”
“I’m choosing both,” she said firmly. “I’m a doctor because I love people. And I love Declan because he reminds me why people are worth loving.”
Silence.
It stretched long enough that she felt Declan shift beside her, a quiet breath moving through his chest.
“If your response is to cut funding and punish me for not being the kind of woman you think I should be—fine. I’ll find another way.” Sydney dug deep for courage. “I’m done pretending that the version of me you approve of is the real me.”
He blinked once. “So that’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“Three years of investment, and you’re willing to throw it away for a man.”
“No,” she said, her voice still calm but her spine straight. “I’m throwing away the illusion that your support was ever about me succeeding. It was about you controlling the way I succeeded.”
Grandpa Nate looked away for the first time, gaze flicking off-screen to his window, his bookshelves, maybe even his reflection.
Then he came back, voice colder than before.
“I’m proud of the doctor you’ve become,” he said. “But I’m disappointed you think emotions are more valuable than excellence.”
“I think love is more powerful than pride,” Sydney said softly. “And for the record, I’m proud of me, too.”
She didn’t wait for him to reply. She ended the call.
Her hand dropped to her lap, the phone face-down. The air on the porch was still, and so was she.
Then Declan exhaled beside her. “That was intense.”
“Yeah.”
“Feel good?”
She nodded. “Better than I expected. Worse than I hoped.”
He slid his hand into hers, his thumb rubbing slow circles across the back of her knuckles. “You did the right thing.”
“I know.”
“You’re not alone.”
“I know that, too.”
She turned her face into his shoulder and rested there for a moment, letting the weight of the last fifteen years slowly burn away and drift like ash on the wind.
When she straightened, there were tears in her eyes, but her chin was high.
“I’ll find a way to keep the clinic open. Even if it’s small. Even if it means asking for help.”
Declan grinned. “Well, it’s a good thing you’ve got a community full of stubborn people who like you.”
“I’ll remind you of that when I’m elbow-deep in budget spreadsheets.”
“I’ll bring snacks.”
Sydney let out a half laugh-half sob and leaned into him again.
She’d told her grandfather the truth.
And for the first time in her adult life, the woman who’d done the telling belonged to no one but herself.