12. Gray
Chapter twelve
Gray
Ifinish the book,
“…And then, the knight rode off into the sunset, victorious, his sword glinting in the light,” and shut the damn book.
Maddie, snug under her covers, blinks up at me. “So when is Avery coming back?”
I freeze.
Not the question I was expecting. Or prepared for.
I clear my throat. I’d already called her once, and she hadn’t picked up. Probably still pissed. Probably still thinking about murdering me in my sleep.
“Hopefully in a day or so, munchkin.” Right… I flick off her lamp, lean down, and press a quick kiss to her forehead. “Time for you to get some sleep now.”
“But I'm not tired,” she whines.
I straighten up, giving her a look. “SLEEP. That’s non-negotiable.”
She grins, all innocence. “Okay… one more story.”
I sigh, turning for the door. “No more sto—” I stop mid-sentence.
Her eyes are closed. Breathing even. Out cold.
Thank the lord.
I shake my head and creep out of the room, shutting the door as quietly as possible. But my brain isn’t winding down with her.
Avery.
That damn manuscript. The look on her face when she caught me reading it. The way she stormed out of here. I exhale sharply, making my way downstairs. Do I call her again? Text her? Apologize?
At the end of the day, speculatively speaking, I actually did her a favor. The writing wasn’t half bad. And damn, it was steamy. I also think with the help of my editorial team, something like that, if polished, could really sell.
Probably best to let her cool off though. Maybe try tomorrow. But I don't blame her for being mad.
I head into the library, straight to the bookshelf. Without thinking, I pull down the third book from the left. The entire shelf shifts, and lowers smoothly, revealing the small glass cabinet behind it.
Fifteen years of having this thing installed, and I still enjoy watching it work.
I open the glass door, grab the crystal decanter and a glass, then lean over and set them on my desk. A slight push and the cabinet reverses—rising back into place, transforming seamlessly back into a bookshelf.
Grabbing both the decanter and glass, I move to the coffee table, set them down, and drop onto the Chesterfield.
I pour a measure of single malt. Gulp it back. Pour another. Gulp that one too. One more. Lid back on.
I stretch out, staring at the ceiling, still thinking about Avery. Still picturing the words, she wrote. Still wanting her like a damn idiot.
At some point, sleep creeps in, and bizarrely I find myself in the Pacific Crest conference room sitting at the table, but it seems to be made of… rubber.
Avery’s standing in the corner reading my manuscript out loud to a room full of board members who are nodding sagely like it’s the next great American novel.
Uh? Mine? What the fuck is going on?
Okay, now she’s tap-dancing, and the table seems to be sinking. Or maybe I’m sinking. Avery points at me, looking offended.
“Unprofessional,” she announces, as the board members let out a gasp.
“WEE-OO, WEE-OO!”
What the—
“WEE-OO, WEE-OO!”
I sit up so fast my head spins. Fire alarm. The strong, unmistakable smell of smoke hits me like a brick. I leap up, disoriented, brain still clawing its way out of that ridiculous dream.
Maddie.
I sprint out of the library into the hallway, my pulse hammering in my ears. The shriek of the alarm wails through the house, mixing with the acrid scent of smoke curling into the air.
“Mr. Hayes!”
Clara’s scream slices through the chaos as she barrels toward me, her face twisted in panic.
Down the hallway, toward the old wing, an ominous glow creeps across the walls, pulsing brighter with every second.
Fire. Shit.
“WEE-OO, WEE-OO!” The alarm keeps shrieking, drilling into my skull as Clara skids to a stop in front of me, eyes wild, voice trembling. “Maddie.”
“I’ll get her.” I don’t hesitate. “Go outside, call 911!”
She nods frantically, already fumbling for her phone as I turn and take off, sprinting through the thickening haze of smoke.
By the time I hit the stairs, the heat is pressing in, crawling over my skin like invisible flames. Smoke is seeping out from under one of the guest bedroom doors, curling in lazy tendrils into the hallway. I don’t stop to think about it.
I reach Maddie’s room and shove the door open and she stirs, her small face scrunching in confusion before her eyes snap open. “Uncle Gray?” Her voice is groggy, but fear flickers in her eyes as the noise and the smoke register.
I scoop her up in one motion, her tiny arms locking around my neck as I turn and bolt.
The hallway is worse now. The smoke is thicker, clawing at my throat as I run. Every breath burns.
I hit the staircase, and that’s when I see it—flames licking up the walls, crawling across the ceiling, crackling and snapping, consuming everything in their path.
The fire alarm is still screaming. Maddie is, too. I grip her tighter and rush forward, my focus locked on the front door.
“My photo!” Her small, panicked voice reaches me, but I can’t make sense of what she’s saying.
We burst outside, the cool air a slap to my face. Maddie is still sobbing against me. Clara stands there, phone to her ear, tears streaking her face. She spots us, relief crashing over her features. “They’re on their way!”
I barely register it before Maddie is tugging at me, her voice broken, frantic. “Mom’s photo! It’s upstairs! Please, Uncle Gray, please!”
I don’t think. I don’t hesitate. I just turn and run.
“NO, Mr. Hayes!” Clara’s hand grips my arm, but I wrench free before she can stop me.
The moment I step back inside, the heat slams into me. The flames have spread. Smoke is everywhere, thick, suffocating. The roar of the fire fills my ears, crackling and snapping as it consumes everything in its path.
Fuck, this is a bad idea, Gray.
I ignore it and dodge past the burning wreckage of a chair, leap over a section of rug already alight, and hit the stairs at full speed, taking them three at a time.
The landing is a hellscape, smoke rolling in waves, the air so hot it feels like my skin is peeling.
Maddie’s room.
I shove the door open, my eyes scanning wildly. And then I see it. The photo. Maddie and Nicole. Still sitting on her nightstand, untouched.
I snatch it up, but the second I do, my chest seizes. A cough rips through me, then another.
The sirens are close now, distant, but getting louder.
I turn back into the hallway. The smoke is heavier, thicker, and suffocating. My vision swims, my lungs burn, and my throat tightens as I make it to the stairs, but the bottom is gone—engulfed in flames, the fire raging up toward me.
My body protests, dizzy and weak. The smoke claws at me making my head spin.
I step forward, trying to focus, but my legs feel like jelly. The staircase tilts, the entire world lurching sideways, and my face stings.
Shit.
My foot misses the step. Then I’m falling—head over heels, my body twisting, the world spinning, heat licking at my skin, my back slamming into hardwood. Pain explodes through me, sharp and jarring, and then—
Black.
I come to in jagged pieces. First, the smell—burning wood, melted plastic, something acrid and chemical. Then the sound—voices shouting, heavy boots stomping around me, the wail of sirens cutting through the night air.
Something tight presses against my face. A mask. Oxygen. The air that rushes in is cool, but it burns all the way down. My chest feels like it’s caving in, like my lungs are filled with smoke and ash. I try to move, but my limbs are heavy, useless.
“He's semi-conscious,” a voice says—deep, firm, close.
A hand grips my wrist, fingers pressing into my skin, checking for a pulse. Too weak to brush it off, I focus on opening my eyes. Everything is blurred. Shadows shift against the glow of fire. Flashing red and blue lights streak in the distance.
I try to swallow, but my throat is raw and scorched. A cough claws its way up, and the pain that comes with it nearly knocks me out again.
“Easy, sir. Try to stay still.”
My head lolls to the side. I’m on a stretcher, straps securing me in place. The ground moves under me—no, not the ground, the people carrying me. I catch glimpses of uniforms, yellow reflective stripes, masks, and helmets. Firefighters.
“Maddie,” I try to speak, but nothing comes out. I turn my head, searching, panic clawing through the haze.
“Where’s—” My voice is barely a rasp, but someone must hear me.
“The little girl is safe,” another voice says, this one softer. “She’s outside. She’s fine.”
Relief hits me so fast, it makes my head spin. My body sags against the stretcher.
Cold night air rushes over me as they carry me outside. The stars are too bright, the air too sharp, and even though I know I’m out of the fire, my skin still feels like it’s burning.
“He's going in and out,” someone mutters. A sharp prick stabs my arm. IV.
The siren is closer now, screaming. The doors of the ambulance are yanked open, and then I’m lifted, moved, jostled. My vision tunnels.
The last thing I hear before the darkness swallows me again is, “Uncle Gray, Uncle Gray.”