13. Oliver
The firefighter forces the barn door open—but it’s another man who storms in right after him, calling Cala’s name like a desperate prayer.
Who the hell is this idiot?
“Roger? What are you doing here?” she asks, her voice breaking as she throws herself against his chest.
“I got in last night. I wanted to surprise you, but the hotel said it wasn’t safe to go out. I came as soon as I could—your dad told me there’d been an accident.”
Cala glances at me from the corner of her eye before stepping away from him, fast, like she can feel the anger radiating off me.
She’s not wrong.
I can feel it burning through my veins—though my face stays perfectly still.
“Mr. Walker?” the firefighter calls, pulling my attention away from the scene. “I’m Officer Morales.”
“Officer, thanks for the help,” I say, gripping his hand firmly. “How bad is it out there?”
I walk beside him and step outside, my stomach tightening into a hard knot.
There are broken pieces of… everything—objects I can’t even recognize—scattered across the property.
Turns out what was blocking the door was the golf cart we use to get around the ranch.
Or what’s left of it. It’s completely wrecked.
Eliza, Lucien, and Cala’s mother are standing in front of my house, clinging to one another the second they see us step out.
Astro bolts toward me, faster than I’ve ever seen him move in his life.
“I’m fine… I’m fine,” I murmur, running a hand down Astro’s back.
Cala waves to her parents from a distance before sprinting toward them.
“The only structure with major damage is the caretaker’s house, Mr. Walker,” Officer Morales says. “I’m sorry.”
I look toward where Lucien’s place used to stand—but it’s gone. Completely gone. Like Thanos snapped his damn fingers and erased it from existence. Only the foundation remains.
“Damn it,” I breathe.
It’s not the money. I can rebuild it in a few months if I have to.
What gets to me are the Saint-Clairs—their things, their memories—wiped out in a single night.
“Yes,” Officer Morales agrees, glancing around the wreckage. “It was a big one—an F3. Pretty rare for this area, but honestly, nothing surprises me anymore. Climate change is real, and it’s here.”
“Denying it only makes it worse,” I mutter absently, my gaze drifting over the fields. My animals are grazing like nothing happened, stepping around splintered wood scattered across the grass.
My hands rest on my hips as my eyes shift toward Cala and her parents. The three of them are locked in an embrace—tight, trembling—while that idiot Roger stands off to the side, watching them with pity written all over his face.
“This week we’ll start clearing the debris,” Officer Morales says, adjusting his clipboard. “But we’ll be inspecting the most critical cases first.”
“That won’t be necessary,” I reply, shaking his hand once more. “Go help the folks who really need it. I can handle things here. Thank you again, Officer.”
He tips his yellow helmet and heads back toward the fire truck where his team is waiting.
I make my way slowly up to the house. Eliza spots me first and wraps me in one of her trademark hugs—the kind that nearly squeezes the air out of you.
“You okay?” I ask, rubbing her back.
“You know I am,” she says, voice trembling. “But when y’all didn’t come back, I almost had a heart attack. We thought the worst.”
“We’re fine,” I say, glancing toward Cala. She meets my eyes with a faint, tired smile.
“Perfect now that we know you’re both safe,” Lucien adds, holding his daughter’s hand while his wife steadies his wheelchair.
“I’m real sorry about the house,” I tell him, scanning the field again. “I’ll start going through the wreckage today—see what we can salvage.”
Cala takes a sharp breath and covers her mouth with both hands, her eyes fixed on the empty space where her house used to be. It’s like she’s just realizing it’s gone.
My instinct pushes me to go to her, but before I can, that Roger guy steps in and pulls her into his arms.
“It’s okay, everything’s gonna be fine,” he murmurs, rubbing her back.
I can feel Lucien’s eyes burning into the side of my head, and when I glance his way, he’s watching the scene with one eyebrow raised.
“Eliza will help us find a hotel,” Lucien says. “Though, with all the damage around here, I assume every room in town’s already taken.”
“No way. You’re all staying here until we can rebuild.”
Lucien doesn’t say a word, but I can see the way his eyes glisten with emotion before he quickly hides it by looking down. I rest a hand on his shoulder and give him a couple of pats meant to calm him down.
Eliza immediately takes charge of the situation, as always. She starts sorting everything out—offers her own room since it’s the only one on the ground floor, and says she’ll move upstairs with Cala.
“There are enough rooms for everyone,” I say, trying to sound casual, though even I can hear the edge in my tone. My words are meant to sound practical, but I know damn well my intentions aren’t that saintly. “For now, what we all need is a hot shower and a bed. It’s been a long night.”
I glance sideways at Cala. Her cheeks are so flushed they could rival the sunset, and I can’t help the small, smug satisfaction that creeps up my chest knowing she’s thinking the same thing I am—even with her ex-boyfriend still hovering nearby.
Why the hell is he still here?
I grab Lucien’s wheelchair and push him toward the house, with his wife and Eliza following close behind. As I walk away, I hear Cala’s voice behind me.
“Roger, I’m gonna help my parents get settled. Can we talk later? I’m really tired.”
That smirk on my face stretches a little wider as I keep walking.
After what felt like endless calls with the insurance company, I finally got an agent to come out and inspect the damage.
A man in his fifties stands there, staring at what used to be the Saint-Clairs’ house like he’s trying to decide whether it’s really totaled or not.
Christ… it’s nothing but splintered boards and debris. What the hell else does he need to see?
Cala stands a few feet behind us, arms crossed, staring at her ruined belongings. I don’t think she’s the kind of woman who cares much about material things—but no one’s immune to the gut punch of seeing their life reduced to rubble.
From where I’m standing, I can make out torn, rain-soaked clothes, ruined books, and that damn bed—completely shattered.
I clear my throat before speaking.
“Do you need anything else?” I press, trying to keep the impatience out of my voice.
I just want him gone so I can see if there’s anything worth saving.
“No, no,” he says, scribbling something onto a form. “You can start rebuilding. The insurance office will contact you shortly to finish the paperwork.”
I shake his hand, help him into the Rover, and drive him back to his truck. When I return, Cala’s still there, nudging through debris with the tip of her boot, trying to see what’s left underneath.
“Careful,” I warn, grabbing her gently by the arm and pulling her back. “You never know what could be hiding under there.”
I hand her a pair of work gloves, a helmet, and knee pads.
“Thanks,” she says softly. Her voice is dull, flat—and for a second, I realize how much I miss the feisty version of Miss Saint-Clair.
I want to explore what I felt—what she made me feel.
Yeah, I know I told her that once we stepped out of the barn, everything would go back to normal. But hell… she touched me, and my body didn’t freeze. It reacted. It woke up.
She made me feel a kind of closeness I haven’t felt in years, and now all I can think about is what it would be like to feel it again.
“Cala…” Her sad eyes find mine, waiting, like she’s bracing for me to tell her what to do.
“If this is too hard, I can handle it,” I say, gesturing toward the wreckage—what’s left of her life. “You don’t have to see any of this.”
It’s like someone flipped a switch inside her. She forces a smile and puts on the gloves and helmet I gave her. That fake brightness irritates me a little—especially after what happened yesterday. But if anyone knows what it’s like to shut down and pretend, it’s me.
“Not a chance,” she says. “Let’s get to it. Maybe some of my books survived.”
I doubt it.
We spend the next forty minutes digging through the wreckage, two people picking through the ruins like a pair of strays scavenging for scraps.
Nothing’s salvageable. She stacks broken dishes neatly to one side while I sift through splintered wood and soaked fabric, watching her out of the corner of my eye, trying not to think about how her hand felt on my skin.
“Don’t worry, everything can be replaced,” I tell her, handing her what’s left of a shattered plate.
She gives me a soft, broken smile.
“No… not these. They were my grandmother’s.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“She passed them down to my dad—said they were meant for the day I built a life of my own.”
Her voice trembles just enough to make my chest tighten. “I kept them safe for years. Guess you never realize how much something matters until it’s gone, right?”
I nod slowly, studying her face. Her dark eyes are rimmed with tears, catching the light just enough to make it hard to look away. When she finally lifts her gaze, something hits me square in the chest, sharp and hot, like a spark I didn’t see coming.
I take a step closer before I even know what I’m doing—drawn in by that damn look on her face. I want to taste her again, to see if that fire’s still there. I open my mouth to ask if I can kiss her, but what comes out instead is—
“So… ex-boyfriend, huh?”
Cala blinks, caught off guard. If Kill were here, he’d probably smack me for being such an idiot.
“Yeah,” she says after a pause. “It’s… complicated.”
“So… you two thinking about getting back together?”
I go back to digging through the pile just to give my hands something to do—find a pink bra, drop it fast before she sees it.
Cala freezes completely, then moves away from the wreckage, sinking down onto the grass.
“I don’t know. Should I?”
She’s asking me?