Chapter 2
Two
Declan
The darkness reeks of smoke. Even with the cottage gutted and the flames knocked down, the air clings to my throat like ash. Flashing lights pulse red and white over the vineyard, and water snakes down the gravel drive.
I hand my last report to Nate, one of the newer EMTs, and should probably walk away, let the firefighters mop up, let the vineyard staff swarm their bosses. But my boots stay planted.
Because Tarryn is sitting on the tailgate of the ambulance, hair falling loose around her shoulders, soot streaking her face. Elise leans into her, wrapped in a blanket, pale but talking. Alive. And it’s the only reason I can breathe.
“Lucky they were awake,” a firefighter mutters as he passes, shaking his head at the blackened shell of the cottage. “Without alarms…” His voice trails off.
My stomach turns to stone. They were not supposed to make it out.
My gaze locks on Tarryn. She’s doing what she always does, holding herself together for everyone else. Chin high, hand steady on her best friend. But I see the tremor in her fingers, the way she blinks too fast against the sting of smoke.
God, she looks the same and nothing like the girl I once knew. Fierce. Fragile. Breakable in ways she would rather choke than admit.
“Declan.” Nate’s voice pulls me back. Nate Katz is my EMT partner, and he’s been my best friend since we were in third grade. He jerks his chin toward the rig. “You riding with her?”
I glance at Elise, then Tarryn. The thought of leaving them—of leaving her—twists hard in my chest. “No,” I say finally, voice rough. “She doesn’t need me for that.”
But I don’t move.
Instead, I watch as Tarryn tucks Elise’s blanket closer, murmuring something I can’t hear. My pulse hammers harder than it did inside a burning house. Because this isn’t adrenaline. This is the wreckage of seeing her again, alive by inches, and realizing how close I came to losing her for good.
Elise catches me watching. Even wrapped in the blanket, with her cheeks blotchy from smoke and tears, she manages a weak grin. “You always knew how to show up at the worst times.”
I shift my weight, hands hooked in my pockets. “Comes with the job.”
Her laugh breaks on a cough. She leans harder into her best friend. Tarryn steadies her with practiced hands, efficient and calm, like the chaos can’t touch her.
“Thank you,” Elise says, softer now. “For being here.”
“You don’t owe me anything.” My voice is rough, and when my eyes flick to Tarryn, she’s already looking at me. Everything else drops away.
Her mouth tightens, not a smile. “We’re fine. You don’t need to hover.”
The words land like a blade. I bite back the truth rising in my throat—that I’ll never stop hovering if it’s her—and force out, “Smoke that thick? No one is fine.”
Her eyes flash, sharp as flint.
Elise exhales shakily, trying to cut the tension. “You two sound like you’ve done this dance before.”
The air goes tight. She’s been Tarryn’s best friend from birth. She knows more about my relationship with Tarryn than I probably do. My chest locks, and for a second, I think about telling Elise my side, that I already did this dance, and I lost. That I never stopped carrying the weight of it.
But Tarryn cuts in first. “That was a long time ago.” Flat. Final.
Something twists low in my gut. She doesn’t even look at me when she says it.
I force my jaw to relax. “Yeah,” I manage, voice scraping raw. “A long time ago.”
Elise squeezes Tarryn’s hand, then mine when I check her pulse. Warm skin against mine, but it doesn’t steady me. Not when Tarryn is sitting right there, silent and unreadable.
I clear my throat, the taste of ash sharp. “You should both get checked at the hospital. Smoke inhalation is no joke.”
Tarryn’s chin lifts, her voice cool. “I said we’re fine.”
Maybe she believes it. Maybe she needs me to. But her hands are still shaking.
I step back, trying to breathe through the tightness in my chest. My clipboard is still tucked under my arm, but the words blur. I should be finishing my notes, checking boxes, moving on. Instead, my hand just shakes against the pen.
The night has quieted. Radios crackle. Boots squelch through wet gravel. A hose clanks as it’s rolled. I lean against the ambulance, forcing in air. My gaze drags back to her. Always back to her.
She’s quiet, composed, Elise resting against her shoulder. She looks like she has it all under control, but I know better. And the memory hits hard.
Christmas lights in her hair. Laughter spilling into the night as she tugged me closer, cheeks flushed with warmth. Her hand in mine, fitting like it belonged there.
That night feels like a lifetime ago. And still, it’s all I can see.
I drag a hand down my face. Get it together, Conner. This is not about you.
But it is. I’ve patched stab wounds, dragged kids from wrecks, stood over bodies I could not save. None of it hit like this, like watching her as she stares at her burning home, so close to being lost.
She could have died. They both could have died.
The thought slices deep. If I had rolled up and found nothing but blackened walls and a report with her name on it, I don’t know how I would still be standing.
“Conner.”
I look up. Chief Walker crosses the gravel, helmet tucked under one arm, his gear streaked with soot. He is not a man who wastes words.
“You got everyone stable?” His voice is rough from smoke.
“Yeah.” I clear my throat, gripping the clipboard. “Oxygen is keeping Elise steady. Tarryn is holding her own.”
He nods, glances toward them, then back at me. “Keep this between us. Something about this fire is off.”
My shoulders tense. “What do you mean?”
“Two separate points of origin.” He jerks his chin toward the shell of the cottage. “Kitchen and the back bedroom. Fire doesn’t move like that.”
A muscle jumps in my jaw. “Accelerant?”
“Maybe. Too early to confirm, but my gut says yes.” His mouth flattens. “This wasn’t an accident.”
The words slam into me. My chest locks tight. I look toward the women on the bumper—alive only by chance—and the weight nearly drops me.
“They were asleep in there,” I say, voice harsh.
“Exactly.” Walker’s nod is grim. “Someone wanted them inside when it lit.”
Wanted them gone.
The night feels colder, though sweat slides down my spine. Instincts. What I’ve tried to bury has roared back to life. Protective. Possessive. Ready to fight for her, even though she made it clear I’m not hers to protect.
Walker straightens. “Marshal Eric Reynolds has been assigned, and he’ll confirm more in the morning. For now, keep it quiet.” His eyes narrow. “I know Tarryn Paradise is the reason you returned , but don’t go charging in.”
I nod, brittle. My gaze is already back on Tarryn, on the set of her shoulders as she shields Elise from the world.
She has no idea yet. They don’t know someone lit her home like a trap.
And I can’t tell her. Not tonight.
Engines idle lower, radios settle into routine chatter. The adrenaline ebbs, leaving the vineyard strangely hollow. I walk back toward the ambulance.
Tarryn sits there, blanket around her shoulders, one hand still locked around Elise’s drifts in and out. The floodlights catch in her hair, ash smudged along her jaw.
I grab a bottle of water from the cooler and step close. “Here.” My voice is low. “Sip. It will help.”
She takes it without looking at me. One swallow, then another, before she lowers it. “You don’t have to play nurse.”
“I’m not.” I crouch enough to catch her eyes. “I just need to know you’re breathing.”
Her gaze snaps to mine, smoke-gray in the light. “I don’t need saving,” she says, sharp and certain, but her voice cracks on the last word.
I hold her stare. “That’s not what I’m trying to do.”
For one second, the armor she wears slips. I see the fear buried beneath, the exhaustion weighing her down. My chest aches with the urge to pull her in, hold her steady like I used to.
Instead, I reach up and brush a streak of ash from her cheek. My thumb skims her skin, and the jolt runs through me like fire. She freezes, eyes locked on mine, breath caught.
“Declan,” she whispers, barely there.
I wait, but she doesn’t finish. Maybe she can’t. Maybe if she lets the words out, everything she has built to hold herself together will crack wide open.
Her hand trembles where it rests against Elise’s, but her chin lifts anyway, daring me to look away. And I can’t.
God help me, I can’t.
The weight between us presses down, and I stand before I break under it. “Try to rest,” I manage, voice rough. “You’ve had enough for one night.”
She doesn’t answer. Just watches me, eyes steady and unreadable.
I step back, the gravel crunching under my boots, and the vow etches itself deep.
She could have died tonight. And if someone tries again, they’ll have to go through me first.