Chapter 24
CHAPTER 24
JACKSON
This never happened .
That’s what Meyer said last night. After everything that we did in her living room, I barely had time to zip up my fly before she was urging me out the door. Shutting me out. That part isn’t new, but foolishly, I thought things might be a little different now.
She might want to forget, but I’m going to do everything in my power to make that impossible. Something this mind-blowing—this explosive—can’t be wrong.
So I show up to work just like I always do, coffee in hand. This part of our morning has become so routine, Meyer doesn’t even think twice about it. The muffin I place in front of her, however, gives her pause.
“What is that?” she asks.
“I’m fairly certain that is a muffin, if the bakery display at the café is to be believed.”
She scrutinizes it and then me. “Why is it on my desk? ”
“Because I know you didn’t eat breakfast.”
Her chin lifts. “And how would you know that?”
“Because you always help with the supply delivery on Tuesdays and you never give yourself enough time for food in the morning. Then you’re starving by the time lunch rolls around.” I gesture to the muffin. “So do me a favour and eat that.”
Her suspicion mounts. “If this is about yesterday…”
I laugh. I laugh as if that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. “Definitely not,” I reply. “You’re just easier to deal with when you’re not hungry.”
This is what she expects from me. She rolls her eyes, and I take that as acceptance. The slightest sign of caring on my end will have her running for the hills. Because I have come to care for her in the months we’ve been at this partnership. But that doesn’t fit into her idea of who we are, and until I can convince her that maybe that’s not the kind of guy I want to be, I have to play the game. Or I risk her pulling away even further.
There’s a knock on the door, tugging me from my thoughts, and then Pippa pokes her head in. “Good morning,” she says to me, a soft smile on her lips.
“Morning, Pippa,” I reply. “I haven’t seen Atticus in a while. How is he?”
Her smile brightens. It always does at the mention of her son. “He’s great. Giving me a few grey hairs, as always.”
“You’re twenty-five, Pip. You do not have grey hairs,” Meyer says.
“I plucked one this morning!” she insists. “Anyway, I was just wondering if you could do inventory this morning, Meyer. I have tables I need to cover.”
“I’ll take care of it,” I interject.
My business partner’s eyes narrow on me. “You know how to take inventory?”
“I do know how to count, yes.” I can tell she wants to bite out some snappy retort, a consequence of the vulnerable moment we shared last night still lingering. But I don’t let her. Instead, I turn back to Pippa. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it covered.”
She looks a little apprehensive, glancing between me and Meyer, but then she nods. “Thank you, Jackson. I appreciate it.”
Pippa heads back to the restaurant, and I gather the papers I need to take inventory. Meyer watches me, but she peels the wrapper from the muffin and begins to take small bites. She tears the top off first, her favourite part, and then finishes off the bottom.
I have to hide my satisfied smile as I step out of the room.
Once I’m shut inside the storage room, I slip my wireless earbuds in and decide to call my mother. It’s a small miracle that I haven’t heard from her yet today, but I count my blessings and press her contact. It’s not that I don’t love talking to my mother—I do. It’s just that every call rolls back around to my heart and her asking if I’m truly alright.
I somehow manage to placate her and steer her toward other topics. And when the call eventually disconnects, I register how hot it feels in the storage room. I tug my suit jacket off and drape it over a stack of empty crates.
I keep working, but soon the air in the room starts to grow thick, coating the inside of my throat. I begin to cough as warning bells start going off inside my brain. Something is wrong.
I abandon my clipboard and head toward the door. The smell of burnt plastic grows stronger the closer I get, and when I round a row of shelving, I see why. Fire.
A low wall of flames is blocking the way out, eating up every piece of cardboard and plastic in its path.
Panic flares in my chest, matching the growing flames. Not only because of the risk to the inn—the inn Meyer loves more than herself—but to all the people currently inside this building.
Shit .
I let myself panic for half a second, but then I force my brain to focus. I scan the wall until I find the fire alarm, and then I reach out and pull. Nothing happens. I try again, tugging hard on the switch. The little red box seems to mock me.
“Fuck,” I curse aloud, followed by another cough.
Right about now, the sprinklers in the ceiling should be kicking in, detecting the smoke that continues to rise. But they don’t. That thought worries me more, but I don’t have time to examine why they aren’t working.
I need to call 9-1-1, but I need to warn Meyer, too. If the fire alarm isn’t working in here, who knows if it’s working in the rest of the building.
I fumble with my phone, but I don’t make it very far before I hear a voice calling my name.
“Jackson?” Meyer says from the opposite side of the door. “Are you still in there? ”
“Meyer, don’t?—”
“Son of a bitch,” she cries. “Why did the door handle burn me?”
“Don’t panic,” I call back, “but the storage room is kind of on fire.”
I manage to hear her sharp intake of breath. “What do you mean, kind of ?”
“There’s a fire. The flames are in front of the door. And I don’t—” I swallow thickly. “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to get out.”
There are no windows to speak of in this room. The only way out is through the door. The door currently blocked by a wall of heat that only grows the more time it has to soak up all the oxygen in the space.
“Pippa!” If you didn’t know Meyer well, you wouldn’t be able to detect the tinge of panic in her voice. But I can. “I need your help with something!”
I can’t hear what they’re saying, but the next moment, the fire alarm starts to ring out in the hallway. The sound is shrill, but it’s lessened by the crackling of the fire as it licks up more ground, and it’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. Some of the weight on my chest releases, knowing that the guests and employees at least now have the chance to evacuate.
“Meyer?”
“Yeah?”
I clench my fists. “You need to go. The fire department should be here soon, so I’ll?—”
“Shut up ,” she snaps. “Let me think!”
“I already told you that your safety isn’t something I’m willing to argue about. Get out , Meyer.”
“Fire extinguisher!” she yells instead, ignoring my requests. “There’s a fire extinguisher in the back right corner!”
“I’ll find it. Now go .”
Covering my mouth and nose with the sleeve of my shirt, I pick my way through boxes and shelves, doing my best to avoid the source of heat. The smoke is thick, making the space hazy. Finally, I spot the corner Meyer was talking about.
When I make it back to the door with the fire extinguisher in hand, the flames have reached one of the shelving units in the middle of the room. For half a second, I watch the cardboard boxes curl in on themselves as the fire incinerates them. Then I force myself to move.
Pulling the pin, I aim the extinguisher at the base of the flames and press the trigger. A blanket of white coats everything, and my eyes water from the smoke still clinging to the room.
Eventually, I manage to get the fire down enough that I have a clear path to the door. Dropping the extinguisher on the floor, I then cover my hand with my sleeve and turn the door handle. It’s still burning hot to the touch, but the buffer of the fabric helps. The door swings inward, and I stumble out of the room. I somehow manage to pull the door shut behind me, in an effort to keep the fire contained.
There isn’t much I can do to save this place, but damn it, I’m going to try.
I place my hands on my knees, sucking in the cleaner air. Then Meyer’s hands are on me, tugging me upright and pulling me down the hallway behind her. I should have known she wouldn’t listen.
I can hear sirens approaching now. Some of my panic ebbs, knowing that the professionals are on their way. Hopefully, they’ll be able to stop the fire before it spreads to the rest of the inn.
When Meyer and I burst outside, I fling myself down onto the grass, heaving. She drops to her knees beside me. Her hands find my face as her eyes rove over me, inspecting for injury.
Grabbing hold of her wrist, I squeeze once, but I keep her palm steady against my cheek. “ Never do that again,” I wheeze.
“What?” she asks. Her eyes are still wide with panic, her body thrumming with adrenaline. “Save your life?”
“Stay in a burning building longer than strictly necessary,” I counter.
“It was strictly necessary. If you die, who else am I supposed to argue with?”
A laugh gets caught in my throat and turns into a cough. “Not. Funny. That was stupid, Meyer. You could have gotten hurt.”
Her eyes flash. “And again, you could have died .”
Any humour she tried to cling to has now washed away. Her defences are down, and she’s terrified . I want to savour this moment for the simple fact that she’s letting me see behind her walls for once, but I fucking hate that she’s been put in this position.
“I’m okay,” I say gently.
Her eyes shut and her forehead rests against mine, and for a moment, nothing else exists apart from us. Her nearness settles the racing of my heart. She’s okay. I’m okay. We both made it out of there alive.
“Meyer!”
We quickly pull apart, and Meyer drops her hand from my cheek.
Pippa is jogging our way, Wells hot on her heels. In the chaos of everything, I forgot he was coming back to town today. I’ve been trying to make more of an effort to keep him updated about my life.
“What the hell happened?” he asks when they reach us. “I pulled into the parking lot and there were fire trucks everywhere. I found Pippa outside panicking.”
“The storage room somehow caught fire while I was inside it,” I explain.
Pippa swipes at a tear that trickles down her cheek. “And I’m the one that asked you to go in there.”
I shake my head. “Don’t. Don’t blame yourself for one second. I’m glad it was me and not you. Atticus needs his mom.”
“Did everyone make it out alright?” Meyer asks.
Pippa nods as she releases a shaky breath. “It’s just after check out, so a lot of guests already left. Thankfully, most with reservations for today haven’t arrived yet either. Trystan made sure all others are accounted for, including staff.”
“I should go help him,” Meyer says, trying to get to her feet. “Talk to the fire captain.”
I grab her wrist again, stopping her. Then I twist it so I can see her palm. “Baby, your hand,” I say. “It’s burnt. You should get it checked out. ”
She tugs herself out of my hold. “Only if you get some oxygen so you stop hacking up a lung.”
“And just like that, they’re back to normal,” Wells says. He tugs Pippa to his side, his arm around her shoulders. “Told you they would be okay, Sunny.”
Pippa doesn’t acknowledge him. She wraps her arms around her waist, hugging herself. “Is it just me or do all these bad things seem like they’re not a coincidence?”
Meyer and I share a look. They definitely don’t feel like a coincidence. They feel like they’re all connected.
“Rudy!”
Meyer waves to a passing firefighter. At her shout, the man changes course, heading for us. He removes his helmet and swipes a hand over his hair. It’s the fucking pizza guy again. He seems to be everywhere in this town.
“Meyer,” he says with a look of relief. “Make it out alright?”
She nods, waving away his concern as she stands. “I’m fine. What’s?—”
“Your hand.” Without wasting a second, he grabs her palm and begins to inspect it. “What happened?”
“I grabbed a doorknob that was a little toastier than normal.” She snatches her hand back. “I said I’m fine .”
Rudy raises a brow as amusement tilts his lips. “I think I'll be the judge of that.”
I push myself to my feet, and then I cross my arms as I watch their exchange. Behind me, I can hear Wells chuckling to himself. Laughing at me. But I don’t give a shit.
Meyer scowls. “If you want to play nurse so bad, there’s your patient.” She points to me. “He inhaled a bunch of smoke and now sounds like he’s never lived a day without a cigarette.”
An ill-timed cough racks my lungs, proving Meyer right. Rudy abandons her hand and moves toward me.
“Don’t you make pizzas?” I ask skeptically. “Are you qualified for this?”
Rudy chuckles. “Pizzas are my day job. I’ve been a volunteer firefighter since I was eighteen.”
“He’ll take good care of you,” Meyer insists. “Please, Jackson?”
Fuck, I can’t say no when she says please like that. So I nod, resigned. She leans over and places a quick kiss on my cheek, and then she takes off for the front of the building. Pippa follows after her.
“Alright, follow me to my rig and I’ll get you set up with some oxygen,” Rudy says.
I begrudgingly trail after him. Wells walks beside me. I can feel his looks of concern.
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m alright,” I say.
“You were just in a fire , Jackson. You don’t have to be alright.”
“Well, I am.”
When Rudy hands me the oxygen mask, I take it and hold it to my face. Admittedly, it does help. Wells watches me approvingly, but my focus is on Meyer. She’s standing across the parking lot with Trystan and Pippa.
“It could have been her,” I say, pulling the mask away.
“What?” Wells asks.
I nod toward Meyer. “Pippa asked her to do inventory. It could have been her in that room. ”
I don’t know what I would have done if she had been hurt. This was way too close of a call for my liking.
Wells shakes his head. “How would a fire even start in there? Faulty electrical?”
“I don’t know,” I reply.
And that is what worries me the most.