Chapter 8
SILVER
My head thumps, forcing me awake early despite my late night. I never sleep long with a hangover. It’s a curse. Lee’s arm is tucked securely around my stomach, trapping me in place. I roll slowly onto my back, and his grip on me loosens, but he doesn’t wake up.
He looks like he hasn’t shaved in a couple of days, and his dark hair is sticking up every which way. That shouldn’t be as sexy as it is. It gives him a wild look, and combined with those full lips—damn, he has the most kissable lips—and defined jaw, he’s a mix of beauty and beast.
My heart aches at the thought of what he’s been through.
That after years, he hasn’t been able to fully heal.
It’s sweet of Lacey to want to fix it for him, but a new love isn’t going to erase that trauma.
You can’t fix broken men. You can love them, and you can stick by them while they try to fix themselves, that’s all.
I slide out from under his arm without waking him. When I look back, Goblin has settled down at his side, her head resting on his arm. He may not like cats, but she likes him. I plod out to the living room, wincing at the sunlight that pours through the windows.
Lacey glances up at me from the couch where she’s putting on her socks. “Hungover?” she chirps.
“Dying.” My voice is raspy and dry.
“I had a little headache, but I don’t usually get hangovers.”
“That’s because you’re a fetus.” What I’d give for the healing powers of a twenty-three year old again.
No one tells you that drinking all night and being fine the next day ends once you hit your thirties.
At least it did for me. I support my pounding head on my hand as I head to the kitchen in search of the bottle of ibuprofen I saw by the sink.
She laughs and follows me, then holds out a little packet of drink mix while I’m getting a glass of water. “These are miracle workers. It has electrolytes, vitamins, and some caffeine. Mix it with your water. It doesn’t taste bad.”
She’ll get no argument from me. I stir it in then wash down a couple of painkillers. At least my stomach doesn’t feel bad. Lacey’s phone buzzes and she grins when she looks at it. “I have to go. I’m meeting Nick for breakfast. Thanks for the girls night. I needed it.”
“It was really fun. I’m always available to talk shit about men.”
By the time I’ve showered and dressed, I feel a lot better. Lacey was right about the drink. My stomach growls as I gather the ingredients to make breakfast. The faint sound of Lee’s shower running tells me he’s awake.
He walks out as I’m removing the bacon from the pan. “How do you want your eggs?” I ask.
“Fried, over hard. Has Lacey already left?” He pours himself a cup of coffee.
“About half an hour ago. She made up with her boyfriend.”
He turns to look at me, suddenly more alert. “What did he do?”
“Watched a TV show without her.”
His posture relaxes as he snorts and gets out the plates and silverware, laying them out on the bar. “Do you want orange juice?” he asks.
“No thanks.”
He sits at the counter and quietly types on his phone while I finish cooking.
I wonder where he went and why. He said it had nothing to do with me, but it felt like he was running away.
I’m probably overthinking it. After all, I haven’t stayed here very long.
Maybe leaving at midnight for a day or two isn’t out of the ordinary for him.
I’m sure I’m not the only one who would be happy for a late night booty call from him.
The pang of jealousy that sends through me is ridiculous. I’m just going to blame the hangover.
We sit down to eat, and the sound of the wind draws my attention to the window where a tree branch bobs. The leaves are a stunning, brilliant red. “That tree is gorgeous. Makes all the other colors look dull.”
Lee nods, following my line of sight. “It needs to be trimmed this winter. There’s another one about its size down by cabin four. Red maples.”
“I want one in my bedroom.”
His lips tilt up. “Might be a tight fit.”
“Nah, just tuck it in one corner and cut a hole in the roof.” I take a bite of my bacon and then gesture toward the ceiling with it. “Instant jungle room with a big pile of leaves for a bed.”
“And you’ll be happy sharing that bed with squirrels, raccoons, and an occasional snake?”
“Like I didn’t share a bed with an animal last night.”
He nods, amused, and looks down at where Goblin rests by the kitchen door. “Yeah, the little demon followed you to my bed.”
“I wasn’t talking about the cat.”
The buzz of my phone interrupts us, and I excuse myself to answer when I see it’s the fire marshal.
My hope that he’s calling to tell me the investigation is finished and the insurance will pay is short lived.
Instead, he asks that I come in to answer some more questions about the night of the fire.
He also wants Lee to accompany me, since he was there.
I agree to come in, set a time for the next afternoon, and return to the kitchen.
The rest of my food doesn’t seem appetizing now. “That was the fire marshal. He wants—”
His phone buzzes and his brow dips. “It’s the fire department.”
“It’s the fire marshal. He’s calling to ask you to come in and answer some questions with me tomorrow. About the night of the fire.”
He taps his screen. “Yeah.” A few moments of silence and he adds. “She told me. Uh-huh.” That’s the extent of the conversation before he hangs up. “Four o’clock tomorrow,” he tells me.
“I’m sorry you’re getting dragged into it.”
“It’s fine. Red tape bullshit, I’m sure. I need to go to the lumberyard on that side of town tomorrow anyway. I can meet you first.” He gets up and puts his plate in the sink. “I have to get to work.”
He may not be worried, but I am. So much hinges on them finishing the investigation and releasing the funds. Not long after he leaves, I head to work too.
The fire marshal’s conference room feels like a temporary space no one ever intends to spend real time in with its gray walls, humming light, and a table that wobbles every time someone shifts.
I sit across from the fire marshal, Mr. Wilson, my hands folded so tightly my knuckles ache.
Lee’s beside me, stone faced and quiet. We haven’t spoken much since I left for work yesterday.
I got home late and went straight to bed while he was out by his firepit.
Mr. Wilson flips open a worn notebook and regards me. “Thanks for coming in, both of you. I need you to clarify a few details about the night of the fire. You left the party around midnight and went straight home. Is that right?”
“Yes. I’ve already gone through all of this with you and the insurance company.”
“Bear with me. I’m only making sure I have the facts right. What did you do once you arrived home? Please be specific.”
Closing my eyes, I rub my forehead and think back.
Some of it’s fuzzy because of the alcohol.
“I fed my cat then ran a bath. I lit a few candles in the bathroom like I usually do when I want to soak and relax. I texted Lee while I was in the tub. Then I went to my bedroom and dozed off waiting for him to show up.”
“Did you bring one of the candles from the bathroom with you or light a different one in your bedroom?”
“What the hell difference does any of this make?” Lee intercedes. “Do you want to know whether it was scented too?”
The marshal ignores him and doesn’t take his eyes off me, as if he might be able to judge whether I’m telling the truth with his stare.
My words are carefully chosen. Just because I’ve done nothing wrong doesn’t mean they can’t trip me up and make me say something they consider incriminating. “I don’t…I don’t think I did either. I usually only burn candles in the bathroom.”
His eyebrows rise. “You don’t remember?”
“I’d had some drinks.”
He sits back as if he’s lounging at home. “The fire started from a candle in the bedroom.”
His casually tossed out statement catches me off guard and I frantically try to rifle through my blurry memories of that night.
I remember blowing out the candles on the side of the tub.
I would’ve done that because otherwise I’d be stepping over them to get out.
But the one on the sink, did I take it to the bedroom?
“I don’t have a candle in my room, so it must’ve been one from my bathroom, but I don’t remember moving it.”
He looks me in the eye. “Ms. Mills, did you intentionally place a candle near the bedroom curtains to start a fire?” The condescension in his voice is almost as infuriating as the question.
Lee pushes back in his chair before I can answer. “You think she set her own house on fire then climbed into bed?” His angry voice booms, echoing around the small room.
“Don’t,” I warn, laying my hand on his arm. He looks like he’s about to reach across the table and haul the man over it.
“No, I didn’t intentionally set the fire. I don’t even remember moving the candle. I probably did move it if that’s how it started, but if so, it was an accident. I’m not suicidal.” What else could he be getting at? Nobody lights their own room on fire and takes a nap.
Mr. Wilson presses his lips together and writes something down. Each scratch of his pen feels like a judgment. He turns to Lee. “Mr. Hartman, you arrived at approximately one a.m.?”
“Yes,” Lee says. “When I pulled up, the house was already burning.”
“You described it as ‘half engulfed.’”
“That’s right.”
“And you still went inside?”
“Of course I did. I knew she was in there,” Lee says, his voice tight.
A shudder runs through me at the memory. The suffocating heat, the choking smoke, the moment of terror before his arms came out of the grayness to lift me off the bed. The air around me feels thinner.
The marshal makes another note. “You found her unconscious?”
“I couldn’t see her well. Only her feet at the end of the bed. Her body was limp at first, but she started coughing once I picked her up.” Lee’s jaw flexes. “Smoke had already filled the room.”