Chapter 18
Ashes At The Door
Summer
The phone rips through the silence like a knife. Shrill. Violent. Too loud for the hour, too piercing for the fragile threads holding the night together. I freeze under the covers, heart jerking hard enough to ache.
I reach over to put my arm over Jacob, but he already sits on the edge of the bed, boots propped, like he’s been waiting for this exact sound.
He answers on the second ring.
His voice drops, a graveled growl meant only for whoever’s on the other end. Too low for me to catch words, but the silence between them tells me more than words could.
His shoulders tighten. His jaw works once, twice, hard enough I hear the faint grind of teeth.
“No, I’ll handle it,” he says, and hangs up.
When he turns, his eyes skim the bed, locking on me even in the dark. That stare—it stills the blood in my veins. For a heartbeat, I think he’ll speak. That he’ll explain where he’s going. But he doesn’t.
“I love you,” he whispers, before he stands, fluid, efficient, no wasted motion. He shrugs into his coat, holsters his gun with the ease of muscle memory, and stalks toward the door.
The slam echoes through the walls, rattling them like a warning.
I sit up, breath caught tight in my throat. The silence he leaves behind feels louder than the call that pulled him away. I’m still aching—muscles sore, wrists throbbing where the metal bit into my skin. The marks sting now, and I know by morning they’ll bloom into bruises.
He said sorry. For the first time, he actually apologized for hurting me. For marking me. The sound of that word still echoes, like he wasn’t sure how it was supposed to feel on his tongue.
Maybe it’s just kids causing trouble somewhere in town, I tell myself. Maybe that’s all it is. But he’s the sheriff—he has deputies for that. If he left without a word, it means something bigger. Something bad.
I wish I’d stopped him. Asked him where he was going, when he’d be back. Instead, I just watched him go, too stunned, too raw to speak.
I could call him. I could. But if it’s serious—if it’s something that needs the sheriff himself—he won’t want me to disturb him.
So, I stay where I am— staring at ceiling—the quiet pressing down on me.
My body aches, my mind won’t stop replaying the way he looked at me before he left, and I know I won’t drift back to sleep.
I climb out of bed, the cool air biting against my skin as I move toward the en-suite.
The light flickers once before steadying, and I stand there for a moment, staring at my reflection—hair tangled, eyes hollow.
I reach for a towel, for something to do with my hands, anything to make the silence less suffocating.
When I clean myself up, the sting coupled with the sight of red on the tissue twists something in my stomach.
I turn on the shower and step under the water, letting it run until the warmth blurs the edges of everything.
I stay there longer than I should, until the steam fogs the mirror and my skin starts to prickle.
When I finally walk back into the bedroom, the space still feels empty without him, but heavier than before, like his presence still clings to the air.
There’s a weight in my chest I can’t name, a cold certainty pressing at the edge of thought.
Something’s wrong. Whether it’s already happened or still waiting to, I can feel it moving closer.
I whisper into the empty room: He’ll be back in an hour. It’s nothing. It has nothing to do with me.
I pace. Five steps across the room, turn, five steps back. My skin feels too tight, nerves twitching under it like live wires. The boards creak beneath my feet, loud in the silence.
The clock ticks louder. My ears strain for the sound of boots on the porch, the slam of the door, his voice cutting through the dark. Anything is better than this silence, but no sound comes.
Then, as though my prayers are answered, I hear an engine roaring up the road—by the time headlights sweep across the glass, I’m already at the door. Relief slams into me, fierce and overwhelming. Jacob is back.
I reach for the handle, desperate for his voice, his presence. Anything to break this unbearable emptiness. But something stops me in my tracks. Something feels—odd.
I hear the breaks of the truck, then the driver door opens and slams shut. Boots sound on the porch, then the knock comes once. But Jacob doesn’t knock. It’s a single rap, almost hesitant.
“Summer!” I hear, a crackled deep male voice, calling my name.
A familiar voice.
Benny.
I open the door and there he stands.
His skin is chalk-white in the porch light, his hair damp with sweat. His chest rises and falls like he’s run a marathon. His eyes—wide, shining, almost breaking—fix on me with pity so striking it feels like cruelty.
“Summer,” he whispers, like my name itself is a wound. “I came as soon as I could.”
Confusion washes over me. “What’s going on?”
He looks past me, into the house, into the hollowness Jacob left behind. His jaw hardens. When his gaze returns, it slices straight through me.
“You don’t know, do you?” he asks, half concerned, half angry.
The words land like ice water down my spine. My heart jerks.
“For Christ’s sake Benny, what?”
His face twists, disbelief cutting through his features. He drags a hand over his mouth, like he can’t quite believe the words coming out of it.
“Fuck.” A sudden shake of his head follows. “He hasn’t told you?” The laugh that slips out isn’t really a laugh at all—just a jagged sound, bitter and hollow.
His shoulders sag, his whole frame seeming to fold under the weight of it. He exhales through clenched teeth, then steps closer.
“I shouldn’t be the one saying this.” His voice breaks on the words.
“But someone has to.” His eyes hold mine.
“It’s your parents,” he whispers, voice cracking.
“Their house… there were perimeters everywhere. Cop cars, the fire department were there. There was still smoke coming from the building when I saw.”
I pause, waiting for him to say my worst nightmare.
“They didn’t make it out, Summer. I waited. Wanted to help, but Jacob sent me away.” His voice dips even lower, gentle, coaxing. “They’re gone.”
The air leaves my lungs in a single violent rush. My stomach knots, twisting so hard I double over. The floor tilts, and tilts, until I’m sure I’ll collapse straight through it.
“No.” My head shakes, frantic, wild. “No, you’re wrong.”
“I wish I was.” He steps closer, his voice low and thick, dripping with sorrow. “God, I wish I was.”
And then the images hit.
Flames swallowing the old wooden beams, orange and alive, roaring as they climb.
The wallpaper blistering, curling black.
My mother’s voice shrieking my name from behind walls that crack and groan as they collapse.
My father pounding fists against a window that won’t shatter, the glass glowing hot before it explodes inward.
The smoke choking them. The heat eating their skin.
Their hands reaching for a door that won’t open, until the fire swallows them whole.
The scream that tears from me doesn’t sound human.
Benny catches me before I hit the ground. His arms wrap around me, strong, unshakable, pulling me into the solid press of his chest. I claw at him, fists tight in his shirt, trying to find something alive when the only images in my head are of my parents burning.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs, rocking me, voice breaking into something soft, something warm. “You’re safe. I’ve got you. You’re not alone in this.”
I sob against him until my body convulses, until bile burns the back of my throat. The smell of smoke clings to my imagination so thick I swear I can taste it, bitter and acrid on my tongue. And then he leans down, his breath brushing my ear, low enough to feel like a secret.
“That son of a bitch didn’t tell you,” he whispers, “he left you here alone.”
The words slide into me like poison. I push myself away from him, backing off like a child who’s just find out the lap they’re sitting on isn’t the real Santa.
“Jacob loves me. Don’t you dare—” I sob, uncontrollable anger pouring from every word.
“Then where is he, Summer?” he shrugs, frustration radiating from him as he pulls me back into his arms.
And he’s right. Where is he? He’s gone. Leaving me to shatter in Benny’s arms. He holds tighter, sealing the crack he’s pried open with his hands.
But it isn’t enough. No arms can hold the weight of this.
“I need to see them.” The words crackle out between sobs, half-choked, half-mad. I wrench at his grip, shoving hard against his chest until I’m on my feet. My body sways, knees trembling, vision blurring with tears. “I need to go. Now. I need to see them—”
“Summer—”
“I have to!” My voice splinters, piercing, shrill. My hand slams against the doorknob, slippery with sweat, rattling hard enough the metal clinks. “They can’t just—I can’t just—I have to see them!”
Benny’s hand snaps over mine. Holding me in place and forcing me to look to him.
“No.”
The word detonates in me, I yank my hands free of his grasp.
“Don’t you tell me no!” I whirl on him, wild, unsteady, chest heaving.
My hands slam against his chest, fists beating uselessly against muscle that won’t give.
“They’re my parents. My parents! You can’t stop me—”
“Listen to me.” His voice cracks through mine, low but harsh enough to slice.
He grabs my wrists mid-swing, holding them firm, holding me still.
His face is close, too close, eyes searing into mine.
“If you run out there right now, you’ll see nothing but ashes.
Do you understand? Ashes.” He runs a hand through his hair.
“Your parents were taken away by the coroner. They won’t let you see them, not until after the cops carry out their investigation. ”