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"Yes, and now that I've had you, I find myself daydreaming about you being at all my tournaments, warding off the fangirls, cheering for me and only me from the stands. Do you know how often I've wished for you to be there on the beach, shouting my name?" He chuckles and turns before pulling me into his lap. I don’t fight it. Instead, resting my head against his chest, I feel his arms tighten around my hips. "And I fantasize about other things, too."
"Like what?" My curiosity piqued, I look up at him.
"Like naked night surfing," he admits with a laugh, clearly enjoying the shock on my face.
I slap his chest as my mouth drops open. "Tommy! That’s incredibly dangerous!”
"Maybe, but you only live once, babe," he says, guiding my head back down to his chest with a gentle hand. "But yeah, Matilda, I've definitely imagined us together. Honestly, I can't imagine it any other way. From the moment you kissed me, I was all in, I told you that, and I meant it. I’m yours, sweetheart. Your bae, boo, man, boyfriend, boy toy, fiancé, husband, slave. Take your pick, the label won’t change how I feel or act.”
Whoa. So much goes through my mind at that proclamation. We slept together once. One damn time, and this man is saying he already knows I’m it for him. He dropped the dreaded ‘H word.’ Husband. My throat instantly dries. I know he’s partly joking, but hearing those words, my panic soars. It's everything I want, yet so far out of reach I’d need a rocket ship to get there. One of those fancy ones that the rich guy builds. You know, the one that looks kind of like a silver penis?
“And you’re sure?” I ask, hating how insecure I sound. Knowing the depth of his feelings only magnifies the guilt I carry. The thought that I'm dragging him into my chaotic world before we've even had the chance to truly begin hurts. I rub at the spot on my chest where that pain seems to be radiating to. My heart. People think love is all in the head, but I swear to every God imaginable, that's where I feel it. A tightness right over the blood pumper that is so intense, my stomach churns.
His smile, genuine and warm, pierces through the gloom. "Oh, yes. You think I didn’t catch that little comment earlier? You already said I was your boyfriend. And I’m not letting you take that back."
In an instant, the feeling dissipates, even as I try to hide the depth of my feelings, my gaze drifting down. But he closes the gap between us, his touch gentle as he lifts my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. "We belong together, Tilly. Maybe that scares you, but I’ve never been surer of anything. I’m yours now."
The affirmation sends a surge of warmth through me. “Okay, then. I suppose I can resist other men for a while. You know, see how this plays out.”
“You better,” he warns, his voice going to that gravelly octave I love.
I laugh right as he presses his lips to mine. The kiss feels like an almost poetic end to our little fight.
But it’s short-lived as Henrietta yells from the living room right as a loud bang sounds from somewhere else in the house.
“Stay here!” Tommy demands as he rips open the bedroom door. But as soon as he does, I smell it, the acrid scent of smoke slicing through the air.
At first, it’s faint, like a whispered warning, but as I rush after him down the hall, it grows stronger, more insistent. My heart races as my eyes scan the room, meeting Tommy's wide, alarmed gaze when we reach the living room. The smell of burning—sharp, toxic—is pouring in from somewhere, infiltrating every breath with a heavy, suffocating presence. Smoke coats my tongue and throat, a bitter reminder of how real the threat my family made is.
The sound of Henrietta's voice, sharp with fear, cuts through the thickening air. "It's coming from the garage!" she yells.
Mack rushes past us, an extinguisher in hand. “Call the fire department,” he demands. I spin in a circle, not even remotely sure where my phone ended up after the tense confrontation with Miranda.
Tommy is already in motion, his body tensed. He grabs a phone off the couch and dials. With that taken care of, I follow Mack closely, my mind racing, dread coiling in my stomach.
As we hurry to the garage door, the air grows dense, a fog of smoke weaving its way through the house, casting everything in a haze of gray. The light seems to dim, swallowed by the blackness that curls and twists around us. My eyes sting, tears blurring my vision as I try to follow Mack.
As soon as he opens the door, we see yellow flames licking greedily at the walls. The fire, though not yet as big as I thought, has already begun its destructive dance, blackening everything and sending plumes billowing into the house. Mack’s movements are swift and sure as he pulls the pin on the fire extinguisher and pulls the trigger, attacking the flames with ferocity.
It won’t be enough. I run back into the house and straight out the front door. There has to be a hose somewhere. I’m sprinting around the outside until I see it. I silently pray that the pipes aren’t frozen in this cold weather. When I turn the spigot, I almost shout in relief when I see the first spurt of water burst from the end. There’s a side door on the garage, and I use my shirt to protect my hand as I turn the knob.
Smoke pours out, but I’m already spraying, even though I can see nothing through the black haze.
I hear sirens on the street but don’t stop spraying until I feel a hand on my shoulder. A fireman, with his own hose, gestures for me to step aside, and I do. Within seconds, the fire is out.
But it has left its mark. The garage is charred and smoldering. Even the exterior of the house is blackened. I can only imagine what the inside of Henrietta's beautiful home looks like. There was so much smoke, it had to have done incredible damage.
Another fireman is at my side, draping a blanket over my shoulders. I barely respond as he leads me to the curb and helps me sit. Now that the immediate danger has passed, and the adrenaline has started to ebb, the truth comes crashing down on me. My cousin Keaton. This is his doing. A deliberate act of malice aimed not just at me, but at those I have come to love, those I had hoped to protect from the very violence that defined my family.
The guilt is overwhelming, a heavy shroud that threatens to suffocate me as surely as the smoke has. The realization that my family's vendetta has nearly cost Henrietta everything is a sharp, jagged thing within me. It cuts deeper than the smoke, than the fear. It's personal and is leaving a wound that I fear might never heal. Henrietta was right. Family doesn't do this to each other. If I hadn't already felt like the black sheep, I certainly do now.
***
Two hours later, I’m still sitting on the curb. Tommy insisted I wait while the fire department made sure everything was safe enough inside. I didn't argue. One look at his face and I knew it would be pointless. He was as enraged and scared as I am.
The firetruck pulls away from the curb, just as Tommy returns to my side. "You okay, Til?"
I can only shake my head. I warned them. I fucking told them this would happen. Tommy is pulling me to my feet. “They say the house is fine. Let’s get cleaned up,” he says.
