Page 1
PROLOGUE
EIGHTEEN MONTHS AGO…
Collins
My eyes crack open, and I roll over, stretching my arm, but my hand only meets with the coolness of unslept sheets. My chest jaws open, and the pit of loneliness swallows me up.
At least Caleb isn’t far away, since he’s only working at the Echo Lake Fire Station this month rather than down at the TEEX Brayton Fire Training Field in Texas as a part-time instructor.
I slide over to Caleb’s side of the bed, pushing my nose into his pillows, and inhale. His scent calms me somewhat, and my eyes drift closed as I try to fall back asleep.
Just as I’m getting comfortable, the doorbell rings, followed by insistent knocking.
Is that what awoke me in the first place?
The doorbell rings again and again and again.
Did Caleb forget his keys?
I glance at the clock. His shift doesn’t end for another five hours.
That familiar lurch bottoms out my stomach, and a cold, clammy sweat breaks out over my skin. Pushing the covers off, I bolt out of bed and race from the bedroom.
I’m moving so fast, my fuzzy socks cause me to slide on the hardwood in the hallway, but I regain my footing, heading to the stairway. The doorbell rings again as I rush down the stairs, knowing now there’s something majorly wrong. My foot slips and I grasp for the banister, catching myself before I slide ass-first down the rest of the stairs.
Those things are dangerous. You shouldn’t wear them around the house.
I hear Caleb’s lecture from last year in my head. I had been racing to the kitchen to get my tray of cookies that were about to burn, only for him to give me his cocky grin as he took the cookies out while I watched, splayed out on the floor. The sprained ankle should have made me throw the socks away, but they’re so warm.
I don’t bother checking who is behind the door before unlocking the deadbolt. A serial killer is a better alternative than who my gut is telling me.
I whip the door open, the cool spring air washing over my panicked face.
Ansel’s fist is raised to knock again.
My gut twists, and hope dissipates. Why couldn’t it have been a serial killer?
He’s dressed in his firefighting gear, minus the helmet and jacket, meaning he was on shift tonight too. His hair is sweaty, his face dirty, but it’s his red-rimmed eyes that splinter the first crack in my heart.
He doesn’t have to open his mouth. He doesn’t have to speak a word. His eyes say it all. The horror and shock, but mostly the gutted pain of having to deliver the news he’s here to tell me.
“Is he dead?”
He shakes his head. “He’s injured.”
“Where?”
“Collins…” His jaw tightens, and he opens his mouth to continue.
“How bad?” The doorknob digs into my palm, and my fingers tingle with numbness.
“They life-flighted him to Portland. But…” He swallows hard, eyes filling with tears. “It’s ba—”
His jaw clenches again, and he inhales. I don’t want to hear anymore. Whatever it is, however bad he thinks it might be, Caleb is a fighter, and he’s going to make it through tougher and stronger.
“Take me to him?”
“Okay… I’ll drive you,” Ansel says.
