We hear Bandit’s soft barking and the scrabble of his paws as he races into the office, interrupting us.
We jerk apart like guilty teenagers.
“Fuckin’ cock blocker,” I mutter.
Sarah laughs nervously, brushing at her braid.
She looks shyly at me—and she reminds me of my Dove from when we were younger, naïve, and so in love.
My heart pounds like I just rode Rooster bareback because I feel hopeful that we can be what we were meant to be.
CHAPTER 34
sarah
Iwake choking on smoke.
It’s so thick it burns my throat raw, clawing into my lungs before I can sit up. My eyes sting, watering so badly I can’t see more than shadows. For one stupid second, I think I’m dreaming—another nightmare dragging me back to the worst parts of my life.
Then a crack of timber splits the air, sharp as a gunshot, and the truth sears me alive.
The house is on fire.
Flames roar in the hallway outside my bedroom. I can see an orange light flickering under the door like hell’s lanterns. Heat rolls through the walls, oppressive and suffocating, pressing me into the mattress.
Move, Sarah.
I stagger out of bed, coughing so hard I see stars. I drop low—grade school fire safety—where the air is just barely breathable.
My hands grope along the floor untilthey hit my sneakers, half-tucked under the nightstand. I jam them on—no socks, no laces. Doesn’t matter.
I crawl to the bathroom, grab a towel, crank the tub faucet to full, and soak it. Water splashes, drenching me. I press the towel over my mouth and nose like a balaclava.
Thank you, Fire Safety 101.
The smoke alarm screeches overhead—too damn late.
I crawl to the window, hair sticking to my sweat-slick face, heart hammering. The glass is hot under my palms—too hot to touch for long.
The sounds of engines, shouts, and sirens cut through the night.
They’re here. God, they’re here.
The house groans—a long, tortured sound—and the ceiling above me sags. Ash and sparks rain down.
I don’t have minutes. I have seconds.
I grab the bedside lamp and hurl it at the window. The glass explodes, and cool night air rushes in. I climb onto the sill, jagged edges biting my hands.
It’s a long drop—two stories. The lawn below is a dark smudge through the smoke. My legs shake. My lungs scream. There’s no choice.
Stay and burn. Jump and maybe live.
“Go,” I yell at myself, and I…leap.
The world tilts; the fire’s roar fades into the rush of air. The towel tears free. I hit the ground with a bone-rattling thud. Pain shoots up my side, stealing my breath.
I’m barely on my feet when men swarm toward me—firefighters in heavy gear, flashlights knifing thesmoke.
