Me:She’s here.She’s safe.
There’s a pause before his reply pops up on the screen.
Matt:Don’t lose yourself in saving her, man.
I stare at the screen for a long second, thumb hovering.Too late, I think, but I don’t write it.Instead, I type out what truth I can share.
Me:I’m not saving her.I’m standing with her while she learns to save herself.
I toss the phone aside, lean my head back, and stare at the ceiling.The house is dark now.Upstairs, a door clicks shut.
Somewhere in town, a man with too much rage and not enough consequences might be realizing the woman he used to own isn’t alone anymore.
He doesn’t know it yet.But if he ever comes back, he’ll have to deal with me first.
Chapter Five
Teaching Me To Fight Back
Olivia
I don’t dream about the fire.
I dream about hands.Large, warm, steady hands closing around my wrists, not to pin me, not to hurt me, but to guide, to anchor.A deep voice saying my name like it’s something sacred instead of something shouted in anger.Heat everywhere, not from flames but from skin and want and the dangerous promise of more.
When I wake, my face is hot and my thighs are pressed together, and I immediately want to die of embarrassment.
Fantastic.I’ve officially become the older-woman cliché drooling over the younger firefighter in the next room.Somewhere, the universe is laughing its ass off.
The ceiling fan spins lazily above me, cutting thin slices of morning light drifting in through the curtains.The spare room is simple—soft yellow paint, mismatched furniture, and a pile of folded blankets on a chair—but it feels like a hug in house form.
It feels safe.
I stretch and hiss when my chest pulls tight.Right.Smoke inhalation.Trauma.Not the sex dream hangover I’d prefer.My throat still feels raw, but the oxygen tube is gone and I’m breathing on my own just fine.
A knock sounds on my door, and I jolt upright like a startled cat.
