Which means this is going to get complicated in ways I specifically wanted to avoid.
I’m pulling into town when I see her.
Rachel’s crossing the parking lot behind the grocery store, arms full of bags, not paying attention to anything except her phone. She steps off the curb without looking.
The sedan comes out of nowhere. Too fast for a parking lot. Too fast for her to hear it in time.
I don’t think. Just react.
I slam my truck into park, and I’m out the door, moving before my brain catches up to my body. Three steps and I’ve got her arm, yanking her back onto the sidewalk just as the sedan screams past where she was standing.
The bags go flying. Apples roll across the pavement. Rachel stumbles into me, breath coming in sharp gasps.
“What the hell were you thinking. You could’ve been killed.”
She’s shaking. Staring at the street where the car disappeared around the corner. “I didn’t—I didn’t see it.”
“Clearly.” I release her arm, bending down to gather the scattered groceries. “Pay attention to your surroundings. This isn’t the city where drivers might stop.”
“I was paying attention.” But her voice wavers. “I looked. There wasn’t anyone coming.”
“There was a car coming. A fast one.” I shove apples back into a bag with more force than necessary. “You’re lucky I was here.”
“Lucky.” She says it like the word tastes bitter. “Yeah. Super lucky.”
I look up at her then. Really look. Her face is pale except for two spots of color high on her cheeks. Her hands are trembling as she takes the bags from me.
“Are you okay?” I ask, and it comes out gentler than I planned.
“I’m fine.” But she’s not fine. She’s rattled. Scared. Trying to hide it behind anger. “Thanks for the rescue. Add it to the list, I guess.”
“What list?”
“The list of times firefighters have saved me from my own stupidity.” She adjusts her grip on the bags. “I’m starting to think I’m cursed.”
“You’re not cursed. You’re distracted.” I cross my arms. “What were you looking at on your phone?”
“Nothing important.”
“Important enough that you almost died for it.”
Her jaw tightens. “I was reading a text from Derek. My ex. He’s threatening to sue for custody of Tommy again.”
That stops me. “On what grounds?”
“Because I’m unemployed and apparently a magnet for disaster.” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “He’s got screenshots of the viral videos. Photos of me at multiple fires. His lawyer’s building a case that I’m unstable.”
“That’s garbage.”
“That’s what I said.” She shifts the grocery bags again. “But it doesn’t matter what I say. It matters what a judge thinks. And right now, I look exactly like I shouldn’t have custody of a five-year-old.”
“The fires aren’t your fault,” I say. “They’re connected. Insurance fraud. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Her eyes widen. “What?”
“The café fire. It wasn’t random. Someone’s burning Westlake Properties buildings for the insurance money.” I watch her process this. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re not cursed. You’re just unlucky.”
“That’s not much better.”
