18
Ezreal sat brooding in his car, the ever-present music in his mind silent. It was an uncomfortable feeling, like he’d been abandoned. Remembering the look on Sara’s face added to it. He didn’t normally have much of a temper, and it took a lot to get him riled up, but what was he supposed to do when that punk had been pushing Brand around? Did she think she was the only one who could come to the boy’s defense? That was patently unfair.
When he’d tried to call her, he’d discovered that she’d dropped her phone by the park bench. She’d been in such a hurry that she’d left it. That had been his excuse for coming by her house, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to go in. What if she sent him away again? Had she really meant it when she’d said she didn’t want to see him again?
Maybe it was just as well he’d found this out about her. Could he live with someone who could fly off like that? At the thought of not seeing Sara and the children, his chest hurt, like something inherently part of him had been ripped from his life. What could he do to make things right between them if she wouldn’t trust him not to hurt her or the children?
Memory of the horror in her face came into focus. She’d been afraid. Ofhim. Ezreal searched his mind. He couldn’t recall a time when he’d lost his temper around her or the children. Sara’s reaction had been over the top. It’d been a long time since he’d been in elementary school but he remembered the occasional fist fight. Did she overreact with them too? She couldn’t. So what had really happened?
He rubbed his neck. Something in either his tone or manner must have triggered a memory of her ex-husband. Ezreal felt sick that something he’d done had brought back bad memories. Was she now afraid that he’d be like that all the time?
Headlights turned onto the street in the distance and pulled him from his ruminations. Surprised to find it had turned dark, he glanced at his phone. He’d been sitting there for more than two hours. The car proceeded slowly as though the driver were unfamiliar with the area. The rural street didn’t have sidewalks or street lights, and more than one of Francie’s guests had complained about not being able to find the B&B after dark. The neighbors on the large lots usually left on their porch lights. It wasn’t too late for guests of the bed-and-breakfast to be coming in after a later evening out.
Ezreal glanced at his phone again, his mind going back to Sara. He knew it was just a misunderstanding. How did he convince her to give him a chance to prove that to her? He rubbed the pain in his temples and looked up.
The car had turned into Sara’s drive. A chill ran down his back. Who’d be coming to see her so late? She probably had fellow teacher friends who might drop by. But not at this hour. She was so protective of her children and strangers coming around her house.
Ezreal’s gut told him that something was wrong, but what if she’d invited a friend over? If he showed up, would Sara think he was stalking her, that he really was no better than her ex-husband? Would she call the police on Ezreal and say he was a trespasser? No. It was reasonable that he’d return her phone to her.
His uneasiness grew, and he found himself starting his car. He looked at his rearview mirror trying to decide what to do. Maybe he could ask Francie for advice. No. She and Alex tended to go to bed early because their children woke early.
Ezreal felt like a rope in a tug-of-war. Part of him wanted desperately to go to Sara’s to make sure she was all right. Another part insisted on showing him mental pictures of getting there and finding it was just a coworker and Sara kicking him off her property. He argued with himself for a few more minutes until he couldn’t take it anymore. He had to know she and the children were all right.
He made a U-turn and, at the last minute, turned off his lights. It took another minute or so with his eyes closed to adjust to the darkness, but he finally got to where he could make out the faint shine from Sara’s porch light. He eased into the drive, grateful for his car’s quiet engine but irritated by the sound of gravel as he approached the house.
The strange car was parked near the porch, and Ezreal pulled up behind it, blocking it in. He turned off his car, debating what he should do. A flicker of light came from Sara’s bedroom on the second floor, almost like a candle.
Heat flushed through his body. What if she was seeing someone else? But even if she was, why would she use a candle? Her electricity obviously worked, or the porch light wouldn’t be on.
Ezreal decided he needed to check and make sure she was all right. He pocketed his keys and adjusted the settings so opening the door wouldn’t turn on the interior light. As he opened his door, the moon broke through the clouds, and a glimmer of light showed on the license plate of the other car.
Washington.
A text pinged as his hands fumbled to pull out his phone. It was from the private investigator.
Your guy’s MIA. Reported in sick two days ago. Just confirmed he’s skipped town.
Ezreal went cold. He started typing a message to Bill Ryze.
I think the ex is at Sara’s. Going in.
Ezreal clicked Send. A thud came from upstairs, and he was in motion. The door was unlocked, only adding to his fear.
“Sara,” he shouted and listened, hoping she would answer back.
A floorboard squeaked overhead, and he took off for the stairs. As he was rounding the landing, a dark form came flying at him and shoved him backward. Ezreal flew back, and he stumbled down the steps. His head struck the railing. Stars burst behind his eyes a second before a sharp pain exploded in his kidneys. Then hands were shoving him down the rest of the stairs. He hit the landing hard and everything went black.
Ezreal had no idea how long he lay there, stunned and in pain, unable to get his breath. He tried to remember what he’d been doing. Why did he hurt everywhere? Had he gotten up in the middle of the night and fallen down the stairs? No. That had been when he was a kid. His bedroom now was on the main floor. Then why would he have gone upstairs?
He took a deep breath. Ugh, his ribs hurt. He smelled smoke. He hadn’t used his fireplace in months. Then it all came flooding back.
Sara! He sniffed again. Definitely fire. He fumbled for his phone, grateful it was still in his pocket. He dialed 911.
“911. What’s your emergency?”
“There’s a fire at Sara Fortune’s house.” Ezreal gave the address.
“Is there anyone inside?”
