“You’re the only one who agreed to be on call this weekend. Told you to take advantage of the auction, enjoy a few days off. Thought you’d take me up on it, especially after the Vegas Giveaway. Did you even go?”
“Yeah, I did, Chief. And you’re right, I should’ve planned differently. But stuff like this never happens to me.”
Kurt looks down, eyeing the tattoo on my finger curiously. “Only has to happen once to matter.”
That’s what I’m counting on.
Chapter
Thirteen
SCARLETT
The house is too quiet after he leaves.
I turn on the TV, trying to distract myself. But my hands tremble, and I can’t shake the feeling that comes over me. Like I’m stuck in between breaths.
It doesn’t help when newscasters break in with an update about the East Ridge fire.
My throat thickens as I listen. “Winds shifting. Firefighters working hard to hold the line, to save the homes below.”
The cameras cut to footage of men and women in gear, running, smoke blossoming black and inky into the night sky.
“Donovan.” His name comes out like a whisper. I look down at the ink ring on my hand. If something happened to him… even though I barely know him.
Even though there’s so much still to figure out?—
The quiet of the house presses in on me, harsh and uncompromising.
But is there anything to figure out, or is it all pre-determined? My saying goodbye? My vanishing… without a trace?
I sit on the leather couch in the middle of Donovan’s living room, hugging a throw pillow that smells like him. Pine and something woody and spicy.
Memories ignite again.A burst of pulse. A gasp of air. A delirious moan that ripples through me all over again. Mine.
Logic speaks.
You’re on your own from here.
I’m used to that. But somehow it feels different now. It aches more. I look down at the finger that’s still sensitive, where the fresh tattoo has yet to heal.
Instead of permanent it feels like a promise. Maybe that’s what I want it to be.
I breathe in slowly, then breathe out. The way I learned in yoga classes. The exercises don’t calm or center me. But they’re as close as I can hope to get under the circumstances.
I move toward the kitchen, reaching for the glass I left on the counter. That’s when I hear it.
A shift. Soft. Out of place.
My body goes still, and my ears strain. Awareness tightens the air, the arms on the back of my neck rising.
The back door.
Those three words slam into me, and I don’t know why.
Does this place even have a back door?
I don’t know, but I head down the dark hallway, breathing hard, still feeling Donovan’s soft, warm lip pressed to mine.
