I clutch the phone to my chest. “It’s poetic.”
“It’s pathetic.” He grabs a fresh beer and pops the cap. “Next thing you’ll be sending her Kings of Leon lyrics.”
I laugh despite the ache in my chest, type again, hit send before I can stop myself.
I still don’t know what happened today. You owe me an explanation.
Phoenix groans into his beer. “Mate… subtle as a sledgehammer.”
I rub my hand down my face. “She won’t reply anyway.”
The phone stays dark. No buzz. No read receipt. Just silence.
Phoenix finally mutters, softer this time. “Sometimes silence says more than a reply, pal.”
Any sadness I felt before has now turned to anger. I slam the phone down on the table, the thud rattling the empty bottles. “She doesn’t get to just walk away like that. Not after everything.”
Phoenix studies me quietly, beer dangling from his hand. “I know. But chasing her drunk? You’ll only make it worse.”
My chest heaves. I drag a hand through my hair, tugging at the roots. “She lit the match and left me burning, Phoenix. I can’t just sit here pretending it doesn’t hurt.”
“Then don’t,” he says. “But don’t torch what’s left either. Sleep on it.”
I tip back the last of my beer, the fizz hitting my throat like fire, and sink into the couch. The silence stretches between us, broken only by the tick of the clock and the occasional crack of a bottle cap.
But even with Phoenix sitting across from me, the anger doesn’t fade. It coils tighter, molten and restless, until I’m not sure if I want to drink myself numb or storm across town and demand the answers she won’t give.
Either way, I know one thing for certain, I’m not done with Ember Sparks. Not by a long shot.
Chapter Twenty-Two
DRAKE
The clang of the lockers and the smell of burnt coffee fill the firehouse, same as every other Monday morning, but I feel as if I’ve been chewed up and spat out. I dump my gear bag down harder than I mean to.
Bear glances up from polishing his boots. “So, Coleman, how was your date with Phoenix after Ember bailed on you?”
I glance across the room at Phoenix manning the phone. “Phoenix was all right, just not as pretty to look at.”
“You seen her this morning?” Phoenix asks.
“She wasn’t at school,” I say, pulling my jacket from the hook. “She called in sick.” My voice comes out sharper than I intend.
From behind me, Flint’s gravelly tone cuts in. “What’s wrong with Ember?” He strides through with a clipboard in hand, brow furrowed.
I shrug, my jaw tight. “Nothing. Just called in sick.”
His eyes narrow. “Yeah, you said that already. I meant, what’s up with her?”
I slam the locker shut. “How the hell would I know? She hasn’t answered a single one of my messages all weekend.”
Phoenix shakes his head from behind the desk. “Mate. Just how many messages did you send?”
Flint stops dead, eyes pinning me. “Did something happen? Knowing Ember, she could be lying at home with another bust ankle, stubborn as hell and refusing to call anyone.”
Before I can answer, Phoenix pipes up again. “Or maybe she’s not answering because she dumped his ass.”
Hollywood nearly chokes on his coffee.
