Chapter 1
Grace
“I was trapped on thesecond floor, and I thought that was it for me.”
I glance at the woman sharing her story. Her name is Susan, and she was in a house fire last month. It’s the third survival story I’ve heard this afternoon at my first meeting with the fire victim support group.
Susan lost her husband in the fire. My heart goes out to her, and I feel a little guilty. I only lost material things, not a loved one, yet I’ve been stuck in my pity party for days.
As she continues her story, her voice fades along with the other sympathetic faces in the circle I’m a part of. It’s not that I don’t care about Susan’s ordeal, I just can’t help spiraling into my own dark memories.
At least twice a day, it just sneaks up on me and pulls me in. Right now, I’m back in my apartment, curled up under my coffee table in the dark. The sounds of the collapsing ceiling and the blazing fire are deafening.
I’m so hot, it’s as if the flames are touching my skin and it’s hard to breathe. Although I know this is just a memory, my pulse rate skyrockets as if I’m physically there. I wish I could block it all out, but I can’t.
I’m not overly worried about my PTSD since I was in a fire just days ago. The vivid memories and nightmares are fairly normal... at least I hope so, because I can’t afford a therapist.
There’s one thing that always helps. Or one person, rather. Rowan. In the frightening visions, everything stops once he shows up and I hear his voice. My anxiety lessens, giving me the chance to pull myself back to reality.
I take a deep breath and the other members of the group come back into focus, and so does Susan’s voice.
“I’m coping a little better nowadays,” she says.
I smile at that, but I don’t focus on her for long. I go right back into my head. This time, all thoughts are centered on Rowan Cavanaugh. It’s hard not to think about him. One, he saved my life. That earns him a position in my thoughts... forever. Two, the man has me swirling in a cloud of confusion.
He picked me up at the hospital three days ago, coming to my rescue yet again. Then, he brought me to an apartment and told me I could stay there for as long as I needed. And not just any apartment. I’m talking a full-on luxurious one in the upscale part of town. A swanky residence that would make my superficial older sister salivate.
As if the apartment—which Rowan claimed is one of his residences—wasn’t enough, he handed me a new cell phone. I gawked at the device I didn’t ask for while he explained the apartment was stocked with everything I might need. It was true. After a look around, I discovered there was enough food, toiletries, and everything to last me weeks. Then, he offered to buy me clothes. It was all too much.
Who the hell is Rowan? How much do they pay firefighters nowadays? Because from what I’ve seen, the paychecks must be hefty. Most importantly, what is his agenda? No way is anyone that generous to a stranger. Thinking about Rowan has been driving me crazier than my nightmares.
Murmurs of comforting words filling the room bring my attention back to the group. Susan has finished sharing.
“What about you, Grace? Are you ready to share?”
My gaze swings to Andrew, the man heading the meeting. He looks to be in his early forties, and he has the kindest brown eyes I’ve ever stared into. His demeanor is so gentle, I bet he can get a feral cat to trust him within seconds. He certainly made me feel at ease when I came in. A healed patch of burned skin extends from his right ear to his neck, disappearing below his collar. It tells a story of survival.
“Uh...” Heat creeps into my face because I’ve zoned out of the entire meeting thinking about my own stuff. I gaze down at my right palm, at the ring-shaped blister in the center. The skin was burned when I foolishly grasped a doorknob, looking for a way out of my apartment during the fire. It’s a minor injury compared to the others I’ve heard about.
I shake my head. “Not today. I’m sorry.”
Andrew’s smile is friendly. “You don’t have to apologize. Whenever you’re ready to talk, we’re here to listen.”
There are murmurs of agreement from the others, and I force a smile. “Thanks.”
Someone else is brave enough to share his story, and I hunker down in my chair to listen.
About twenty minutes later, the meeting ends with encouraging words from Andrew and the announcement of when the next meeting will be. I stick around for a few minutes to chat with some of the others. Not that I’m eager to talk, but politeness is ingrained in me.
As I’m heading through the door to one of the meeting rooms in the conference center, someone shouts, “Hey, Grace, wait up!”
My shoulders stiffen. It’s my first meeting, but I’m familiar with the voice. It belongs to the guy who stared at my chest for the better part of an hour. Slowing my steps, I conjure a smile with more difficulty than usual.
“Hey, Ethan, right?”