“Take him. Go,” he snarls through his teeth, deep and raspy with pain, the timbre cadence richer, almost velvety. “Oxygen mask!”
“On it, Chief,” Justin says. And suddenly he’s there, relieving me of the little boy, juggling him against his hip as he clamps an oxygen tank under one arm and fits a mask over the boy’s face with his free hand.
Leaving me free to focus on Blake, this feral beast-man laid low by an invisible arrow to his muscle.
I step closer, then back, then stop, hands outstretched.
“Here,” I whisper. “Let me help. What happened?”
He actually flinches back.
“Just a cramp.” He opens his eyes, glaring up at me, blue irises fierce and snapping, the faint hints of lingering embers floating in his gaze. “What the hell you doing here, Broccoli? It’s not safe.”
“I…” I falter, swallowing. “I was worried about you. I was talking to Leo when the fire started. I just wanted to help and—”
“Don’t need no help, woman,” he snarls. “It’s just a cramp, you hear?”
It doesn’t matter how many times he says it.
It doesn’t make it true.
I know what deep pain looks like—the kind of brute agony that takes up root and never goes away, coiled like a serpent under the skin.
But he doesn’t want my help.
And I feel redundant as Leo thrusts himself around the corner and races to Blake’s side, approaching him with a certainty I could never feel.
Blake doesn’t flinch back from him, at least.
Leo grunts and loops his arm under Blake’s shoulders, hefting him up with his jaw clenched. “C’mon. Let’s get you on a stretcher.”
There’s nothing I can do.
Nothing but watch, while Rich joins Leo on Blake’s other side and together they guide him away, limping heavily.
“Go home, Peace,” Blake grinds out, his voice exhausted, drifting over his shoulder. “Before you get hurt. There’s nothing for you here.”
Ouch.
Damn.
I don’t need to read between the lines.
I’m not wanted. I know it.
But I can’t stop thinking about easing his pain.
One thing’s for sure: I don’t believe him anymore when he says he’s not a hero.
* * *
Okay, so I haven’t left.
Hear me out.
It’s not because of Blake, I swear.
I swear.
I just…can’t walk away. Not without seeing that everyone got out safe.
This town isn’t even my home.
Even so, I can’t stand seeing innocent people suffer. It’s a relief when the last of the flames are doused and a final inspection declares the building empty, check-ins ensuring everyone’s accounted for and no one’s still missing inside the charred, waterlogged brick building.
The back of the candy shop took some real damage, too, a strange-looking blast of black char that looks almost like it burst against the brick, but the worst of it is the clothing store by far.
Good news: there were no lives lost today, and that matters.
Bad news: a town that’s apparently already had some big fires recently just had one more.
Oh, and I managed to make a royal freaking bonehead out of myself.
Maybe it’s the hippie kid in me. Lack of attachment to material things. Flower on the wind.
But things can be replaced. So can wounded pride.
People, on the other hand, can’t.
I’ve managed to find myself a corner farther down the alley, well out of the way of the work that’s being done to investigate the debris and figure out how the fire started. Rich and a few others duck in and out of the building, conferring with their heads held close.
I’m still not supposed to be here.
I’m trying to be invisible.
And I’m ready to get chased off when Justin appears from the mouth of the alley and his gaze gravitates to me.
He’s just as dirty and disheveled and scorched as Blake, but where it makes Blake look rugged and dark and so God-like I could just lick him clean…
It just makes Justin look young, tired, and out of his depth.
But he offers me a friendly smile, pushing his mop of curls out of his face as he steps closer. “Hey, Peace.”
I hold both hands up.
“I’ll go,” I say. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”
“Nah.” He tosses his head back in the direction he just came. “The chief wants a minute with ya.”
I blink, doing a double take.
“With me?” I ask, squinting one eye up. “Are you sure?”
Justin grins wearily. “Nobody else here he calls Broccoli, is there?”
“Fair point.” I snort.
I shouldn’t be so nervous I’m barely even peeved over the stupid nickname.
Blake probably just wants to give me a lecture on fire safety, the hazards of diving into an active scene.
Honestly, I’d probably deserve it.
With my stomach leaping and fluttering like the flames they just put out, I square my shoulders and lift my chin.
Then I march off to face my fate, leaving Justin pacing the alley behind me, taking photos of the blast marks on the wall with his phone.
More for his album, I guess. Or maybe he’s trying to document stuff for the investigation, what with those strange marks.