And I see so clearly the faith in her big green eyes. She gives me a small nod, her lips trembling but her jaw firm, her shoulders square.
Then I slap him on the shoulder, and it’s go time.
The boy knows what to do. He’s charging in ahead of me, positioning himself near a natural sliver of a break in the fire. He crouches, letting the flames pour against his stretched out jacket, just long enough for me to fly right past.
I dive for Peace, rip her off that chair, up into my arms.
The hard part? There’s no time to even steal a kiss.
Not while the fire keeps lashing like deadly whips all around us.
Not while a fucking madman I thought was my friend has Andrea.
Fire resistant or not, the boy’s jacket isn’t made to last forever. We barely make it past him again, Peace clutched tight in my arms, folded around me.
I leap off the stairs holding her and we hit the snow, topple over, and roll.
I only realize after the fact the snow hisses out a small part of my jacket that caught the flames.
It’s a miracle I can even stand, sparing just a second to give her a fierce look and a furious hand-squeeze. “Stay here, darlin’. You’re safe. Be right back.”
Then I turn away, striding in the direction where Clark’s pointing, forging through the crowd. I slip my fingers between my teeth, letting out a piercing whistle before thrusting my hand in the air.
It’s like summoning hunting hawks. Warren, Leo, and Doc appear almost out of nowhere, sweaty and dirty and rushed, Warren’s jacket singed from where he’s been beating at the flames. Rich materializes next, breathless and streaked with soot.
“You know what to do,” I say. “Calm everybody down. Keep ’em away from the flames. Slow and orderly, before anyone hurts anyone else. Tend to the injured. Tell everyone to get low, under the smoke. Look for a weak spot in the wall, and get them out of here. As soon as you can get to the truck, fire it up.”
“On it,” Warren snaps, while the others already peel away, jogging out, raising their voices in loud shouts. “What are you gonna do?”
My answer gets cut off by a sudden spout of flame erupting from between two booths. My head whips around.
Justin steps out, a fucking flamethrower strapped to his back, the nozzle clutched in both hands.
He jacks it and sends flame spraying out in front of him in an arc that burns through the snow to catch the dry grass underneath, igniting it like some kind of crazed smile painted in flames against the ground.
Almost as disturbing a smile as the one on his lips. The flames light up his eyes and he plants his feet, staring me down.
I stop in my tracks, locking my gaze on him, wishing it could kill. My fingers clench slowly into fists as that anger inside me erupts into a sense of purpose.
“You go on,” I whisper to Warren, never taking my eyes off Justin. “I’m gonna save my daughter.”
21
Drumroll (Peace)
Of all the weird things I’ve seen today, one of the weirdest has to be Clark Patten wrapping his jacket over his upraised arms and face.
Then charging through the wall of flames around me, parting them in a burst of sparks, giving Blake just enough room to save my almost frying bacon.
I can’t stop crying.
Because I’m so angry.
So angry Justin used me as bait.
And I had to play along, or he would’ve hurt Andrea even worse.
I’ll never forget Blake folding me in his big, strong arms and taking a leap of faith through the fire. The way the heat washed over us reminded me of surfing back on Oahu.
There’s this moment where you lean into the curl of a wave, and there’s this glass wall of crystal-blue water that you can see right through, skimming right along your shoulder. It’s so fragile and yet so powerful, and you’re aware, in that moment, how quickly it can crash over you and drag you under.
That’s what diving into fire feels like.
Only it’s hot and flickering and so terrifying I never would’ve been able to do it without Blake Silverton.
Please, I think desperately. Please let him get to her in time.
I try insanely hard not to think about his last look, how bright his blue eyes burned, how he squeezed my hand with a grip that could’ve made Hercules jealous.
Back on the ground, Clark wraps his jacket around me.
“Come on,” he says, his voice only cracking a little. “I…I promised Mr. Silverton. You’re gonna be okay. My jacket’s fireproof.”
I stare up at him. He’s just a kid, but his smile is brave and fierce and toothy. “Clark, what about—”
“Don’t worry about me,” he says. “Fire’s my game. You just hold the jacket tight, move fast, and if any of those flames from the fence start coming toward you, dive for the snow. Go.”