Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 37970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 190(@200wpm)___ 152(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 190(@200wpm)___ 152(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
I swallow hard, glancing down at our hands. "What if…" I lick my lips, my heart pounding. "What if you can't protect me?"
"What if I can?" he asks.
It's a dangerous question.
Part of me wants to believe he can. I want to put my trust in his hands, and let him help carry some of the weight for a while. But I can't do that…can I?
I ask myself the same damn question all the way to Silver Spoon Falls. By the time we pull up into my dad's old neighborhood, I smell the smoke lingering in the air and my stomach churns with anxiety.
"Is it still burning?" I ask, glancing over at Emmett.
"No. We dumped hundreds of thousands of gallons of water on it last night. You may see pockets of steam rising, but the fire is out. Occasionally, a fire will reignite, and we have to come back out and hit the hot spots," he explains. "But there isn't much left to ignite here."
"Oh." I sigh softly, trying to process that but I'm not really sure where to begin. Yesterday, the house was full of my dad's stuff. Last night, it was a blazing inferno. I guess now it's just a charred relic.
But I don't think I really understand exactly what that means until Emmett pulls his truck to a stop on the curb, and I get my first look at the house. Or what's left of it, anyway. My entire life, the two-story Victorian stood in the same spot, tall and proud. Now, steam and smoke mingle where the roof once was. Trees are visible where siding and windows stood just yesterday. The only thing left is a pile of steaming rubble and the foundation.
I stare out at it for a long time, not speaking. I'm not sure I have any words. It's just…sad. This is what's left of my childhood. This is what's left of our parents. Does Nate even comprehend the gravity of what he did? The seriousness? He was so young when we lived here, maybe he doesn't understand. But all my memories of my mom were in that house. Nate didn't just burn down an empty building. He burned down every memory we made inside, too.
I'm…mad about it. So damn mad.
"What are you thinking, Red?" Emmett ask quietly, reaching for my hand. His fingers close around mine, his grip strong, steady. It grounds me, gives me a little bit of strength.
"I don't know," I whisper. "I'm thinking that all of my memories just burned down. I'm thinking that it's sad that my dad's whole life has been reduced to this. And part of me feels horrible for being a tiny bit relieved that I don't have to keep coming here after work every day to try to sort through his belongings and figure out what to do with them."
"You aren't horrible." Emmett cups my cheek in his free hand, turning my face toward his. "Packing up a house after a loved one dies is mentally and emotionally draining. When you've spent most of your life estranged, it's even more so. And you may have made your memories in that house, but they don't live there, baby." He releases my hand, pressing his to my heart. "Those live right here. They didn't burn with the house. They'll stay right here."
I jerk my chin in a nod, taking a shaky breath. "You're right," I whisper. "I'm just feeling sorry for myself."
"You're allowed. Your childhood home was burned down." His gaze flickers across my face. "Were you able to save anything before the fire?"
I nod, glancing back out at the wreckage. "Yeah. Nate and I had already taken a few things we wanted to keep back to our place. We were planning to donate the rest or give it away."
He strokes my cheek. "I'm going to hop out and check on things, make sure nothing is smoldering. Do you want to come with me?"
I quickly shake my head. I've seen more than enough. "I'll just stay here. I mean, if that's okay."
"Yeah, baby." He grins. "That's fine with me. I'll be right back."
I watch in silence as he hops out, slamming his door. I lose sight of him as he circles to the back of the truck, but he reappears a few minutes later with a fire extinguisher in one gloved hand and some sort of pole in the other.
My eyes follow him as he ducks under the fire tape and then jogs carefully toward the rubble, planting his feet carefully. I'm not sure exactly what the pole is, but he jams it into the rubble here and there, shifting things around, searching for anything that's smoldering. He moves carefully, confidently, as if he's done this a thousand times before.
The man is…well, he's something. I don't think I've ever met anyone like him. He's so damn capable, so sweet. And so damn bossy too. There's something about the combination that fascinates me. If this were any other time, if it weren't impossible, I would have fallen at his feet already. But this isn't any other time. He deserves better than to get tangled up in my mess.