Page 133 of Brutal Game

The fucking firemen hadn’t arrived, and it was too late.

I’d tried, more than once, to run back into the building. Jack’s friends had stopped me. I got the sense they didn’t want to, that they would’ve preferred it was me caught in there and Jack fighting to go save me, but they weren’t doing anything about it.

I agreed with them.

I wished they would.

I closed my eyes, unable to stare at the building anymore. It hurt too much.

I wanted to die. Without Jack, life seemed meaningless. I hadn’t known what made me happy, until I had him, and now he was gone.

Gone.

Another sob, sharp and blistering, broke out of me.

Gone.

“Holy fucking shit,” Isaac said, pulling me out of my grief.

“Jack?” Judah asked.

My eyes flew open.

A man, covered in ash and soot, stumbled out of the building toward us. And even though his gait was unsteady, even though I couldn’t see anything below the soot and ash, I knew. I knew it was him.

With a cry, I stumbled toward him, too. And then his arms were wrapped around me, and we were sinking to the ground.

“How? How?” I asked.

“Turns out the doorknob hadn’t fully melted. Got it to turn, managed to find my way out of the building,” he choked.

I lifted his hands. One was mostly fine, but the other had a gaping red wound on it.

“Oh god,” I said.

“Hurts,” he told me. “But not as much as the thought of never seeing you again.”

And then his hot, ash covered lips were on mine, and all I tasted was Jack. Jack and fire. Jack and flame. Jack burned me and burned me and I didn’t care, didn’t care, because he was alive, alive, we were alive, and I held him in my arms and he held me in his and we were together and Ilovedhimlovedhimlovedhim…

“I love you too, little fury,” he rasped. I hadn’t realized I’d spoken out loud. “I couldn’t lose you. Would never leave you. Remember? I told you I’d chase you down, always find you, always bring you back. Would crawl on broken glass foryou, so what’s one measly fire? You’re stuck with me for the rest of our lives, so get comfortable.”

“I love you, and I’m not going anywhere,” I said.

“Promise?”

I looked at him, brushing a hand over his burned hair. “Promise.”

A thought occurred to me. “The coach?”

He grimaced. “Dead.”

“I’m sorry.” But I wasn’t. Not really.

He shook his head. “I’m not.” He cleared his throat. “I love you, little fury. So much, I’d cheat death, steal you—and lie, if it meant keeping you.”

I swallowed. “I love you, Jack Feldman. And I’d cheat, steal, and lie to keep you, too.”

Kneeling, he took my hand in his uninjured one, and together we watched as the rest of the building burned down.

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