Page 85 of Tackle

Standing, he frowned. “Funny how?”

“I don’t know. Dusty maybe. Or smoky. Just weird.”

Dusty? He tossed the box of toothpicks he held back onto the floor and was rounding the bar when a thundering explosion rattled the far wall.

What the fuck? “Emerson!” Heart racing, he kicked into a sprint.

When he reached the hall entrance, all he could see was smoke and fire. Coughing, he batted at the smoke with one hand while the other came up to cover his mouth. Heart in his throat, he searched for Emerson, feeling a weight of relief when he saw her, alive and conscious, sitting on the floor.

He reached for her, grasping her under the arms and hefting her up.

She cried out in pain and his stomach sank. “What’s wrong?”

“My knee.” She was coughing as much as he was. He needed to get them out of there.

“Hang on to me.” Taking fast action while still being mindful of her injury, he scooped her up, tucking her face into his chest.

Then he ran, not stopping until he reached the front door. He yanked to pull it open. It didn’t budge. Fuck.

“Where’s the keys, baby?”

“In my pocket.” She reached a hand between them. “Shit.”

“What?”

“I don’t feel them. They must have fallen out.”

Oz’s eyes flew to the hall and then scanned the room. There was a chair a few feet away. He went to it and sat her down. “Stay put, I’ll be right back.”

She reached for him. “Where are you going?”

“To look for the keys. You must have dropped them in the hall.”

“I don’t want you going back there!”

“Baby, we’re wasting time.” He leaned down and quickly kissed her forehead. “I’ll be fine.” He turned on his heel before she could comment further and ran back toward the hall.

“Please be careful,” she shouted after him.

Smoke starting to fill the main dining room made visibility limited and practically nonexistent once he reached the mouth of the hall. He started coughing and pulled the neck of his tee up to cover his mouth and nose. It didn’t do much good though. The smoke easily seeped through the thin material and it was getting harder to breathe. He needed to hurry.

Crouching down trying to get under the smoke, he inched forward. From the corner of his eye, he saw something flash. Giving himself further protection, he covered his mouth with the crook of his arm, crab walking in that direction. The heat from the fire was hot against his face but thankfully so far it still seemed to be contained to just the supply room.

He nabbed the keys and ran back to Emerson. He scooped her back up, ran for the door and got them out of the building.

Collapsing to the curb, he pulled out his phone and dialed 9-1-1, relaying the information to the operator between fits of coughing, stressing the need for an ambulance.

Emerson tried to sit up in his arms.

“Don’t move.” With shaky fingers, he brushed the hair from her face, rubbing his thumb over a streak of soot on her cheek.

“I’m okay.” She coughed and wiggled again, but he kept her still.

“Baby, please don’t move until the paramedics get here. We don’t know the extent of your injuries.”

“The only thing that hurts is my knee.” Pain laced her voice and his gaze flew to her leg.

A small circle of blood had seeped through the material of her jeans. Concern had him finally giving in, moving her carefully to sit on the curb. But only because he wanted to look at her knee. “Stay put. Don’t move.”

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