Page 218 of Waiting Game

I almost drop her as another burst of flame has the glass front shattering, but I take her to the window and prop her up as I bark, “You need to roll through this.”

I help her wiggle past the opening, peering back to check the lay of the land and find that the fire’s licking beneath the doorway. Smoke is beginning to rise; black and amorphous.

As I start coughing, she rolls into the alleyway.

With her safe, I concentrate on getting myself out. Seeing as I’m stacked like a brick shithouse, it’s not going to be as easy as it was for her.

Knowing I’ll have to lever my body through the aperture, I drag the bulk of the recliner to the wall, stand on it, then throw myself through it face-first.

That seems to wake her up from whatever daze she was in because when she notices me struggling, she screams, sobbing as she clings to my jacket and tries to pull me through.

Her panic isn’t helping. At all. Not when I’m trying to shove aside memories of the horses screaming in terror, in pain?—

For a second, I freeze.

Thrown back to that time.

Tied in place by my father.

Unable to save our beloved horses.

Then, she slaps me.

“COLE. You’re going to get those hockey glutes through this window even if you have to scrape off ten layers of dermis to do it,” she shouts before screeching, “Do you hear me?”

I shake my head, forcing my brain to work, and with a heave, I start at it again, but fitting a round peg into a rectangular hole was never going to be easy.

Then, the Mia I’m used to makes an appearance.

Mouth tight with resolve, she tosses the baseball card album onto the ground, uncaring that it’s worth millions of dollars, plunks herself in front of me, and plants her feet on the wall. “Give me your hands.”

“You’re not strong enough.”

Her growl is like that of a momma bear trying to spare her cubs from a hunter’s rifle. “I’m plenty strong.”

There’s no harm in trying.

I give her my hands and snap, “Give me a countdown.”

She nods. “Three, two, one?—”

I try to relax, knowing that might help and let her attempt to heave me through.

A scream of exertion escapes her as she drags me a couple inches through the window then, chest heaving, roars, “AGAIN.”

The next time, we break off because she starts coughing as the smoke filters through the room.

It takes three more attempts until my fuckingassis through this godforsaken window.

I swear I’m never going to hear the end of this if she tells anyone.

She’ssupposed to have the phat ass in this relationship, not me.

Finally, I can scrabble through as a gust of fire hits the polyester rug beneath the recliner and tears through it.

Sweat pours down my face as I hurl us both to the other side of the alley, in time for us to see the fire rage through the office like a starved man.

For a second, both of us sit there and watch the destruction.

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