Page 220 of Waiting Game

His snarl has me glancing at him, focusing on him—my light at the end of the tunnel.

“That’s it, baby,” he croons, exaggeratedly inhaling and exhaling until I’m following him, my tunnel vision beginning to widen some as I look at his beautiful, concerned, furious-on-my-behalf face.

An age later, as my breathing normalizes and my panic’s chokehold on me lessens, he growls at Officer Brownhill, “Look, she had nothing to do with this?—”

“We’re asking routine questions, sir,” is the penpusher’s retort—even in my state, I notice that he calls Cole ‘sir’ but never calls me ‘ma’am.’

These two asswipes are inches away from fangirling.

“These don’t seem routine to me. Shouldn’t you give her a number or something so she can contact her insurance?”

The officers share a look and I whisper, “I can’t believe they think it’s insurance fraud.”

“Because that’s smart, isn’t it? She’s dating an NHL player and you think she wouldn’t hit me up for money instead of pulling a fraudulent stunt that could get her ass in jail,” Cole snarks. “Look, I think it’s best if you come back tomorrow. We’re both overwrought after surviving anarsonattack.”

The officers share a glance but nod and make a retreat—only because he is who he is.

I read that loud and clear without even having the energy to lift my head and study their expressions.

Cole guides them from his apartment, leaving me sequestered in his kitchen, still in the corner.

It’s only once I’m alone that reality hits.

Chuck’s is gone.

Forever.

It’s not even a case of rebuilding.

There’s nothing left.

And if it weren’t for Cole, the cops would probably have arrested me for insurance fraud.

My mouth trembles as I cover my face, well aware that my cheeks are sticky with tears and raw from how much I’ve cried since the blast.

The blast.

The legacy is no more.

I’m the one who ended the line.

Me.

I promised Chuck that I’d keep it going, but here I am, the owner of a bunch of rubble and ash.

I jerk when I see Cole kneel in front of me. His face is covered in soot that he’s swiped away with a towel, but microparticles still make him look dirty.

My mind automatically focuses on how I could have lost him tonight.

We barely got him out of that damn window in time, and watching him cough as the EMTs insisted he use an oxygen mask hurtme.

The man is a force of nature andIbrought him to this.

It’s the concern in his eyes that reaches out to me through my misery, however. That concern is for me when this is all my fault. I don’t deserve itorhim.

Reaching out with both hands, I watch Cole take them in his and close my eyes as he squeezes my fingers.

“I’m so sorry I got you involved in this.”

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