Page 80 of Memories with Fire

“You can, and you will. I’m not leaving you behind, and I’m not going to sit around and wait to die or be rescued. Face your fear, mom. You aren’t dad. I’m not dad. We’re not going to die today, okay? I refuse to let that be our future,” I tell her, putting as much conviction behind my words as I can, holding my hand out. “You can do it. You are brave, just like me. We can face this together.”

Meeting my eyes, she tentatively places her hand in mine, then slowly nods. “Okay. We can do this. Together.”

“Together, mom. You and me, just like always.”

She mimics the movements I made, getting on the ledge, flipping around, and lowering herself until she has her footing. It’s slower than I’d like, but then she’s beside me and I’m putting an arm around her in a quick but tight squeeze, pride rippling through me that she did it.

“Good job,” I praise. Now for the hard part. Actually moving along the roof to the neighbors. But I’m not about to point that out. “Hard part is over. We just need to get to the next window.”

“Right, okay, sure, I can do it.” Before I can stop her, she glances towards the ground. “Oh god.”

Grabbing onto her shoulder, I give it a little shake to pull her attention back to me. “Don’t look down. Just focus on what we’re doing. One step at a time.”

Another window breaks somewhere in the house, and my mom shrieks, ducking like the glass exploded right above her. For one second, fear consumes me thinking that this will set her back and make her not want to move, but it has the opposite effect. She’s turning in the direction we need to go and scrambling up one side of a peak, then back down the other towards the neighbors window next door.

Thank god for small miracles.

I don’t waste any time following her, and then we’re both hitting the window like our lives depend on it. When no one answers after a minute, I urge my mom onwards to the next set of neighbors, but it isn’t until we get to the last townhouse in the row that someone answers our knocks, letting us in when they recognize me.

My mom goes in first, and I follow, letting my neighbor help me through. Right before I’m totally inside, I hear the sirens. I know it isn’t my crew who are stationed all the way down in Santa Rosé, but my heart still skips a beat as my brain goes straight to Luke.

I’ll see him again.

I survived.

I did it.

Grabbing my mom’s hand, we let my neighbor lead us down the stairs and out of the house to the front yard, where we’re met with a crowd standing outside, watching the scene. Looking in the direction of my townhouse, I inhale in a sharp breath, tears prickling my eyes. There’s little chance of saving much of it, which leads me to believe that Priscylla probably lit more fires as she went along.

Fuck.

Priscylla.

A sheriff's deputy is across the road, talking on his radio, and I let go of my mom’s hand to race towards him, my mother yelling after me. The quick movement has me lightheaded, but I push ahead until I reach his side. I recognize him from around town but can’t recall his name.

“Hailey, are you—” he says, obviously knowing me better than I know him.

“I need you to get in touch with Lieutenant Nate Miller and firefighter Luke Reyes from the Santa Rosé fire department. Station nine. Tell them Priscylla did this. I don’t know where she?—”

“Whoa, whoa, hold on, slow down,” the man interrupts, holding up his hands. “Start from the beginning.”

But I can’t. Fight or flight has been overriding everything, and now my body and mind are quickly moving into relief and recovery. My head pounds against my skull, and then my world starts to tilt on its axis, the nausea back full force. Turning away from the officer just in time, I lose the contents of my stomach all over the pavement, unable to stop it. When I’m done heaving, I sway, the world going dark around the edges, and all I can hope as I feel myself going down is that I don’t hit my head.

CHAPTER 27

LUKE

Crashingthrough the doors of the emergency department at Santa Rosé General Hospital, I rush towards the nurse’s station. A nurse, a brunette I vaguely recall from somewhere besides other trips to the hospital, leaps up at the commotion I make.

Jordan. Nate’s sister.

If it weren’t for the phone call Nate made when we were on our way here, I wouldn’t have a clue where I knew her from. Nate’s engagement party.

“She’s—” Jordan starts.

There’s no time for niceties, and I interrupt, frantic, ready to take off in whatever way she points. “Where is she? Where? Which way?”

“—not here yet,” she finishes.

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