Page 12 of Burned By My Mate

She glares at me, but I see thehesitation.The flicker ofuncertainty.She knows I’m right.

She exhales sharply.

“Fine.”

Relief floods me and my bear all at once.

“But just until I figure things out,” she adds.

I nod.

We’ll see about that,my bear says, and I smile determinedly.

I push back from the counter and stand, grabbing my keys.

“Where are you going?” she asks.

“To work.”

She blinks. “Wait—you still have to work after last night?”

I huff a dry laugh. “Fires don’t wait for a convenient schedule.”

Shesoftensslightly, like she hadn’t considered that.

“Lock the doors behind me,” I say, grabbing my jacket. “And if anything feels off, you call me. No second-guessing.”

I pass her the paper with my phone number on it and she takes it.

I expect a fight, but to my surprise, she nods.

“Okay.”

I pause, studying her.Her messy hair. Her sleepy eyes. The faint trace of vulnerability beneath her sharp attitude.

She has no idea what she means to me, but soon, she will.

I head for the door, my bear still restless. Something tells me things are about toget a lot worsebefore they get better.

And I need to beready.

FIVE

Emerson

I don’t like feelinghelpless.

It’s an old wound, a leftover from years of moving from place to place, never reallybelonginganywhere. After my mom passed, and my dad, I was used to just relying on myself. I’ve always had to figure things out on my own, so relying on someone else—especially Logan—isnotsomething I’m used to. But after everything that’s happened, I don’t have much of a choice.

So, here I am, sitting in Logan’stoo-clean kitchen, staring at my phone, trying to come up with a plan that doesn’t involve me being acharity case.

I need to find a place to stay, a way to get back on my feet, because I can’t stay here forever, even if a small,treacherouspart of me kind of wants to.

I shake off the thought and stand, grabbing my coffee. The house istoo quietwithout Logan here, and the weight of everything is pressing down on me.

I need to do something—anything—to keep from spiraling.

I glance toward the door, debating if I should step outside for some fresh air. Maybe get a better feel for my surroundings. Logan’s house is on theedge of town, surrounded by thick trees and a gravel driveway that stretches far enough to make his place feel almostsecluded.

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