Page 25 of Raging Inferno

“For fuck’s sake,” she growls, rolling her eyes. “Amber, my name is Amber now start talking fireman.”

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the two empty vodka bottles and hold them out to Amber.

“I think your sister might have a problem,” I reveal begrudgingly. “Everything was fine,” I continue. “We had a couple of glasses of wine before dinner then she excused herself to the bathroom. When she came back, I noticed she wasn’t herself but I thought she was finally starting to relax around me.”

Snatching the bottles from my hand, Amber’s eyes go wide before she closes them completely.

“Oh my God,” she groans.

Fearing the worst, I glance back at Melissa.

“What? What is it?” I ask.

“I put those in her pocketbook,” she mutters, meeting my gaze. “I gave her one before you picked her up and it seemed to calm her down so, I put the others in there as a joke. I never thought she would actually drink them but, maybe if she got nervous she would look in her bag, see them and voila—no more jitters.”

“Liquid courage,” I comment.

“Exactly!”

“Want to tell me why she needs it?”

Biting her lip, she looks at Melissa thoughtfully.

“My sister doesn’t date much,” she admits. “Actually, she doesn’t date period. It’s like she stopped living after her wedding.”

“Her wedding,” I repeat, shaking my head. “She told me she was never married.”

“Yeah, well, that doesn’t mean there wasn’t a church full of people or frilly white dress,” she replies.

Without trying, I see it.

A church full of people, flowers everywhere and Melissa in a beautiful white dress, wearing a smile that belongs to another man.

“Are you saying he left her at the altar?”

Placing her hands on her hips, she releases a strangled breath as she shakes her head.

“This isn’t my story to tell,” she murmurs. “If my sister wanted you to know, she would’ve told you. I’ve already said too much.”

I don’t like being left in the dark but, I respect Amber’s choice to keep her sister’s confidence. Still, I can’t shake the vision of Melissa in white and I know for certain when I lay my head down to rest, it’s that exact image that will keep me up all night.

“Thank you for taking care of her,” Amber says. “I’ve got it from here.”

Shoving my hands into my pockets, I nod taking the subtle hint that my presence is no longer needed.

“Two aspirins and a bottle of orange soda,” I reply.

“What?”

“Make sure she has both waiting for her when she wakes up in the morning,” I tell her as I make my way down the hall. As I reach for the front door, I pause and glance up at the photos framing the wall. The largest is of an adorable little boy who if I had to guess was four years old. Then there are a few surrounding it. One of Melissa and Amber. Another of an older couple who I assume are her parents and a few more of the boy. My gaze zeros in on the final picture and my breath hitches as my eyes dart between Melissa’s smiling face and the man holding her in his arms. The man I pulled out of an elevator seventeen years ago.

The same man I carried over my shoulder for blocks.

The man I left inside that tiny church.

The one who came to thank me a year later.

Christopher Edwards.

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