Page 64 of Pyre

She exhaled, something loosening in her chest, as if speaking her grief aloud released a fraction of its grip on her. “Her name was Andrea. We called her Andy.”

Jonah nodded and leaned back on his hand. “How old was she?”

“Four,” Ruby whispered, a bittersweet smile tugging at her lips. “She was going to start kindergarten in the fall…”

Jonah blew out a breath. “Four, huh? I’m sorry, Ruby that’s—”

She placed her hand over his, gently cutting him off. Talking about Andrea hurt, but it was worth it. Even if Ruby was gone, even if she couldn’t keep fighting, at least someone would know about her little girl.

“She was the coolest kid,” Ruby gushed, nostalgia overtaking her grief. “Always running, always asking questions. She was so small, couldn’t even reach the countertops yet. But she was already a person, a little human ready to take on the world.”

She paused, laughing softly as tears spilled down her cheeks. Jonah watched her closely, before pulling her into his side, draping his arm across her shoulders.

“I used to look at her and just wonder how I made something so perfect.” Her hand traced absent patterns in the grass. “This little being that had all the best parts of me.”

Memories flooded back, so vivid she could smell the strawberry scent of Andrea’s favorite shampoo. She could feel the softness of her daughter’s hair, see the bright, wide eyes full of curiosity and joy. For a moment, Andrea was still there, running toward her with that wild excitement.

The memory shifted.

Ruby’s smile faltered. The familiar nausea twisted in her stomach, the image of her daughter replaced by flames—so many flames. They consumed everything, licking at the shelves, devouring her world. Her heartbeat quickened as the roar of the fire filled her mind.

“She was all the best of me,” Ruby whispered, “And I—”

The words died in her throat, buried under the weight of heat and smoke. Andrea’s screams echoed in her memory, shrill and desperate. Ruby’s heart raced, pounding against her ribs as the stench of burning plastic and flesh stung her nose.

She clenched her fist, crushing the grass beneath her hand. “I listened to her burn.” Her voice cracked, each word forced through the tightness in her throat. “She screamed for me. Begged me to save her. And I could do nothing but listen.”

The dam burst, and the tears came in waves—raw, uncontrolled. Her body trembled as years of buried grief pummeled her, overwhelming and suffocating. She sobbed openly, the kind of release she had never allowed herself to have before. The pain was as sharp and fresh as if the fire had taken Andrea only moments ago.

Jonah held her tighter, his hand tracing slow, comforting circles on her back. His voice was soft, a gentle murmur in her ear. “I’m so sorry.”

The words didn’t fix anything. They didn’t lessen the pain. But the way he said them, quiet and unassuming, made her feel less alone. His touch anchored her, pulling her away from the flames, back into the present—where the sun still set, and the air still smelled of fresh grass.

For a long while, they sat in silence as her sobs gradually faded into shaky breaths. Ruby wiped her cheeks, feeling a strange mixture of relief and embarrassment. She had cracked open in front of Jonah, laid everything bare. But he stayed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

RUBY AGREED TOmeet Jonah at his house the next day. The moment she had said yes, a gnawing sense of guilt settled deep in her chest. She had left him alone in that hotel room, after spilling everything—every raw, unfiltered emotion—across the floor between them.

Now, standing beside him, she eyed the eight grocery bags hooked around his arms. "Are you sure you don’t want me to carry that?" she asked, arching a brow. "Seems like a waste of super strength to not let me help."

Jonah chuckled. "What, and rob me of the chance to impress you? Not a chance."

She grinned and reached behind him, slipping the key from his back pocket before unlocking the door. The doormat made her pause—a worn but well-loved print of Boba Fett, the ultimate bounty hunter. A quiet laugh escaped her.

Inside, the house was small but well-kept, a reflection of him in every detail. Pictures lined the walls—Jonah as a kid, his parents beside him, their smiles frozen in time. The house itself was white brick with a blue door and matching window peels. The front yard was neat, a towering tree casting shade over the white concrete path.

The entryway led into a sitting room, a white brick fireplace standing proudly against the far wall. Gray couches, their cushions slightly rumpled, suggested they were well-used. Light wood floors gleamed under the soft light. The kitchen wasmodern—brown cabinets, a double-doored fridge, a gas oven. At its heart stood a dining table of dark wood, sturdy and elegant.

Jonah set the bags down with a huff, rolling his shoulders. "Sorry, I’ll just whip up something real quick."

She leaned against the counter, running a fingertip over the cool, smooth surface. "Take your time." She grinned. "I’m going to snoop."

As he unloaded groceries, she wandered, tracing the edges of the pictures with her fingertips. One, in particular, made her pause—a younger Jonah, his grin lopsided, an arm slung around a little girl with the same dirty blonde curls.

"Is this your sister?" she asked, tilting her head. There was something familiar about the girl, maybe because her and Jonah had such similar features.

He glanced over his shoulder. "Yup. I was six in that picture. She was four."

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