Page 17 of Choosing Forever
“Yes, even volunteers. Now, I really need you to get back into your car. This is an uncontrolled area. It isn’t safe.”
I nod on instinct, even if I don’t mean to. My fingers are cold as I lift them to pull my hair back. It already stinks like smoke.Or that could just be the air. Everything smells like fire and gleams with orange and red. The snap of the wooden structure gets swallowed by a sudden cracking noise.
I stumble back a step when the last standing leg of the projection building gives. In the blink of an eye, the remaining piece of the drive-in collapses, sending the closest group of firefighters falling back with shouts of warning.
Embers float into the cloudless sky, joining the stars as the fire roars with a vengeance. I palm my throat and blink back the burn in my eyes as they wander the field, searching. A sea of identical brown jackets decorated with stripes of bright yellow and helmets hiding hair makes it harder to find him. With each name I read, my fear doubles in size until it’s so big I can taste it.
My vision blurs when I finally find the man I’m looking for. The name on his back causes me to shake from head to toe with relief.
Huntsly.
“Please, Delaney, you need to get in your car and go home. There will be an update in the morning,” the officer shouts over the screaming fire.
I’m already close enough to the car that I can lean against the door for balance. I suck in huge breaths as he opens it and helps me into the driver’s seat. This time when I look at the name on his uniform, I recognize it.
“We went to high school together, right?” I blurt out.
He blinks, surprised. “Yes. We were in the same twelfth-grade French class.”
Johnson . . . “Sam Johnson?”
“That’s me. I wear contacts now, so I don’t blame you for not recognizing me without the big round glasses I used to wear. Especially in a situation like this. Which, speaking of . . .” He leans back and hovers at the door, a hand gripping the top. “Go home and try and get some sleep.”
“I won’t be able to sleep,” I admit weakly.
It doesn’t matter if he hears me or not. The sound of anothercar crawling up behind mine snags his attention long enough for me to safely sniffle without him noticing. The swell of emotions inside of me is all-consuming, and I know I need to leave, but what if this is the last time I ever see this place?
I don’t want my last memory of this place to be of it up in flames, crumbling piece by piece.
It doesn’t seem like I have a choice, though.
With a grimace, Sam pats my window. “Good night, Delaney.”
I let him shut the door without another word. The stink of smoke stains the upholstery and lingers in the vents. I turn off the air conditioning to avoid sucking in any more tainted air and wait for Sam to guide the car behind me into a U-turn before I start to do the same.
The back of my neck tingles, an invisible finger stroking it. I dart my stare from the rear-view mirror to the windshield, where across the field, two dark eyes pierce into me.
Darren stands in front of the fire, his brown jacket heavy on his shoulders and a mask strapped around his face that would hide his features enough to keep his identity a secret from anyone else.
I freeze as we stare at one another, a silent devastation passing between us. It makes it impossible to so much as release a breath of relief, knowing that he’s okay. Not emotionally, but physically. We’re the same that way.
The hose in his hands looks like it weighs a million pounds, and I don’t blame him for the way his arms sag. I want to scream at him to run back to the fire and save the drive-in before it’s too late. To not let our place burn to the ground after I’ve avoided it for the last eight years. But it isn’t our place anymore, and even if they did manage to get the fire out right now, I’d just continue to avoid it the way I avoided him after school yesterday.
So instead of disobeying Sam’s orders and running across the field to beg Darren to save this place, I bring my gaze back to the mirror and leave.
Some places aren’t meant to be saved, and the memories we made here are better off as ashes.
“I knew you’d be awake,”Poppy says, eyeing me from the porch.
Her auburn hair is piled up into a messy bun on the top of her head, and she’s wearing a bright pink sweatsuit with fluffy brown slippers. There’s not a fleck of makeup on her face or the usual diamonds in her ears. She’s the Poppy from the past tonight. A fitting reminder, considering.
My shoulders droop as I use the doorframe to support my weight. “It’s four in the morning, Poppy.”
“So why are you still awake?”
“Why are you?”
The youngest of the Huntsly siblings snorts a laugh and lifts a bag in the air. “Fair enough. Can I come in despite the ungodly hour?”
