Page 21 of Hot Knot Summer
I shake my head, pointing toward the burning staircase. The firefighter follows my gesture, then looks back at me.
“Trust me,” he says simply.
And strangely, inexplicably, I do. Something in that voice, in the sure way he moves, makes me believe he can get us out of this nightmare. I nod, clutching my backpack tighter to my chest.
Without warning, the firefighter scoops me up as if I weigh nothing, one arm under my knees, the other supporting my back. I gasp at the sudden motion,instinctively wrapping my free arm around their neck for support.
“Keep your face covered,” he instructs, already moving toward the stairs. “And hold on tight.”
I press Chad’s jacket sleeve over my nose and mouth again, burying my face against the firefighter’s shoulder as much as possible. Even through the protective gear, I feel the solid strength of the body holding mine.
We reach the top of the stairs, and the firefighter pauses, assessing the burning path below. The lowest section is completely engulfed, but they seem undeterred.
“Taking the express route,” he announces, and already we’re moving, not down the stairs, but toward the banister. With one fluid motion, the firefighter kicks over the railing and leaps off the stairs. Both of us are hanging for a brief moment before dropping the eight feet or so to the ground floor, landing with a controlled thud that jars but doesn’t injure.
The impact forces another coughing fit from me. The ground floor is a maze of flame and fallen debris, the heat so intense, it feels like my skin might blister despite the brief exposure. The firefighter navigates it easily, sidestepping burning furniture and ducking under a beam that threatens to fall.
“Almost there,” he assures me even as the cabin groans and pops around us, wood splintering.
A crash from our right, part of the wall collapsing inward, sends a shower of flaming debris across ourpath. I can’t help the scream that tears from my ravaged throat, pressing myself closer to my rescuer’s chest in instinctive terror.
The firefighter doesn’t hesitate, changing direction and finding another path through the burning maze. The front, open door appears through the smoke—a rectangle of darkness promising safety beyond.
As we near it, the ceiling above us gives an ominous crack. The firefighter reacts instantly, surging forward with a burst of speed that leaves me breathless. We clear the doorway as a section of roof collapses behind us, sending a blast of superheated air against our backs.
Then we’re outside.
The rain is torrential, soaking me instantly as the firefighter carries me away from the burning cabin. The contrast between the infernal heat we escaped and the cool downpour is shocking, making me gasp and triggering yet another round of painful coughing.
My rescuer doesn’t stop until we’re well clear of the house, across the street from it, finally setting me down gently on what feels like the open tailgate of a fire truck. Emergency lights pulse in alternating strokes of red and white, cutting through the darkness. Through watering eyes, I watch other firefighters attacking the blaze with hoses, shouting to each other over the combined roar of fire and rain.
The storm continues, wind driving the rain in sheets that should be dousing the flames, but somehow, the fire rages on, as if fueled by something imperviousto water. Lightning flashes overhead, briefly turning night to day, followed by a rumble of thunder that vibrates in my chest.
“Just breathe,” my rescuer instructs, pulling something from a nearby compartment. It’s an oxygen mask, which he places over my face with surprising gentleness for such large hands. “This will help.”
The rush of clean oxygen is immediate relief, easing the burning sensation in my lungs. I close my eyes briefly, focusing on taking slow breaths despite the coughing fits that still rack my body.
“Is there anyone else who might have been in the house?” the firefighter asks, words clearer now that we’re away from the roar of the fire.
I pull the mask away momentarily. “No,” I manage to rasp. “Only me.”
The firefighter nods, then begins checking me over more thoroughly, strong hands surprisingly gentle as he examines my arms and neck for burns or injuries. “You got out mostly unscathed,” he says. “But we need to have the paramedics treat you for smoke inhalation.”
I nod, unable to stop staring at the massive figure before me. Even knowing he saved my life, there’s something intimidating about his size. I can’t see any features past the mask, just a powerful presence that radiates authority.
“Thank you,” I whisper, the words inadequate for what he’s done, but all I can manage through my raw throat.
The firefighter pauses, then reaches up to remove his helmet. Dark hair is plastered to a strong forehead, damp with sweat despite the rain. Next comes the mask, pulled away to reveal a face that makes my breath catch for reasons entirely unrelated to smoke inhalation.
Sharp jawline, straight nose, those midnight-blue eyes that had locked with mine on the plane. Atlas. The Alpha, whose scent had wrapped around me in the cramped airplane seat, whose penetrating gaze had caught me writing about him.
“You,” I breathe, the word barely audible, even to my own ears. My brain struggles to connect the dots, to make sense of this impossibly coincidental rescue. “You’re... a firefighter?”
“Fire Chief,” he corrects, his deep voice no longer muffled by the mask. Rain streams down his face, catching in his long eyelashes and dripping from his strong chin.
I stare at him, my mind spinning. The odds against this are astronomical. To be rescued from a burning building by the very man I’d been fantasizing about writing?
“Emma,” he says, and the sound of my name in his mouth sends a strange shiver through me despite everything. “Seems like you can’t stay out of trouble for even a day in Whispering Grove.” He grins.
