Page 78 of Ink and Ashes
But the real reason is Colson. I’ve grown attached to him, the rough way his voice says my name, the way his green eyes sparkle when he looks at me, how my blood boils when we argue, and the way he goes out of his way to protect me. And I know it’s probably just him trying to make it up to me after being such an ass when I first arrived, but I can’t help but wonder if it’s more than that too.
Knowing that what I’m doing here is hurting him this much breaks my heart. But knowing that what I’m doing here could also save not just him, but his whole town, almost makes it worth it.
Almost.
I just hope I turn out to be right.
CHAPTER 28
Colson
Ibarely slept last night. After I stormed out of the dining room, I didn’t leave my room again, not wanting to see the look on Holland’s face. Because I’m so damn angry, and I know that one glance at her would wash it all away. She’s gotten good at calming me when I feel myself losing control, and I’m not ready to let this anger dissipate quite yet.
It’s not her I’m angry with—it’s her suggestion. The fact that her theory has turned my entire life upside down and suddenly has me questioning everyone I’ve ever known, looking at them in a different light. I felt like an ass for leaving the way I did last night, but the mere idea that the arsonist could be not just someone in this town, but one ofmyfirefighters, has been eating away at me since she told me. I’ve been second-guessing every single one of them and myself, wondering if I could really be so blind to not know one of the guys I’ve worked with for years has a penchant for setting the fires we work so hard to put out.
That’s why I head out before the sun rises this morning. The feel of her hand against my skin has been on replay all night,clashing against the thought of one of my closest friends being an arsonist, and I need some space from her—more than what a four-foot hallway grants me.
I grab my keys off the bedside table, making my way out the front door of The Scarlet, and hop into my truck. I plan to head over to my parents to talk to my dad about all this, but it’s not even six a.m. yet. So first, I stop in at Cedar Lane since they always open at the crack of dawn, and then I just drive, trying to clear my mind of the mess going on right now.
It doesn’t work.
I can’t stop wondering how I never realized this situation is way more dire than we thought. I’ve been a firefighter for years, yet someone in this town has been setting fires right under our noses and getting away with it.
It makes me feel sick.
It’s nearing seven when I finally show up at my parents’. Still early, but knowing them, they’ve both probably already eaten breakfast, showered, and are now getting ready to head out for the day. If I don’t catch my dad now, I don’t know when I’ll have a chance to talk to him.
Blowing out a breath, I lock my truck and head up the front steps. It takes about a minute for the door to swing open after I knock.
“Colson?” Dad’s brows pull together. “What on Earth are you doing here so early?”
My jaw flexes. “I need to talk to you. You busy?”
Dad shakes his head, his expression turning concerned. My dad knows I wouldn’t be here at this hour if it wasn’t serious. “Was gonna get some work done with Billy, but I’ll let him know I’ll be late.” He moves aside to let me into the house.
I immediately make my way to the dining room, taking a seat, and Dad isn’t far behind me. He pours us each a cup of coffee and then sits down across from me.
“Mom already out?” I ask, clutching the mug in my hands.
Dad nods. “She met Gemma for breakfast down the street. What’s this about, son?”
I grit my teeth together, then just spit it out. “This town has an arsonist.”
Dad’s eyes widen. “The journalist was right?”
I jerk my head. “The journalist—Holland, was right.”
He lets out a low whistle.
“And worse…” I start, swallowing. “She thinks it might be a firefighter.”
Dad stares at me slack-jawed, but he doesn’t question it. He knows I wouldn’t joke about something like that.
“Do you?” he asks, taking a sip of his coffee.
I brush a hand through my hair, thinking about the conversation I had with her. Ihatethe idea that a firefighter could be setting these fires. And I’ve been taking it out on her because she’s the one who suggested it.
But I hate even more that I think she might be right.
