Page 81 of Ink and Ashes
“That’s her,” I say, my voice cracking. It isn’t often these days that I talk about her, or what happened that night. Part of me had hoped I’d never have to again.
“She, um, she didn’t make it out,” I continue. “And it was my fault. When I’d found her originally, she was okay—she was trying to help our elderly neighbour down the stairs. She insisted I get him out first, that she’d be right behind me. And she was, for a minute. Then there was an explosion, and when I turned around again, she’d vanished.”
“Oh, Colson,” Holland says softly, resting her hand on my arm. “I am so, so sorry.”
I swallow roughly. “It was the largest structure fire this area had seen since the Welland Ranch burned, so the press was all over it. When it came out that Ellie had died, they blamed me for not saving her in time. And when they discovered she had been my fiancée, they accused me of being the one who started the fire.”
She gasps, speechless.
“For weeks, they camped outside my parents’ house—where I was staying afterward. I couldn’t leave the house. I had to take a leave from work. When they couldn’t get to me, they started going after my parents, Beau and Dom, and Cass too, accusing us all of the worst thing imaginable. Claiming that I was abusive and used the fire to murder her. I’d just lost the woman I was supposed to marry, and I was dealing with the backlash from the fire. I fell into a really dark place, and I never fully climbed out of it.”
I run a hand through my hair. “Eventually, the press got bored and moved on. But they were here for a few months, and the depression lasted longer. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat. It was really bad. My family tried everything to help me, but nothing worked. At least not until they hired a therapist to come to the house. For a few weeks, we would just sit in silence. But eventually, his presence pissed me off to the point where I started talking. And once I started, I couldn’t stop.”
I let out a breath, and she shifts in her seat. Her gaze is locked on me, listening to every word coming out of my mouth.
“He helped me get back to normal—or as normal as I could be, anyway. I slowly returned to work, slowly started living my life again. But I’ve never been the same. I still feel a lot of blame over what happened with Ellie, because even though I wasn’t the one to set the fire, I also couldn’t save her from it. That didn’t help matters either. So now every time someone from the press starts sniffing around, I immediately assume the worst.”
“Which is completely understandable,” she says. “It explains a lot about why you reacted the way you did to me.”
“It doesn’t excuse it, though. I’m still sorry for being such an ass. I know not everyone is like they were, it’s just hard for me to remember that sometimes.”
“You have PTSD, Colson. I triggered you, and I’m sorry for that.”
I turn to look at her, letting a soft smile dust my lips.
“I appreciate you sharing that with me. Do you still see your therapist?”
“Not regularly anymore, but he’s always a phone call away if I need him. When you first showed up, I started talking to him again. But he helped me come to terms with your presence, and as I got to know you better, I started to realize you’re not like the rest of them.”
She huffs a laugh. “And here I thought you had something against me specifically.”
I place my hand on top of hers. “It was never about you.” My thumb grazes the back of her hand, our eyes locked.
It would be so damn easy to lean in and kiss her right now.
But nothing’s changed. I may be opening up to her more, but she’s still leaving once we figure this out. And if I let myself get even closer to her than I already have, I’m only going to get myself hurt.
As if reading my mind, Holland tears her gaze from mine. It’s for the best. I’ve had enough hurt in my lifetime. I can’t let myself fall for a woman who could never fall for me back.
No matter how tempting she may be.
CHAPTER 29
Colson
The next arsonist-caused fire is set to happen today. After what happened with Holland’s car, we finally filled the team in on the timeline, so we’ve all been walking on eggshells this morning, waiting for the call to come in.
The rain let up a few days ago, and when it did, we had another spike in holdover fires, just as we expected. There are three currently burning that BCWS is taking care of, allowing us to focus our full attention on the arsonist.
Holland is here again too. Her car is still out of commission, and I don’t like the idea of her not having a vehicle, so she’s been using my truck for the past couple days. As far as everyone knows, she’s just been coming here to work. But we both know she’s also been keeping an eye out for anything suspicious.
I’m too close to all the guys to see any of them clearly. Holland, on the other hand, provides an objective perspective. She doesn’t know the crew the way I do, and she studies people for a living, which means she’s more likely to notice something I won’t.
I haven’t told anyone about her firefighter theory. Part of meis still hoping she’s wrong, and I don’t want to raise concerns until we’re certain.
We spend the morning doing our usual tasks around the station—inventory, checking equipment, running drills. I check in with Holland every once in a while, and each time she tells me she has nothing new to share. It feels like any other day here, except it won’t be. We don’t know what to expect—just that something is coming.
And knowing that the person responsible for thatsomethingis very likely someone here has my stomach rolling.
