Page 54 of A Surefire Love
His stomach dropped. “The fire got out of control.”
“Fast. The whole garage went up in flames. A neighbor called the fire department. I’ll never forget how terrified I was.”
“Were you trapped inside?”
“No. I hid behind a neighbor’s house, watching. I thoughtI’d go to jail for the rest of my life.” The corners of her mouth lifted. “Instead, I got sent to the Blovers.”
“What’s that?”
“A foster family. I guess the neighbors saw me pounding on the door, wandering the yard, and running away from the fire. They’re the ones who sent the police looking for me. I confessed the whole thing, thinking it was my fault for making Mom angry and burning down the garage. I thought the police officer would put me in cuffs and haul me away. And Iwaswhisked away, just not to jail. It took a year for Mom to get me back.”
Even that might’ve been too soon, given Anson had never heard her tell a good story about her mom. Hopefully, the foster parents gave her a glimpse of how family ought to work. “Were they good people?”
“The Blovers?” She shrugged. “Sure. I remember a lot of fresh baked cookies and dinners around a table. But I also knew I didn’t belong. I missed my mom. I spent the year homesick. When I came back to Many Oaks, the kids started calling me Blaze. It caught almost as fast as the garage did.”
“That was wrong.” The urge to reach out was so strong, he shoved his hands in his pockets. After all, he’d taken her hands when she’d told him about her anxiety diagnosis. If she wanted that kind of comfort from him, she ought to know he was within reach, waiting. “The kids sold you short.”
“With the nickname? I’d say I earned that.”
“No one deserves to be branded for trying to stay warm.” He couldn’t help the little girl in the story, but he could help the woman before him. “We can change it back. I’ll never call you Blaze again if—”
She held up a hand. “Jenny went up in smoke that day.She’s the before, the naive girl who didn’t know how much heartache the world holds or how to handle it. Blaze is the survivor. All that’s left.”
Christ had carried her through the fire, Anson was certain. Someday, the Lord might breathe new life into the trusting and optimistic Jenny, but in the meantime, Anson’s allegiance rested with the phoenix named Blaze.
How had he ever believed his classmates’ stories about her? He should’ve befriended her. Should’ve given her a ride that night when she’d asked. What else might he have seen about her sooner? “I can’t tell you how incredibly sorry I am—for what you went through, for believing the stories.”
“What’s done is done. ” A wisp of hair fell along the curve of her cheek. “I don’t want pity.”
“Good. Because what you have is my respect.”
Her wide eyes snapped to his.
“You once said surefire failure is your thing, that your nickname was connected with that idea. I should’ve argued on the spot, but Blaze, please hear me now. The deck’s been stacked against you your whole life, but you’ve made something of yourself—Christis making something beautiful of you. Surefire failure isn’t your hallmark. The surefire love of God is.”
She pulled a lock of hair over her shoulder and twirled it around her finger.
“You are tenacious and capable and compassionate, and no matter how many times you’ve been hurt or disappointed, you keep opening yourself up. I suspect you do it every time you step on stage. You do it when you stand up and fight for Mercy. You did it when you volunteered for Rooted. You did it when you dared to ask a doctor for help and again by telling me your story.”
Her velvety brown eyes scanned his face. Her gaze landed on his lips before rising again. “You promised to tell me a story in return.”
“I did.” He considered spitting out the facts without diving as deep as she had done, but that would snuff out their flickering connection. His only desire now was to fan the flames. “Would you like to know about my brother?”
“You have a brother?”
“I d—”
“Anson. Good. You’re still here.” Greg appeared in his peripheral vision. “We need to talk.”
21
Blaze dragged herself through the first half of her Monday night show. When she left the stage for her break, she waved to Sydney and her friends but didn’t stop at their table. Her medication sapped her will to interact with anyone. Seeming to understand, Marissa didn’t linger to chat before taking Mercy home. At a table by herself, Blaze mindlessly scrolled her phone.
“I owe you a story.”
She looked up from her screen into a set of blue eyes that were fast becoming familiar. Her fatigue-heavy body suddenly felt lighter. “Since when are you back to attending on Mondays?”
“Since I had a debt to pay.”
