Page 8 of Her Ohio Old Flame

Her mother was still in surgery, her broken hip requiring immediate care. She would be fine—the doctors had assured her of that—but Asha couldn’t stop her mind from racing with what-ifs.

She leaned back in the stiff hospital chair. Her spine ached from hours of tension, and it was impossible to get comfortable. Her gaze drifted across the pale blue walls—calming in theory, sterile in reality—but her mind refused to settle.

The fire played on a loop behind her eyes.

The hiss of smoke. The acrid stench. The crackle of flames. The overwhelming heat. Her mother’s scream.

She clenched her fists in her lap.

What had started the fire? Mom had been cooking breakfast one moment then everything had gone to hell the next.

And now the kitchen was gone, the house damaged, and her parents battered and in need of help.

Her legally trained mind tried to find logic in the chaos.

The house and its wiring were old. She’d noticed the flickering lights and the way the breaker tripped when someone ran the microwave and toaster at the same time. But her mom wasn’t careless. Never had been.

Could it really have been structural? Something faulty? Or something worse?

Her stomach twisted.

She rubbed at her eyes, willing away the thoughts, but they simply shifted direction.

Work.

A whole stack of cases waiting for her return. She’d only taken ten days off, assuming it would be enough to attend her parents’ anniversary. It wouldn’t be now. Not with her parents needing care and the house in chaos. She’d have to file for family leave. Soon.

And then there was Zane.

Older. Harder. All broad shoulders and no-nonsense fire chief now—but god, still as magnetic as he’d been in high school. Maybe more so. Back then, he had been charming and a little wild. Now he was steady. Controlled. And the way he’d looked at her…

Her heart gave a traitorous flutter.

Nope. She didn’t have time for that. Not now. Not with everything else on fire—literally.

Still, her body didn’t seem to agree.

The soft creak of the door swinging open startled her. She glanced up, and her breath caught when Zane stepped inside.

Zane!

His face was a mask of intensity, his hazel eyes fixed squarely on her. His presence instantly filled the room, the same way it had filled so many spaces in her life years ago. He looked as focused now as he had during that game in senior year.

It had been one of the last matches of the season. The crowd had roared in the bleachers as the football team lined up for the snap. Asha had stood among her friends, bundled in her school’s navy-and-gold scarf, her voice already hoarse from cheering.

Their team captain had intercepted the ball and thrown it at Zane with all his might. Her boyfriend had taken off, cradling the football tightly as he weaved through defenders with an almost otherworldly grace. The opposing team had closed in, but Zane had broken away, his long legs pumping with raw determination.

His eyes had locked on the goal line, unflinching, his expression one of pure focus. Even from the stands, she could see the way his jaw tightened, how his shoulders squared as he sprinted toward the end zone.

“Hi.” She pulled herself back to the present.

“Hey.” Zane sounded almost hesitant as he glanced to her father then back to her. “How’s he doing?”

Asha followed his gaze. “He’s stable. The oxygen’s helping. He’s been sleeping on and off.”

Zane nodded, stepping closer. “And your mom?”

Her bottom lip wobbled, and she pressed her mouth together and swallowed. “Still in surgery. They said it might be a while.”

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