Page 38 of Daddy's Heart

"Tell him what?"

"That you know. That you remember. That you don't blame him for what happened to Jenna."

"But I don't remember," I admit. "Not really. Just flashes. Smoke and noise and someone lifting me up." I look at the report again. "I was unconscious when he carried me out. I never saw his face."

"But you know now."

"Yeah. I know now."

My phone buzzes again.

Colt: Everything okay? You haven't responded.

Then, a minute later:

Colt: I'm coming over.

"Shit," I breathe. "He's coming here. Well, to work. He thinks we’re there…"

"Good," Logan says firmly. "You two need to talk about this."

I jump at the sound of a truck door slamming outside. Through the window, I can see Colt striding toward the office, his expression dark with concern.

"He looks worried," Logan observes.

Terrified is more like it. And when he pushes through the front door and sees my face, that terror turns to something sharper.

"What's wrong?" He's across the room in three strides, his hands on my face, checking me over like he's looking for injuries. "Baby girl, talk to me."

I can't find words. Can't do anything but stare at this man who saved my life and has been torturing himself with guilt ever since.

"Emery?" His voice is gentle now, concerned. "What happened?"

Wordlessly, I hold out the incident report.

He takes it, frowning, and I watch his face change as he reads. Watch the color drain from his cheeks, watch his jaw tighten, watch his hands start to shake.

"Fuck," he breathes.

"You saved me," I whisper.

He doesn't deny it. Just stands there holding that piece of paper like it weighs a thousand pounds.

"I tried to save her too," he says finally, his voice broken. "I tried, but I couldn't—"

"I know." I reach for him, but he steps back.

"You don't understand." His eyes are wild now, desperate. "I failed her. I failed her mother. I failed you. When I left her in there to die—"

"You didn't. The report says—"

"I don't care what the fucking report says!" The words explode out of him. "I was supposed to get everyone out. That was my job. And I failed."

"Colt—"

"You were fifteen." He's backing toward the door now, like he can't stand to be in the same room with me. "Fifteen years old, and I let your best friend die."

"It wasn't your fault—"

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