Page 150 of Burning Ember
And somehow, I need to find the strength to show it to her.
Sitting beside me in the cab of my truck, she stares out the window. Every so often, she shoots me a wary glance, one that accompanies a feeble smile with tight lines around her mouth, as if she can sense what’s coming.
Fuck.Maybe I should wait and do this another day, after we’ve shared more good times than bad.
I expel a long breath and rub my hand vigorously over my head. Doubts circle, and for the millionth time, I nearly pull over and turn around.
“Mav, what’s going on? I can feel your tension from here.”
I grab her hand and force a smile. After lacing our fingers together, I kiss her knuckles. “I have to show you somethin’. It’s just . . . not gonna be easy.”
Her gaze runs over my face. “Okay.”
I fight the feeling of a heavy rock in my stomach as I turn onto the dirt road. Ember’s fingers tighten over mine.
“It’s up this road a bit.”
A few minutes later, I catch a glimpse of the top of it. She must see it too because she shifts in her seat and leans forward.
The cab is dead silent as we get closer and pull in front of it and to the side of the road. I’m sure her mind is swirling with questions. Instead of answering them, I fist the steering wheel and use the moment of silence to try to push down the dread circling in the pit of my stomach.
I stare forward and purposely avoid the wreckage that sits forty yards from the road.
“We’re not that different,” I tell her. “We both needed to burn the past to try and move on from it.” I look over and see concern and confusion mar her gorgeous features. Under my breath I mutter, “Only you’re stronger than I am, Doll, because I could never move on.”
I rub my thumb over the scar on her wrist. Again, I’m floored by her fortitude and the fight she holds in that little body of hers.
She’s risked her life trying to survive her ex. She’s worked her ass off to provide for her family, and she’s put her own dreams on hold because a child that wasn’t even hers needed her.
What the fuck have I done?
I’ve wasted years letting the past eat at me.
I became the very man my parents feared I’d become.
And I nearly killed the only woman who could be my salvation.
Drawing in a deep breath and pushing past the pain, I turn my head and let my eyes roam over tumbleweeds that have blown into what would have been the front yard. My chest burns white hot. I scan the charred remains of what was supposed to be my home. The place I was going to raise my kids, and make memories, be a father, and grow old with my wife.
When I look at it, I see it for both what it is now and what it was meant to be.
The house was only framed when I threw the cocktail bomb. The entire left side is gone. Maybe seventy-five percent of the structure is left standing. But half of the roof is caved in, and a blackened truss lays where the stairs should be. The rest of it is ash and dust, carried away with the wind. Even the wood is warped and rotted. Pieces of it are completely missing. It’s a sad sight. Dead. Lifeless.
Apt since that’s what I’ve been since I lit it up.
I pull into the dirt drive and after throwing the truck into park, I open my door. A few seconds later, Ember does the same. She meets me at the front of the truck and curls one arm around mine, and uses her other hand to thread her fingers through mine. I feel so many things from that connection. Her sympathy and understanding. But above all, she lends me her strength.
Knowing I don’t have to face this inescapable agony alone makes it almost bearable.
For more time than I’m probably aware of, I inspect the damage.
I finally confess, “I did this the day I found her.” In my mind, I rewind and replay that night and how the flames devoured the newly framed wood and crawled up the front of the house.
I was a mess. Because not only had I become best friends with my good buddy Jack, and was on bottle number two, but also because finding her like that had ruined me. Ruined the man I’d been, the future I’d planned, and my chances of fulfilling the memories with the child I’d dreamed of. I just wanted to put an end to it all. Erase it as if I’d never had the damn dreams in the first place.
So I tore off my shirt and shoved a piece of it inside the bottle. After taking a lighter from my pocket, I lit the shirt and for a split second, I considered not tossing it.
That’s how fucked up I’d been. The pain had consumed me and I was going to let the fire finish the job.
