Page 144 of Forever, Maybe
Then another.
At last, the door gave way with a groan, crashing inward. He shoved his hand through the gap and twisted the handle from the inside.
“Liza!Liza!”
A muffled response—in here—from the small bathroom.
But the fire had spread.
Flames crawled across the doorway into the shop, licking at the old wooden ceiling beams. Smoke thickened, curling into his lungs, suffocating.
One minute. Two, tops.That was all he had to get her out before the fire swallowed them both.
He turned, spotted an old planter in the car park brimming with rainwater, and yanked off his jumper. Dunked it, wrung it out, threw it over his head to keep the worst of the fumes at bay.
Then, holding it up just enough to see, he stumbled back inside.
“Liza! Soak a towel in water and squeeze it out before you open the door—stick it over your head,” he shouted, his voice hoarse. “It’s awfy smoky out here.”
Fiery too, but smoky sounded less terrifying. And it was the truth. Most fire victims didn’t burn. They suffocated.
A beat. Then—
“Okay!”
The bathroom lock clicked. Liza wheeled herself out, her face ghost-white, her auburn hair and red lipstick stark against the pallor.
“Ready?”
“Aye.”
Normally, she hated anyone but Josh pushing her but today wasn’t normal.
Daniel grabbed the handles and bolted.
Heat roared behind them, a living, breathing thing, clawing at his back. Smoke thickened, acrid and suffocating. His lungs burned, his eyes watered, every breath raw and ragged.
His body started to give out.
Pain screamed through his legs, his chest, his skull. His lungs refused to take in air. The adrenaline that had carried him drained away, leaving only the damage.
One last push.
With everything he had left, he shoved Liza’s wheelchair toward safety—
—before his legs crumpled beneath him, and he collapsed, face-first, onto the burning-hot floor.
Chapter sixty-one
Nellhadjustfiredoff her email when the phone rang. She sat back, staring at the screen, imagining her words hurtling through cyberspace, landing instantly in an inbox, the recipient clicking open, reading, reacting.
The ringing persisted.
She considered ignoring it. Holly had a way of sounding pitying these days—pitying and just a little bit smug. As if she’d seen it coming all along, the slow-motion train wreck of her employer’s marriage.
But it might be important. And she needed to talk to Danny anyway. Their marriage was over, but he had a right to know her final secret.
She picked up.
