Page 27 of The Firefighter's Angel
I’m so stupid. I never should have gone back.
The people I trusted tried to convince me that my trauma wasn’t real. That he didn’t do anything wrong. That I imagined it all.
They brought him back. Sat him in that living room like he was the one who needed comforting.
And now here I am, hurting again. Alone again. Lost again.
Only one thought shines through the darkness like a beacon.
Daniel.
I see his face in my mind. The way he looked at me like I matter, like he would burn the world down to keep me safe. The way he held me this morning, like I’m something precious. The way his voice got all low and deadly when he told them to stay the hell away from me.
He believed me.
He always did.
And right now…I need him more than I’ve ever needed anyone.
“Daniel,” I whisper, tears choking my voice. “Please find me.”
The sky opens up, and the rain begins to fall. And I wait, curled into the wet earth, heart aching and hope flickering.
Hoping he’ll come. Hoping he’ll hear me, even from miles away.
Because he’s not just my lover.
He’s my guardian angel.
Chapter Ten
Daniel
Something’s wrong.
I’ve had that itch in my gut all afternoon. Even with the fire mostly contained, even as we were wrapping things up and the air started clearing, I couldn’t shake the feeling of foreboding crawling up the back of my neck. The same one I get right before shit goes sideways on the fire line.
Only this time, it’s not smoke or heat I’m worried about. It’s my girl.
The second I’m back in the truck and headed toward town, I dial her number. It goes straight to voicemail.
My grip tightens on the wheel. Something isn’t right.
I call her again. Same thing.
And just like that, every alarm bell in my body starts screaming.
I floor it.
The road blurs as I barrel toward the Airbnb. The engine isn’t even finished groaning when I throw the truck into park and jump out. When I see the sheriff’s cruiser out front, my stomach hits the dirt.
Ben’s here.
Shit.
I jog up to the porch, rain still falling in cold sheets. The air is heavy with tension, voices murmuring low near the doorway. Cindy’s mom is there, her arms crossed tight, shoulders hunched like she’s barely holding it together. Lenny stands behind her, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.
Ben turns just as I reach them.
