Page 170 of Playing the Pucking Game
Our eyes meet, mine watery and emotional, his set with determination.
“All you have to do is say the word, and I’ll go in and pull out everything I can.”
As nice as that option sounds, I can’t. It’s my apartment. My stuff. I need to do this.
“Thank you,” I say weakly. “But I have to do this.”
“Okay,” he agrees, before pushing to his feet and reaching for my hand again.
I should say no. I should be brave enough to do this without his touch and support, but I don’t think I am.
With a nod, I slip my hand into his and allow him to pull me to my feet.
Side by side, and with dread sitting heavy within me, we greet the security guy guarding the entrance and step inside.
The second I breathe in, the need to vomit returns.
The air is full of death and destruction. Deep down, I know that thankfully, no one lost their life here, but it’s hard to believe with the smell.
Linc’s grip on my hand tightens as I lead him toward the stairwell.
“Which floor were you on?” he asks hesitantly.
“Fifteen,” I confess, staring at the stairwell as if it’s a mountain I’d been told I’ve got to climb.
“Could be worse,” Linc mutters as we begin our ascent.
Despite us both being fit, we’re panting by the time we get to our floor. I’m pretty sure it’s the air that's full of smoke and ash that does it.
“Did you used to take the stairs often?” Linc asks as I walk past the doors of what used to be my neighbors’ homes.
“No, I can’t say I’ve ever done that before. Here,” I say, reaching out with a shaky hand to push the twisted door open.
I close my eyes for a beat before opening them and walking in. But it turns out that no amount of time to prepare would have been enough.
While my windows might still be intact, and my things not burned to a crisp, everything is black. And I mean everything.
“Oh my god,” I gasp, my hand lifting to cover my mouth as the tears I’m barely keeping at bay finally spill over.
I had an image in my head of what this moment might be like, how my apartment might look, but it was nothing like this.
Everything about my life is here in this apartment, and it’s ruined. All of it.
My entire body trembles as I take a few steps forward, attempting to see through the tears flooding my eyes.
The second my gaze lands on a shelf that’s full of photos of those I love, covered in black soot, I lose it.
An ugly sob rips up my throat as the stress and grief I’ve been battling with since New Year’s finally comes to a head.
But I only have to endure it alone for a brief moment because, not a second later, a pair of strong arms wrap around me and I’m nestled into his hard body. The scent of destruction takes a back seat, and I bury my nose into his chest, breathing in deeply and allowing myself to drown in him.
He ducks his head, pressing his mouth to the top of my head, and a contented sigh erupts.
“It’s okay, little P. I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”
44
LINCOLN
