Page 95 of The Last Call Home
“Delilah Mora—no.You can’t go in there.”
His grip tightens as I struggle.I claw at him.Elbow his ribs.
“Let me go, Cass.I have to go inside—I have to?—”
“No.”He lifts me clean off the ground like I’m nothing.Like I’m everything.“You don’t get to be the hero in a fucking inferno.”
I twist in his arms, my voice breaking.“It’s mine.My mother might be in there?—”
“Rosalinda left before you did.”His forehead presses to the side of my head, his breath hot against my skin.“Please.Del, let them do their job.”
I choke on a sob.Smoke curls around us.Sirens wail closer.
Cassian holds me tighter, like I might detonate in his arms.Like he already knows I’ve broken in places he can’t fix.
“Please,” he whispers, and his voice cracks in a way that unravels me completely.“Don’t make me watch you burn too.”
I barely register the shift in the air until I feel a new presence behind me.Cassian’s arms are still locked around me, grounding me even as my brain short-circuits.Then—another hand.Warm.Familiar.Calloused fingers settle at the back of my neck, not to pull me away or force me still, just ...to remind me I’m not alone.
Malerick.
I don’t have to turn to know it’s him.I can feel the uniform.The heat still radiating off him.The scent of ash clinging to his collar.
“You gotta let the fire crew work,” he says, his voice low, close to my ear.Almost too soft to be real.“We can’t lose you too.”
My mouth opens, but it takes a beat before the words come out.
“My coffee shop,” I whisper.And it doesn’t sound like me.It sounds like something torn from my chest.Like someone else is speaking through the static in my skull.“It’s gone.”
Cassian keeps rubbing slow, steady circles into my back, over and over, like it’s the only thing anchoring me to this moment.Like his hands are the only language he remembers how to speak right now—and my body is the only place he wants to speak it.
I can feel the tremble in my limbs, the way my knees threaten to buckle, but I stay upright because he’s holding me like I matter.Like losing me would wreck him too.
Then I feel Malerick lean in.The warmth of him brushes against my side, his breath kissing the curve of my jaw.That familiar scent—smoke, cedar, and something distinctly him—wraps around me like a second skin.
“So sorry this happened, baby,” he murmurs, voice raw and intimate, meant for no one else but me.“I swear we’ll find who did it and make them pay.”
I nod once, barely, like that acknowledgment is the only thing keeping me from cracking open.His hand presses against my ribs, warm and firm, like he’s holding me in place without making a sound.Then his lips graze my temple—just a ghost of a kiss, soft and aching.My breath stutters, caught somewhere between grief and comfort, memory and need.
He pulls back, just enough to look past me at Cassian.I can’t see his face, but I feel the tension shift between them.
“Take care of our girl.I’m going to deal with the crews.Contact CQS when you can,” Malerick says quietly, but there’s no mistaking the command beneath the plea.It’s not a question.It’s a handoff.A trust.A vow wrapped in smoke and old scars.
When did they decide this?That I was theirs to protect.Theirs to lose.
The thought hits sideways.Not cruel.Just confusing.Because if I’m not collateral, if I’m not an accident ...then I’m the reason.
His voice dips lower.“Take her to the cabin where she’ll be safe.I think they targeted her because of me.Find an agent for Rosalinda.We might need to get them out of town soon.”
The words slam into me.Targeted.Because of him.
Something inside me cracks open.
Because that means this wasn’t an accident.That someone wanted to hurt me.That someone set my life on fire—and I don’t know who.Or why.Or how close they still are.The mafiosos are close.
Then Malerick is gone, cutting through the smoke like it’s just another day in the field.Barking orders.Snapping back into Sheriff Timberbridge like the intimacy of that moment didn’t just happen.
But it did.
