Leo grunts and loops his arm under Blake’s shoulders, hefting him up with his jaw clenched. “C’mon. Let’s get you on a stretcher.”
There’s nothing I can do.
Nothing but watch, while Rich joins Leo on Blake’s other side and together they guide him away, limping heavily.
“Go home, Peace,” Blake grinds out, his voice exhausted, drifting over his shoulder. “Before you get hurt. There’s nothing for you here.”
Ouch.
Damn.
I don’t need to read between the lines.
I’m not wanted. I know it.
But I can’t stop thinking about easing his pain.
One thing’s for sure: I don’t believe him anymore when he says he’s not a hero.
Okay, so I haven’t left.
Hear me out.
It’s not because of Blake, I swear.
I swear.
I just...can’t walk away. Not without seeing that everyone got out safe.
This town isn’t even my home.
Even so, I can’t stand seeing innocent people suffer. It’s a relief when the last of the flames are doused and a final inspection declares the building empty, check-ins ensuring everyone’s accounted for and no one’s still missing inside the charred, waterlogged brick building.
The back of the candy shop took some real damage, too, a strange-looking blast of black char that looks almost like it burst against the brick, but the worst of it is the clothing store by far.
Good news: there were no lives lost today, and that matters.
Bad news: a town that’s apparently already had some big fires recently just had one more.
Oh, and I managed to make a royal freaking bonehead out of myself.
Maybe it’s the hippie kid in me. Lack of attachment to material things. Flower on the wind.
But things can be replaced. So can wounded pride.
People, on the other hand, can’t.
I’ve managed to find myself a corner farther down the alley, well out of the way of the work that’s being done to investigate the debris and figure out how the fire started. Rich and a few others duck in and out of the building, conferring with their heads held close.
I’m still not supposed to be here.
I’m trying to be invisible.
And I’m ready to get chased off when Justin appears from the mouth of the alley and his gaze gravitates to me.
He’s just as dirty and disheveled and scorched as Blake, but where it makes Blake look rugged and dark and so God-like I could just lick him clean...
It just makes Justin look young, tired, and out of his depth.
But he offers me a friendly smile, pushing his mop of curls out of his face as he steps closer. “Hey, Peace.”
I hold both hands up.
“I’ll go,” I say. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”
“Nah.” He tosses his head back in the direction he just came. “The chief wants a minute with ya.”
I blink, doing a double take.
“With me?” I ask, squinting one eye up. “Are you sure?”
Justin grins wearily. “Nobody else here he calls Broccoli, is there?”
“Fair point.” I snort.
I shouldn’t be so nervous I’m barely even peeved over the stupid nickname.
Blake probably just wants to give me a lecture on fire safety, the hazards of diving into an active scene.
Honestly, I’d probably deserve it.
With my stomach leaping and fluttering like the flames they just put out, I square my shoulders and lift my chin.
Then I march off to face my fate, leaving Justin pacing the alley behind me, taking photos of the blast marks on the wall with his phone.
More for his album, I guess. Or maybe he’s trying to document stuff for the investigation, what with those strange marks.
Fate, right?
It’s waiting.
My fate, however, is currently sitting on a stretcher with one leg hanging off and his bad leg propped up in front of him. He looks as grumpy as a bear with a burr up his butt, and his leg is so stiff it looks like a lump.
That position isn’t good for you, I want to tell him, but I don’t think it’s something he wants to hear right now.
Curling my hands in their gloves, I venture, “Listen, Blake, I’m sorry for being so reckless—”
He cuts me off with a snort, almost amused. “Broccoli, since I found you down the side of the mountain next to a burning van, can’t say I’m surprised ’bout you being reckless,” he says dryly—but not without some warmth.
God, I could bask in those lilting, deep rolling syllables like they’re a glowing hearth, even with the crackling edge of pain in them. “Am I really so obvious?”
“Yeah, darlin’, you sure as hell are. And you don’t get to apologize when I’m trying to do the apologizing.”
I blink, staring into flashing blue eyes shadowed by the sharpness of his brows.
Laugh lines, I decide, tracing the furrows in his brow around his eyes, his mouth.
Even if I’ve barely even seen him smile, I know that look.
Blake looks like he’s got a face meant to laugh.
Only, he’s not laughing now while I stare at him, dumbstruck. “Um. Why are you apologizing to me?”
“’cause you keep catching me at a bad time, and I damn near chewed your head off. Again.” He grinds his teeth, jaw working back and forth, and looks down, hands gripping his thigh tightly to either side. He kneads himself so lightly it’s easy to see he’s struggling not to flinch at the slightest pressure. “You’re not the only one who’s obvious. I ain’t good at dealing with pain, lady. Especially not when I go ass over elbows in front of someone else. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you like a pissed off wolverine. You seen the shit those things can do?”
I almost choke on a laugh. “Wolverines? I—”
“Never mind. Point is, it wasn’t right of me. Not today or the night your ride went kaboom. I’m sorry for slinging so much crap your way.” His gaze sharpens.
“Oh.” I can’t stop my smile. I probably look like a total dope since I can’t seem to look away from him. “It’s fine. I mean, I’m used to getting snarled at by big man-babies who can’t handle a little pain.”
He lifts a brow.
I raise my hands, flexing my purple-coated fingers. “I’m small, but I’m fierce. I’ve done a lot of massages. Over a thousand. I’ve even taken down bigger men than you with these hands.”
He’d started to scowl when I said man-babies, but as he stares at my fingers, his lips twitch briefly—before he ducks his head with a sound suspiciously like a repressed laugh. “Okay, little fuckin’ Broccoli Girl.”
Bad move. My hands drop, bunching up at my sides.
“Don’t call me that,” I say, my voice flat.
“Don’t call me a man-baby.”
We trade scowls. Then he grins at me, and it’s a good thing I’ve got my feet planted firm to the ground, or my knees might just give out under me.
Yep, I officially hate whatever insanity this weird, electric sparky thing between us is.
Oh, but when Blake Silverton grins, you’d better believe it transforms his face.
So much emotion, it might be the full spectrum.
Wolfish. Feral. Rakish. Bright and full of secret laughter dancing in those midnight-blue eyes.