For a moment, I just watch him, Doc, and Leo, the way they work together. I can see the gap where Blake should be. And I can see why they’re all called heroes.
They’re the town’s knights who step up when everyone else is afraid.
But there’s a glint of approval in Warren’s eye as he turns back to me, looking me over before giving Andrea a worried look.
“You too,” he says. “Get inside. Blake, he’ll murder me if I let anything happen to either of you.”
I bite my lip, adjusting Andrea’s weight. “But Blake—”
“Needs you to look after yourself,” he growls gently like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. “Now go.”
Then his hand is on my shoulder, steering me forward, his other hand grasping Clark’s arm and drawing him gently behind as he guides us through the throng, finding a clear path through the flames. He ushers us to the only safety we can find when the entire world is falling down around us and we’re trapped inside a ring of fire.
But before I disappear under the gleaming arch of ice, I can’t help but look back, searching the flames.
Nothing.
And I send a prayer up, aching and terrified, to anything that might be listening.
My dad, the universe, the stars, God...even Andrea’s mom, if she’s looking down and watching over the daughter I cradle so close right now as I find a safe spot near the stage and huddle on a bench with the teenager in my lap.
Please.
Please don’t let Blake be gone.
22
It Ain’t Over (Blake)
Minutes Earlier
When I get out of this, I’m gonna tell her.
I’m gonna tell Peace I love her if it’s the last damn thing I do.
I knew I could count on her to keep my baby girl safe.
I’d hated having to leave her in Clark’s hands, even though I knew she’d be fine. That’s the thing with Peace. She doesn’t need me holding her hand every step of the way. She’s scrappy and smart and takes care of herself, which makes it so much more amazing that she wants me.
Hell, maybe I’m the one who needs her.
Yeah.
Fuck yeah, I do.
But I had to put her out of my mind as I stepped closer to Justin, listening to the sounds of the crackling flame, the whipping wind, the walls slowly burning closer to the ground.
Not good.
Low flame plus high wind with no windbreak?
Bad, bad cocktail. It could send this fire blanketing across the landscape, consuming the carnival grounds first, and then the entire town, and anyone left in it.
If there’s anyone out there.
I hope there fucking is, and they’re on their way to help us out of this shit.
Because with the fire truck outside that wall of flame, I can’t do anything but try to find an opening to get people out of here.
And try to stop Mr. Pyro Man from making things worse.
He lets out a harsh, ugly laugh and sprays another burst of flame, holding the flamethrower up and deliberately torching one of the small banners flapping in the breeze.
I take a step closer, spreading my hands, trying to look nonthreatening.
“Hey,” I say, keeping my voice low, soothing. “C’mon. You don’t want to do that, man. Just stop already with the flamethrower stuff before you hurt Andrea.”
I can’t fucking call her Jenna, however much it might appeal to his madness.
Justin stiffens, whipping the nozzle around and pointing it at me.
I halt in my tracks immediately.
It’s got a medium range, no more than ten feet or so, looks like. Small fuel canister on the back. If he wants to keep on being a threat, he’s gotta keep to short bursts so he doesn’t use it all up too fast.
But that means I gotta hang back.
And hope I can talk my way through this shitshow.
“You hurt Andrea,” he hisses, baring his teeth.
I pinch my jaw, still trying to comprehend who I’m seeing. Gone is the enthusiastic, wide-eyed puppy of a young man who sometimes gave in to the sorrow always hanging on his shoulders.
He’s been replaced by a maniac with a vicious smile and hard, hateful eyes that bore into me.
“Justin—”
“Shut up! You hurt her, just like you hurt everybody. This whole stupid town calls you heroes, when you’re the reason everyone gets hurt. If you weren’t here with your friends, none of this shit would’ve happened. Jenna would still be alive without Warren. No one would’ve tried to kill us again and again and again without Doc and Nine. My...my mother would still be alive.” His face crumples, and then he spits on the ground, disdainful. “You’re no hero, Chief. You’re just a fucking curse, and everyone will know it tonight. They’ll know it’s your fault this whole town died because you can’t save it now!”
“It won’t be,” I say softly. “But it is my fault your mother died, Justin. I didn’t get to her soon enough that night, as hard as I tried. Doesn’t mean you need to pass that pain to anybody else. Only me. Just let me get Andrea out of here, and you can do your worst. Right the fuck here.” I reach up, giving my chest a thump.
“Nooo! You aren’t taking Jenna from me again!” he howls.
The flamethrower barks, burping another jet of flame that scalds the air. It catches on the support arm of a nearby stall, biting the wood with hungry hot teeth.
Fuck.
I feel for Justin.
I do, even after all this.
I had no idea he’d been so psycho obsessed with Jenna as a boy, but it makes sense now. After his ma up and left him by dying...Jenna Ford would’ve seemed like some untouchable goddess, enlisted in the Army, this strong soldier who’d go away on deployment but come back every time after walking through hell, returning unscathed.
Until she didn’t.
And I guess those reserves of grief inside Justin cracked.
Building his hatred over time as he kept looking for someone to blame. It must’ve fucking eaten him up to see Warren and me and the others getting all the credit for recent events when he hated Warren for surviving Jenna...
...and hated me for not being good enough, fast enough, to get his ma out of the Paradise Hotel in time.
Maybe he’s right to.
I’m only human.
Only one man.
And there just wasn’t enough time, enough resources, to get through all that chaos when no one knew what was going on, who was alive inside, who was dead. Nobody knew about the lab incinerating itself in the mountain nearby, causing the fire.
Maybe nobody could’ve saved Constance Bast that night.
That don’t mean he’s wrong for needing someone to hate.
Or for hating me.
But even if I hurt for him, even if I get why he’s gone off the deep end with a festering wound that never healed, I won’t let this crazy SOB do this.
I’ll kill him if I have to, or let him kill me if it puts a stop to this shit.
And I take another step closer, careful, wary.
“Andrea isn’t Jenna, man. You know that,” I say. I can’t get him too excited, but I gotta snap him out of this fantasy. “You can’t bring Jenna Ford back. None of us can. You’re just taking my little girl away from me. Is that what you want? To make me hurt the way I made you?”