It was frigid before, but the fire’s licking deeper against the ice. It’s warming up fast inside the enclosed space, the air heating as the flames eat through the ice shell, closer to us.
One of the walls is thinner than the others, just a paper-fine shell of ice keeping the fire out, and people start backing up. They’re crowding each other, retreating as the flames leap higher, catching on something with a deafening roar.
Some kind of fuel tank, something, I don’t know what. But suddenly there’s a flash, and I hear the ice cracking, and everyone’s screaming, shoving, and I can’t move or I’ll hurt Andrea, but I don’t know what to do—
Until a loud hiss echoes over the clamor.
I clutch Andrea to me, squeezing one eye open.
I’m just staring as a huge spray of water comes arcing out of nowhere, splashing against the walls and splattering down, dripping down to smother the flames outside.
Not all of the red outside is fire. I see it now.
Some of it’s a fire truck.
Holy hell.
I tumble to my feet, barely keeping my grip on Andrea, staring at the two wavering figures outside. Blurry or not, there’s no mistaking them.
Holt Silverton.
And Blake!
The two of them stand strong, fighting to wrestle the massive high-powered fire hose hooked to the truck. They’re spraying the walls down and smothering the flames under jets of water that freeze as soon as they touch the palace.
Others cry out in relief, and Clark lets out an awkward laugh, realizing the same thing I do.
We’re going to be okay thanks to one jaw-droppingly beautiful hero man.
“Holy crap,” he says, sinking down next to me, leaning against Andrea. “I knew he’d come through.”
I’m the only one silent.
Crying.
Tears of hot, uncontrollable joy.
Yeah, I knew he’d come through, too.
While the face I want to kiss forever ducks through the half-melted archway, looping his arm over his head to beckon to everyone, I burst out sobbing with the gorgeous, wonderful feeling of relief in my heart.
“Everybody get moving!” Blake calls, that voice as wonderful, as soothing, and as strong as it was the night he picked me up on the side of the road. “Train’s moving this way, people, and we’re all goin’ home.”
It’s hours before the fire’s fully out.
Even longer before the chaos starts to fade.
Blake and Holt couldn’t put the flames out on their own.
Not with just one truck and its reserve tank.
But they cleared a critical path.
They cleared an opening that let people escape the ice palace and spill across the highway to take refuge in the fields on the other side by the school, many retrieving their cars from along the road, forming tight rings like pioneers used to circle their covered wagons for shelter, huddling for warmth.
By the time everyone was out and accounted for, the backup someone called in came wailing down the road—more fire trucks and ambulances with Missoula stamped on the side.
The whole time, I never let Andrea go.
And the whole time, I don’t take my eyes off Blake, who still hasn’t found us in the commotion.
Not even as Andrea and I are bundled into the back of an ambulance. They check me for burns, look her over, and give us the verdict.
Stable.
Oh God, she’s going to be fine.
“She’s got a little frostbite, no doubt,” the EMT says, checking Andrea’s pulse. “Hurts like hell, but it’s only surface level. No deep tissue damage. We just need to keep her warm and hydrated, and she’ll heal up just fine.”
I’m grinning through my tears, squeezing Andrea’s hand so tight.
“Can you wait?” I ask thickly, struggling to find words that aren’t sobs. “Before you take her to the hospital. I just...I need to find her dad. Her dad needs to be with her.”
The EMT nods. “I’ll be here getting her settled and checking her vitals, but move it.”
With a grateful sound, I go tumbling out of the back of the ambulance.
The entire field looks like a refugee camp at this point, people getting medical treatment, hot liquids poured into them, salves for burns, bandages. People give witness statements to the cops, firefighters checking over the smoldering ruins.
I find Blake talking to a group of firefighters, standing in the way that says he’s trying to be stubborn, be strong, but he’s carefully keeping his weight off that leg. The last glow of dying fires glints off his hair, turning it to bearish rusty brown and ash.
I can’t even describe the feeling that bursts through me when I see him like this.
Standing so firm, even dirty and burned and covered in soot and sweat.
That stubborn pride’s everything I love about him.
It’s like I’m on fire now.
And I know this is one flame that’ll never go out.
I start forward hesitantly, then stop.
“Blake,” I call softly, my voice small.
He stills like I just shouted his name from the rooftops.
Slowly, he turns, this warmth, this light, breaking over his face—before he’s loping toward me, his bad leg dragging, but he doesn’t let it stop him as he catches me, lifting me off my feet, letting out a ragged sound as he buries his face in my hair.
“Peace,” he gasps. “Thank God, Broccoli.”
I never thought I’d be so happy to near that stupid name.
“Blake,” I manage raggedly, burying my face in his shoulder, clutching on for dear life. “I was so scared for you, when Justin...”
“Shhh. Quiet,” he soothes, his hands strong and firm and warm against my back. “It’s all right now. He can’t hurt nobody anymore.” Then he pulls back, looking down at me, those intense blue eyes flickering with trepidation. “Andrea?”
“She’ll be just fine,” I promise, unable to help grinning even though I’m crying so bad I’m practically melting, but I’ve never been this happy, this relieved before. “Justin had her against the ice for a while. She’s got frostbite, but no permanent damage. The EMTs got her, and she’s gonna be fine.”
His eyes light up before softening as he leans into me hard, curling his hand against the back of my neck, pressing his brow to mine. “Fuck, Peace, you saved my baby girl.”
“How could I not?” I whisper. “Don’t you know how much she means to me? How much you both do?”
He stares at me intently, so much raw, rough emotion burning in his eyes.
“Tell me,” he growls, his clutch on me turning hard, possessive. “Tell me what we mean.”
“I love you!” It falls out without hesitation, without even the slightest hint of fear, because I need to be honest about this bright flame inside me. I need him to know when we all came so close to losing each other. “I love you like everything I’ve ever needed, and I love her because she’s everything sweet and bright and free. I love you, Blake, even if you don’t love me.”
That’s the fear of it, right there.
That even after everything we’ve been through, everything we’ve been to each other...
What if he just doesn’t feel this so deeply, so hotly, so truly?
My heart twists with apprehension, like even my pulse is holding its breath.