Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 33213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Chapter Eleven
Briar
The historic Rosemont Hotel looks like something out of a storybook—white pillars, sprawling front lawn, a chandelier the size of my car hanging from the lobby ceiling.
The school district couldn’t have picked a fancier venue for the fundraiser, and my kindergarteners are losing their minds over it. “Miss Tate, is this a castle?”
“Is there a princess?”
“Is Captain Saxon coming?”
The last question makes my throat tighten.
“No,” I say gently. “He’s working.”
Junie pouts. “He should come anyway.”
I smile, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Believe me, sweetie, if he could be here, he would.”
Her grin grows a little too knowing, but she runs off to join the other kids forming a crooked line near the cookie table. I try to focus on the raffle baskets, the sign-in sheets, the parents milling around in glittery outfits, the PTA drama unfolding in the corner—but my mind keeps circling back to last night.
Saxon on my porch. Saxon’s hands on me. His mouth brushing mine.
His radio crackling and ripping him away. My lips still feel warm from the almost-kiss. I’m still shaking from the way he looked at me—like he wanted to consume me and protect me simultaneously, like he was breaking some vow just by touching me.
And the strangest, scariest part? I didn’t want him to stop.
“Junie!” I call.
She’s wearing a glittery tulle skirt and spinning like a malfunctioning ballerina. She giggles, hair flying, arms outstretched. I feel a rush of tenderness. A rush that turns to ice the moment the fire alarm begins to wail. Piercing. Violent. Not a drill.
Smoke rolls down the hallway like a living thing.
Children scream. Parents shout. Pandemonium erupts in seconds.
I freeze for half a heartbeat—just half—before I run.
“JUNIE!” I scream, the word tearing out of me like something primal.
She was near the dessert table. Near the corridor. Near the smoke.
“JUNIE! BABY, ANSWER ME!”
I plunge through the crowd, shoving past frantic parents. The smoke thickens—gray, choking, stinging my eyes. Voices blur. Alarms echo. Chairs crash.
My heart shreds.
“JUNIEEEEEEE!”
Nothing.
My chest caves. I can’t breathe. Sweet God, I can’t—
Then I hear him. Not my daughter. A voice deeper. Rougher.
“SAXON!” someone shouts.
“Saxon, over here—!”
I whip around.
He’s across the parking lot—helmet clipped to his belt, fire jacket half on, black T-shirt still visible. His crew is scrambling behind him, sirens wailing, but he’s already sprinting toward the building. Not toward the fire. Toward my voice.
“SAXON!” I sob. “SHE’S IN THERE! JUNIE—she’s—she’s in—”
He’s in front of me before I finish, hands gripping my arms hard enough to anchor me to the earth.
“Where?” he demands. “Where was she?”
“Near the dessert table—down the left hall—she—she—”
He cups my face, forces my gaze on him. “I’ll get her. I swear to God, Briar, I’ll get her.”
And then he runs into the hotel without waiting for backup. No hesitation. No fear.
Not as a firefighter. As something else entirely—something raw and feral and driven by a force even stronger than duty.
I collapse to my knees. “Please,” I whisper. “Please find her.”
Time stops meaning anything. Smoke pours out of broken windows. Flames spit from the roof. Parents cry. Kids wail. The world blurs into a nightmare. Every few seconds I think I hear Junie’s voice—but it’s always another child. Every few seconds I think I see Saxon—but it’s always another firefighter. My vision swims. My knees shake.
“Come on,” I whisper, rocking forward. “Come on, come on…”
Then a silhouette appears in the smoke.
Large. Broad-shouldered. Stumbling slightly.
My breath catches.
He emerges from the haze—
Saxon.
Carrying Junie in his arms. Her face is buried in his chest. Her fist clutching the collar of his jacket. He’s coughing, limping, soot streaked across his skin, shirt singed at the shoulder. His forearms are blistered and raw. But he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t falter. He holds her like the most precious thing he’s ever protected. I scream and run to him, sobbing.
“JUNIE!”
He drops to his knees the moment I reach him, setting her gently in my arms.
She clings to me, crying. “Mommy!”
I choke out a laugh-sob, burying my face in her hair. “Are you hurt? Baby, are you hurt—?”
She shakes her head. “Just scared.”
I cradle her tight. Then I look up at Saxon. He’s gasping. Burned. Covered in ash. Chest heaving like he ran through hell and back. He meets my eyes then and something inside me breaks.
“Saxon,” I whisper.
He tries for a smile. “Told you… I’d get her.”
A sob punches out of me so hard I fold forward, reaching for him instinctively. He catches my hands. His palms are rough. Trembling. Hot from burns. But he squeezes my fingers like he needs the contact as badly as I do.
“You went in alone,” I breathe.
His jaw flexes. “She’s yours.” He pulls his hand from mine and presses it over his chest. “And she’s mine,” he says simply.
No hesitation. No fear. No pretending. The words hit me harder than the sirens, the smoke, the chaos. He didn’t just save her. He claimed her. He claimed both of us.