Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
I can’t be attracted to these particular firemen anymore, but my body doesn’t seem to realize it.
“Must be a slick spot out here,” Weston says when he straightens. “I’ll take care of it.”
Reassured that both of my legs are stable, Calder finally lets go of my arm, and I rush to put the mask on, eager to cover whatever expression might be on my face.
Calder escorts me into the house, where I’m immediately hit with a wave of nausea as thoughts of what could have happened run through my mind. What if the fire had started on the opposite side of the house, near the bedrooms? What if I hadn’t been able to get to T.J.?
I shudder as I try hard not to think about it.
The living room is fully intact, which is a relief, but everything is filthy.
After Calder delivers me to Buck in the den, he disappears toward the back of the house. There’s another firefighter with Buck, but when I step into the room, Buck tells him he can take a break, then tells me to be sure not to touch anything.
“You get some sleep?” Buck asks.
“Yes. And food, in case you’re going to ask about that next.”
He chuckles, even though his eyes are grim. I want to keep focusing on his eyes, because my alternative is looking around the room, and it is far beyond grim.
Nearly everything is covered with a grayish-brown film. The bookshelf has collapsed, there are blobs of plastic so melted I can’t tell what they used to be, and the floor is scarred with a dark, ugly stain.
I point to the charred mark, a few feet in front of the desk. “Is this where the fire started?”
“Yes. It appears there was a pile of things there that burned. What was in that spot yesterday?”
“Nothing,” I say. “The floor was clear.”
“Was there clothing in this room, or sewing supplies?” he asks.
My eyes go immediately to the closet, where the fire-damaged door is still intact and open. “Tyler’s dress uniform was there.” Stricken, I point at the empty, half-melted garment bag.
Buck crouches near the desk and picks up a cluster of metal buttons fused to charred threads. “The firefighters were as careful as they could be to leave the room the way they found it. Uniform remains were over here, near the origin, not in the closet. Is there anything else missing that you can tell?”
The box of Tyler’s awards and mementos I’d carefully placed back in the closet is several feet from where it should be. “This box was full,” I tell Buck as I swivel around and look for missing items. “Most of what was in here is gone.”
“What’s missing?” he asks.
“There were medals, certificates, and bundles of letters. Official commendation letters, letters Tyler wrote to me. And packets of photos. I was just … ” A sob chokes me, and I can’t finish my sentence.
“The burn pattern indicates that things were piled here,” Buck says. His voice is gentle. “Whoever did this wasn’t trying to level the house. They wanted to destroy certain items, and because you called quickly, the fire stayed where the fuel was concentrated.”
Gentler still, he holds out a blackened item in the palm of his gloved hand. “This was at the top of the stack of charred remnants.”
Tyler’s SEAL Trident.
“Was this pinned to his uniform?” Buck asks.
I shake my head and try to answer him, but the words get stuck. He’d been so proud of that pin. It represented so much hard work and sacrifice. Commitment.
I close my eyes for a moment to pull myself together, but I’m nearly undone when I feel a hand come to rest on my shoulder. A sense of comfort comes over me that’s so intense, it nearly drops me to my knees.
I wasn’t prepared when Weston and Calder reached out to assist me on the porch, and now Buck is caressing my shoulder with his strong hand, which is warm even through my coat.
I’ve been fine on my own since Tyler died, but everything in me wants to lean into Buck’s touch, and how can I even be thinking about that when I’m standing here next to the burned remains of items my husband held so dear?
I feel warm and sick and confused and angry. All of it, all at the same time.
I lift my chin and meet Buck’s eyes, and I don’t know if I feel better or worse when he appears to be in as much pain as I am. His expression looks as conflicted as I feel.
We stand there for a few long moments, just looking at each other. Inside, I’m crumbling like an imploding building, but I stand firm. Whoever did this, whatever the hell they’re trying to do, I won’t let them get to me.
No matter how much I want to fall into Buck’s arms and hide my head from the world, I won’t do that, either.