Light Up The Night (Firehouse Three Book 2)

by Regina Cole

  Once there were three wet—but much better smelling, except for Gossamer—dogs, Everly set them free in the house to dry. Peeling her own wet clothes off, Everly heard a thunk as she dropped her wet jeans into the washer. What was that? She reached into the soggy pocket.

  “Shit,” she said, pulling her cell phone free. With a silent prayer to whoever might be listening, she tried to power it on.

  Nope. Completely dead. Drowned.

  She tossed it atop the dryer and stepped into the shower. She’d shove it in a bag of rice and head to the cell phone store tomorrow if that didn’t work. As steam rose around her, she wrapped her arms around her naked body and looked over at that lifeless hunk of plastic.

  Drake had promised to text her. How would she know he was okay? There wasn’t any landline here, she couldn’t just call him to let him know. She’d have to spend the entire evening wondering if he was okay. Not knowing. Being there alone, when they were supposed to be together. Being safe, while he was in danger.

  How was she ever going to handle this?

  She turned to face the spray, and told herself that the wetness on her cheeks was all from the shower.

  Crying for him wasn’t smart, because they weren’t anything to each other. Not yet. They couldn’t be. It was too soon.

  Her heart called her a rotten liar.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Belinda screamed at the stupid hotel, but the smoke kept billowing out from the ground floor anyway.

  After days of planning, she’d been ready to roll on Plan B. She’d hired an actor—kid was nineteen, but looked like he was still waiting for his first wet dream—to accuse Everly of messing with him when he was underage. The ruination would be public, ugly, and final.

  No way in hell could Drake stay with a woman accused of being a pedophile. Even his parents would have to jump in on that one—with his name being what it was, his reputation had the potential to drag down Hammerfell Investments if he was involved in a public scandal like that.

  But now? Since she’d been dragged out of her bed at o’ dark-thirty and all her shit was still inside the Hyatt doing a damn good imitation of beef jerky inside a mesquite wood grill?

  All that shit was on the back burner. Literally.

  “Un-fucking-believable,” she growled as she paced back and for the behind the police tape. There were flashing lights everywhere, hotel guests and staff milling around to watch the carnage.

  Apparently the fire had started a few buildings down, but something had exploded, and lucky for Belinda, her hotel was joining in the fun. The only positive she could see in the whole situation was that there were firemen everywhere.

  Drake had to be there somewhere, didn’t he?

  She craned her neck, pushing against the bright yellow tape to get a better look at the fire engine that had just joined the scene in front of the Hyatt. Several guys in turn-out gear were climbing down and trading off with the crew that had been manning the hoses since Belinda and the rest of the guests had been evacuated.

  And then she saw him. He’d just taken his helmet off as he exited the building. Dirty, and sweaty, and gross, but it was him.

  “Drake!” She screamed his name and tore through the stupid plastic tape. Sprinting for him, she dodged trucks and stunned firefighters to reach his side, right there at the base of the smoking hotel.

  God. To think he was here, finally, within reach. He’d come to save her, he’d—

  “Watch out!”

  The shouted warning jerked her gaze toward the sound, but she had no way to stop the massive ladder as it descended directly toward her.

  Something heavy caught her around the middle, and she had the incredible sensation of flying as she went backwards, a strong arm wrapped around her back, another cradling the back of her head and protecting it from the impact against the blacktop.

  The ladder connected with the back of her rescuer’s head and he went limp.

  “Oh shit. Drake! Drake, are you okay?” She slapped his face, trying to wake him up. He was out for the count, a streak of blood running down his cheek. His leg was still pinned under the huge, heavy ladder.

  Someone dragged her away from him as another guy barked into his radio. Only a handful of seconds later an ambulance pulled up.

  “You’re taking me with you,” Belinda demanded of the EMS. “I’m his fiancée.”

  The paramedic just kept strapping Drake down, but he didn’t argue when Belinda climbed into the back of the ambulance next to him.

  “It’s okay, Drake, I’m here.” She patted the back of his hand awkwardly.

  Finally, she was where she should be. Right beside her Hammerfell. He better bounce back fast from this. She wanted a June wedding.

  After the most sleepless night she’d had in a very long time, Everly loaded up to head home. With all the dogs secured in their car harnesses, and the small bag she’d packed in the trunk, along with the things Drake hadn’t had a chance to take with him, she climbed into the driver’s seat.

  The first faint fingers of dawn were stretching out over the house’s roof. She’d be home by eight. Since it was Sunday, the cell phone place wouldn’t open until eleven. There were hours to kill, but she couldn’t just sit around the house and pretend everything was fine. So, she drove.

  A cup of drive-through coffee was the only breakfast she needed, and she sipped it slowly as she headed down the highway. But after only a few miles, the silence was getting to her. Gossamer’s loud, sniffly breathing wasn’t enough of a distraction from her swirling thoughts.

  Drake was the most important person in her life. She knew that now. After pacing a hole in the floor all night because she couldn’t hear a word from him, she was definitely convinced of that fact. But asking him to quit his job because it made her worry wasn’t a possibility. So, how could she handle this? Falling in love with him hadn’t been in her plans, but now that it had happened, what was she to do?

  She’d love to call Jesse and talk it through, because her best friend was going through the same damn thing with Hunter, but her lack of a cell phone put the kibosh on that idea.

  Miles ran by without any solution, and Everly wasn’t sure if she should scream or rip her hair out at the quiet. She settled for punching the power button on the radio.

  A fun, poppy dance beat came through the speakers. It chafed, but it was a damn sight better than being alone with her thoughts. The song ended, and the deejay came on. Everly wasn’t really paying attention to the first half of the news report, but then the word “explosion” caught her attention, and she cranked the volume higher as her other hand went white-knuckled on the steering wheel.

  “…last night. Emergency crews have been on the scene nonstop since it happened, and early this morning a second explosion happened, spreading the fire to several nearby buildings. Preliminary reports have stated that at least one firefighter is missing, possibly dead, and several more are injured.”

  Everly pulled over onto the shoulder and stopped. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t blink. Her heart had turned to stone in her chest.

  Drake.

  17.

  Autopilot was an amazing thing. If not for Arrow whining in the backseat behind her, Everly didn’t know how long she would have sat there on the shoulder of the highway, staring off into space, frozen like a slab of meat. But when her dog pawed at the back of the seat, Everly’s muscles kicked into gear, and somehow she made it home.

  Unloading the pups didn’t take that long, and she did it by rote, turning them out in the backyard for a quick potty trip and then feeding and watering them back inside before securing Gossamer in the crate she’d set up and locking the house.

  Her hands trembled as she tried to force the key into the ignition of her Jeep, but she kept missing the damn hole. The metal skipped around the slot like it was on ice skates. She fought the urge to curse, tears welling in her eyes as her hand shook worse.

  Why was this so hard?

  The feeling
s that she’d strapped down, the fear she’d been doing her best to smother for the past hour threatened to break free.

  She dropped her hand from the ignition and let her head thump against the headrest. Closing her eyes, she dragged a deep, ragged breath in through her nostrils.

  There was no need to fear the worst. There were a lot of people who worked with Drake. A lot of emergency personnel on site. There might have been a mistake. Maybe the reports were wrong, and nobody was dead.

  The sick twist in her guts wouldn’t relax. She had to find out what had happened. And with no cell phone, she’d have to go straight to the source.

  The firehouse.

  “Come on, Everly, breathe. You can do this.”

  Her whisper galvanized her, and as she dashed hot tears—she hadn’t realized she’d been crying—from her cheeks, she finally found the ignition and cranked the Jeep. Breathing deeply, she adjusted the mirror, clicked her seatbelt on, and threw the gearshift into reverse.

  Drake was fine. Drake was fine. Drake was fine.

  The mantra got her across town, even though she wasn’t sure she believed it.

  As she pulled up to the unassuming, white-gray brick building, the tin roof of which was peeling white paint, she was struck by how empty it looked. Three of the red doors were rolled up, their engine occupants missing. She parked on the street, hoping it was out of the way of anyone who needed to get in or out. The last thing she wanted was to be in the way of any engine or response team that needed to get somewhere quick.

  Glancing both ways, she darted across the road and poked her head in through one of the open bay doors. The one tiny truck in the back corner had someone kneeling by the back tire, a rag in their hands as they worked an iron on the lug nuts.

  “Excuse me?”

  The firefighter turned, and Everly saw that it was a woman. Short, dark hair, cut in a pixie. Her dark gray tee molded to her body, her turnout gear pants held up by suspenders. Her jaw was square, her dark gray eyes were serious.

  “Can I help you, ma’am?”

  Everly swallowed, but her mouth was dry as sand. “Sorry to bug you. I’m—I’m trying to find out about the explosion this morning. Did some—” her voice cracked. “Did someone die?”

  The firefighter shook her head mournfully as she wiped her hands on the greasy rag she held. “I’m sorry, I’m not allowed to give that kind of information out until the next of kin is notified.” Her steely eyes were compassionate as she stepped closer to Everly. “Unless someone called you. Is that why you’re here? Are you next of kin?”

  No, she wasn’t. She was barely his girlfriend, really. Other than claiming that status to that blonde woman who’d called him that time, she didn’t know that she had any real hold on the title. He hadn’t denied it, but he hadn’t commented on it, either. Her fingers involuntarily clapped over her mouth and she shook her head. “No, I’m not. I just—I can’t get in touch with him.”

  “I’m sorry,” the woman said. “The fire is contained now, and in just a few hours they’ll begin letting guys go home. If you can hang tight, I’m sure you’ll hear something soon. I wish I could give you more information, but—”

  “It’s okay. I understand. Thanks anyway.” Everly turned and walked away from the station, her heart pounding fire in her throat.

  The hope that had taken her here was dwindling fast. There was only one Hail Mary left in her playbook.

  She climbed into her Jeep and drove straight to Jesse’s.

  “Oh my God, are you okay?” Jesse dropped the water hose she’d been using on the new flowerbeds in front of her barn-house and shot straight to Everly’s side. Numb, Everly let herself be led over to an upturned bucket and sat down. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “No,” Everly croaked, the fear finally winning. She’d held it down for so long that there was no hope for it now, and she had to let it free. “I’m not okay. I’m anything but okay.”

  “Tell me.” Jesse crouched in front of her, holding her hands tight. “I want to help.”

  “My phone fell in the lake and is dead, Drake left me last night to go to work, there was an explosion and someone died and I just know it was him.” Everly stared down at their clasped hands through tear-filled eyes. “I don’t know how I can do this with him in danger all the time. I thought I could, but I don’t know now, and I love him and it’s too late but how do I do this?”

  “Relax,” Jesse said, even though her own voice was thin as broth. “One thing at a time. So your phone is dead, and you don’t know if Drake is okay because he was working the explosion.”

  “Right,” Everly said. Her throat was burning, her heart thudding hard against her ribs.

  “Let me call Hunter.” Jesse pulled her cell free from her pocket. “He texted me earlier, so I know he’s okay. He would have said something if Drake was hurt. If he can answer, he will, and he’ll let us know.”

  Thank God. She’d been hoping Jesse could contact Drake’s best friend. It was the only way she could possibly hope to find anything out. She waited, hardly daring to breathe as Jesse held the cell phone to her ear.

  “Hey, it’s me. Are you okay?” A brief silence as Jesse nodded her head. “Good. Listen, Everly’s here, and her phone is screwed. She’s worried about Drake since he went in to work last night. Is he okay?”

  Jesse’s face went bone white, and Everly forgot how to breathe.

  “He’s at Baylor? Room number?” She nodded and grabbed Everly’s hand, squeezing tight. “Okay.”

  As she killed the call, Everly stood. Her knees were surprisingly steady.

  “What’s the room?” There was only one Baylor they could take him to.

  Jesse pulled her keys from her pocket. “Come on. I’ll drive you. Hunter will meet us there, he just got off shift.”

  Everly whirled and took off toward Jesse’s truck. Jesse had to nearly sprint to keep up with her. “Is it bad?”

  “I don’t know,” Jesse said as she climbed into the driver’s seat. “Hunter didn’t know either, he was working at another part of the scene when it happened. Drake went by ambulance with Spencer. Have you met Spencer yet? Tall, dark hair? No? Don’t worry. Spencer took care of him.”

  Prayers flitted through Everly’s mind as they sped toward the hospital.

  If he was in a room, then he wasn’t dead. There was hope. However faint, there was hope.

  No matter how much this hurt, she could never just walk away from him. She was in too deep for that.

  The pain in his head stabbed like someone was using his cranium for icepick practice. He didn’t open his eyes, sure if he did that he’d get hit with another stunner pang. But then again, could it really get worse than it was?

  Testing the theory, he cracked one lid.

  Yup, it could get worse.

  “Oh, Drake, are you awake? Oh my God, I’m so glad.”

  He swallowed, the burn in his throat from the smoke feeling almost like a velvet cushion next to that godawful throb in his brain.

  Okay, forget Belinda. How’s the rest of the body doing?

  His mental survey turned up a whole lot of normal with the exception of a hell of an ache in his left calf. Gritting his teeth, he wiggled the foot.

  Good. Not broken. Just felt like someone had dropped a hundred pounds on it from a good twelve feet in the air.

  Oh. That’s pretty much what had happened.

  Belinda had run through the barrier like she was rehearsing for a fucking Shakespearian play, and just at that moment the crew had lost their grip on the ladder that had been used to clear the third floor of the hotel.

  No matter how he felt about Belinda, he couldn’t watch while she got flattened.

  “Just lie still, baby, I’m here with you.”

  Before he opened his eyes, he prayed this was just a bad dream and he’d wake up next to Everly in bed at the lake house.

  As his lids separated, Belinda smiled at him as if she was Florence Nightingale and Mother Tere
sa all wrapped up in one.

  “My hero,” she said, smiling as she leaned over him.

  With Jesse and Hunter behind her, Everly closed her eyes and marshaled her courage before knocking on the hospital room door. There wasn’t a response, so she cautiously pushed it open.

  What she saw made her wish she’d waited.

  Drake was lying in bed, the head propped up so he was upright. IV poles and monitors beeped beside him. But Everly’s relief at seeing him alive was tainted instantly.

  The beautiful blonde she’d seen on his phone screen more than once since they’d been together was bending over at his bedside, her shiny golden hair falling over her shoulder, making a curtain that hid their kiss from Everly’s view.

  Her chest seized, lungs refusing to allow any breath in or out. The blonde splayed a hand on Drake’s belly, rubbing down toward his thigh. Pain speared through Everly’s heart. She had to get out of there. Then, just as quickly, anger spread in her chest.

  Drake was hers. She’d picked him, and who the hell was this woman to try to come between them?

  “Who are you?” She demanded, taking a step into the room. Her adrenaline spiked, her hands trembled. She wasn’t sure if it was fear for Drake’s condition or just pure rage, but either way, her fingertips were doing Mambo Number 5.

  “I’m his fiancée. Who the hell are you?”

  “Bitcherella?” Hunter shoved past Everly. “Aw, hell naw.”

  “Nice to see you again too, fuck-face,” the woman spat. She turned her glare back to Everly. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you. Stay the hell away from my man.”

  “Jesus, Belinda,” Drake groaned, but his hand was plastered to the bandage on his head as if he was still in pain. A flash of worry pierced Everly, but she had to get through blondie to get to him.

  “Your man?” Everly barked an incredulous laugh. “Since when is he your man?”

  “Since years ago, you fucking slut!” Belinda sailed at Everly, fingers curled into claws. But Everly ducked her advance, plowing her shoulder into the blonde’s midsection. With a grunt, she fell against the bedside tray table, knocking it to the floor with a loud clatter.