The Fireproof Girl

by Loretta Lost

  Copyright © 2016 Loretta Lost

  Cover art by Damonza

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Chapter One: Sophie, 2016

  Chapter Two: Cole, 2003

  Chapter Three: Cole, 2003

  Chapter Four: Sophie, 2016

  Chapter Five: Cole, 2003

  Chapter Six: Cole, 2003

  Chapter Seven: Sophie, 2016

  Chapter Eight: Sophie, 2016

  Chapter Nine: Sophie, 2016

  Chapter Ten: Cole, 2003

  Chapter Eleven: Cole, 2003

  Chapter Twelve: Cole, 2003

  Chapter Thirteen: Sophie, 2016

  Chapter Fourteen: Sophie, 2016

  Chapter Fifteen: Sophie, 2016

  Chapter Sixteen: Sophie, 2016

  Chapter Seventeen: Sophie, 2016

  Chapter Eighteen: Cole, 2003

  Chapter Nineteen: Cole, 2003

  Chapter Twenty: Sophie, 2016

  Chapter Twenty-One: Sophie, 2016

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Sophie, 2016

  Chapter Twenty-Three: Sophie, 2016

  Chapter Twenty-Four: Sophie, 2016

  Chapter Twenty-Five: Sophie, 2016

  Chapter Twenty-Six: Sophie, 2016

  Chapter Twenty-Seven: Sophie, 2016

  Chapter Twenty-Eight: Sophie, 2016

  Chapteer Twenty-Nine: Sophie, 2016

  Chapter Thirty: Sophie, 2016

  Acknowledgements

  I knew he was going to be a powerful man from the moment I first met him. It wasn’t just because the earth literally trembled when he touched my hand. We were in Southern California and that was known to happen.

  It was because he smiled.

  Everyone around us was alarmed, gasping and ducking under furniture as picture frames crashed to the floor. Their faces all displayed naked fear and terror. But there he was, in the middle of all that, a calm young boy, gazing at me with the gravity of an old man. His stare was so heavy that I swear that the earth was standing completely still, only under his feet.

  “Do you always smile during natural disasters?” I whispered.

  “Only when I survive them,” he responded.

  When I see him in my dreams, to this day, that is the same smile he wears. Confident, unaffected, and completely unshakable. The earth itself had no power over him. I knew then, and I never once forgot over the years to come, that Cole Hunter was something special. He was the kind of boy who could walk right into the fire and the flood, and come out unscathed.

  He would come out stronger.

  I was thirteen years old at the time, and had an overly active imagination, but I couldn’t shake the feeling in my gut that he was somehow responsible for the earthquakes. I know, it sounds like a load of nonsense. But if you had seen the look in his dark eyes, you would have felt the same way.

  You would have known that boy was capable of anything.

  Lifting the large mug to my face, I dump half its contents down my throat. As I lower the beverage back to my desk, there is a slight tremor in my fingertips, but that is to be expected when you consume enough caffeine to kill a small child, every morning.

  It is difficult to be awake. It is difficult to be here.

  I can always tell how long I will tolerate being in a place by the number of books on the shelves. When I’ve read them all, it’s usually time to move on. Glancing at the bookshelf in my boyfriend’s bedroom, I can’t help wondering why I’ve stayed here long enough to read all of the books multiple times. My job prohibits me from having any access to the internet whatsoever, so books are all I have.

  For the first time in my life, I feel trapped.

  I’m stuck. Actually stuck. Me—the queen of running away.

  Of course, I could always buy new books, but that has never been my style. Collecting sentimental possessions would anchor me to my surroundings. If I let myself get attached, when I inevitably need to leave, it will only hurt more for every item I leave behind. This is a lesson I had to learn the hard way.

  Turning away from the bookshelf, my eyes fall on the dreary city outside our bedroom window. A thick, heavy fog blankets the capital, obscuring the buildings from view. Although it is gloomy, I am grateful that I don’t have to look at the architecture this morning. I always remember similar buildings being sketched in pencil on sheets of white paper, by a pair of strong hands. I see superior buildings being born in a pair of stormy eyes, and the wheels spinning in a complex mind, determined to bring abstract ideas to reality.

  My brother. I exhale sharply.

  Every time I think of Cole, I feel like I have been punched in the gut.

  When I don’t think of him, it’s a little better. I only have the vaguely empty sensation one might feel after losing a kidney or a lung. The body can function without a few spare chunks of meat, but there is an awkward period of adjustment before the loss becomes normal—before one stops wondering whether they really can go on with their insides mutilated.

  When will this become normal for me? Five years have passed. I thought that I would have made peace with his absence by now, but I am always conscious that something has been ripped away. At first, we continued to exchange letters, and that made things bearable—but when Cole stopped replying a few months ago, I started to lose my mind. Does he still care? I’ve written him dozens of letters, and they’ve all gone unanswered.

  This radio silence is killing me.

  “Don’t be selfish, Sophie,” a male voice says from behind me in the room.

  I am startled from my thoughts as I turn around to see the muscular, half-naked man tangled up in the bed sheets. Zack reaches up to rub his eyes before opening them, and brushes some of his disheveled, sandy-brown hair away from his face so that he can look at me. He smiles. Lifting himself up on his elbow, he gestures to the alarm clock on our nightstand.

  “Big day today,” he reminds me. “I’m gonna need a cup of that good stuff, too.”

  If it were any other man on earth, I would toss my ceramic mug at his head for implying that I should make him coffee. But Zack recently lost a leg in Afghanistan, and some days he can’t even get out of bed due to pain—and not just the physical kind. I know that the simple act of making him coffee makes his day a little easier to face.

  “I think we’re out of grounds,” I say guiltily as I stare at the few drops remaining in my mug.

  “Of course we are, you coffee-slut,” he says teasingly. “I picked up a new can. It’s above the fridge.”

  My shoulders relax with some relief. “You’re a saint. I could really use another cup.” As I head to the kitchen, I try to convince myself that this is why I stick around. Zack isn’t that bad. His skills as an ex-sniper might be useless in this boring civilian life, but at least he has the good sense to remember to pick up coffee. Standing on my tip toes, I open the cupboard and retrieve the canister. I can already smell the delicious freshly ground beans as I peel back the lid, but I am startled by a gleam of light that causes me to nearly drop the can on the floor.

  In the center of the coffee can is an opened velvet box, revealing a diamond engagement ring. My eyes grow narrowed in confusion as I examine the hunk of clear rock for a long moment.

  “It’s all I could afford,” Zack says as he stands in the doorway behind me. “I hope you like it.”

  Tu
rning back to look at him over my shoulder, I try to force out some words. “This is…?”

  He smiles as he limps forward to place his hands around my waist. “Yeah.” His hands are large. They always startle me with their largeness when they encounter my body. “I thought you were going to run out of coffee days ago and find it sooner, but you’ve been living at Starbucks. So, whaddaya say, Soph? Be my wife?”

  “Zack…”

  “Do you want me to drop down to one knee? It’s a little difficult with the prosthetic, but I will.”

  He grasps ahold of the kitchen counter and begins to lower himself to one knee with a grunt, but I turn around and grab his arm to keep him standing.

  “Hey,” I say softly. “Let’s just sit for a minute, okay?” I place the coffee canister down so I can lead Zack over to our little IKEA breakfast table. As I sink into my chair, I place my head in my hands and slowly knead my temples. This is why I should have left months ago. I knew that things were getting too serious.

  There is so much that Zachary doesn’t know about me. He doesn’t know what I really do for a living. He doesn’t know half the hell I’ve been through. He doesn’t know that the reason he has trouble finding work is because my employers want me to have someone who can protect me at home, at all times. He doesn’t know that I’m already married.

  Although, I suppose, that was a fake marriage—under a different identity.

  It’s funny how nostalgic I can get about a piece of paper. My wedding was over a decade ago, when I was only fifteen years old; I wore jeans and a t-shirt to a courtroom. It was the only way to secure my freedom. It was the only way to make sure I wouldn’t end up back on the streets. It was just a legal contract—for the most part. We knew that we were children, and we had no hope of having a real marriage.

  But deep down, it was always real to me. Too real.

  “Sophie, talk to me,” Zack is saying with anxiety in his voice. “I need an answer.”

  I shake my head slowly, unsure of how to respond. Nausea makes my stomach turn at the thought of getting married to another man. After the way that my first marriage completely destroyed me—I think I have reasons to hesitate.

  Zack reaches across the table to take my hand in his. “I know that things aren’t great right now. You’re upset about Cole, aren’t you? You haven’t heard from him?”

  My eyes widen and I pull my hand away abruptly. Am I that transparent? I guess I’m always upset about Cole, lately. Standing up, I move back to the kitchen. “Do you still want that coffee?” I ask him briskly.

  “No. I never wanted any. I just wanted you to find the engagement ring,” Zack explains, with hurt in his voice.

  I busy myself with going through the motions of making coffee anyway, and ignore the diamond ring as I scoop grounds from the perimeter of the can.

  “Sophie, will you stop for a minute!” Zack exclaims. “We need to talk about this. There’s something I need to tell you, about your brother…”

  If thinking about Cole is difficult, talking about him is worse.

  It would be easier if I were just missing an internal organ; I wouldn’t mind a little shortness of breath while taking the stairs. It would be easier if I were just an amputee, like Zack, always trying to stand on my phantom limb and crashing to the floor. It would be simple. Anything would be better than being so emotionally crippled and numb that I need to stay constantly caffeinated or intoxicated to get through the day. I haven’t been happy in five years, but these last few months have been especially brutal.

  “I spoke to him,” Zack says finally. “I asked his permission.”

  “What?” I snap, turning around in horror.

  “I called your brother a few days ago and asked for your hand in marriage. I know he’s not your real brother, but since you don’t have a father, or any other family for me to ask…”

  “You asked Cole?” I say hoarsely. “You called Cole?”

  “Yes. He gave me his blessing. He said he would be there at our wedding.”

  I can’t help it. A burst of crazy laughter escapes my chest. “You called him?” I murmur, my voice incredulous. “Seriously?!” For a moment, I fear for Zack’s safety. Ex-military, rifle specialist and all, he is missing a leg, and Cole is a force to be reckoned with. At the memory of the stormy anger in my brother’s dark eyes, my heart begins to pound faster and my jaw clenches. I haven’t heard his voice in so long, and I am jealous that Zack is permitted to use a cell phone so casually. “Did you ask him why he stopped writing to me?”

  “He’s been busy…” Zack begins.

  “Busy!” I repeat with outrage. “He once promised that he would write to me on toilet paper, even if he didn’t have time to wipe his ass.”

  Zack seems surprised at this, but he lowers his eyes. “People don’t always keep their promises, Sophie.”

  “Cole does,” I say with more vehemence than I intend. “The only person who has kept every promise he’s ever made to me is my brother. And I don’t understand why he’s stopped now.”

  “He said he’s not feeling well,” Zack adds hesitantly.

  “Not feeling well?” I ask slowly, testing the words. Cole would have to be deathly sick to stop writing me. Even if he was, he’d surely ask his assistant to send me a message. And it’s been so long… No, the only real reason for the lack of contact must be that he’s given up on me. He’s letting go of his past and pushing me out of his life. Understandably so. I reach up to rub my forehead before sighing and moving toward the bedroom. “I’m going to get ready for work.”

  “What about my proposal?” Zack asks.

  I had completely forgotten. Shaking my head, I shrug, trying to find the least awkward way to respond. “No. I can’t. I won’t—I don’t want to… I’m sorry.” Okay, that was still pretty awkward. With my cheeks flushed in frustration, I move to exit the room.

  “Sophie!” Zack says angrily. “You can’t walk out on a conversation like this. At least give me a fucking reason.”

  “I don’t have time,” I call back as I grab my keys and purse. When I turn around, I am startled to find Zack standing very close. He is looming over me, all six feet three inches of him, and blocking my path. I take a step back instinctively, wondering whether he is going to hurt me.

  Zack grabs my shoulders with his very large hands, and looks me squarely in the face. My insides constrict in fear. Recoiling and twisting away violently, I toss my purse aside and lift my keys to defend myself.

  “Sophie,” Zack says in surprise, lifting his hands in a gesture of peace. “I’m not… I just want to say a few words before you leave.” He pauses, looking at me in amazement. “You really think I’d hurt you?”

  “I don’t know,” I say quietly, but I have already been glancing around the room and searching for every item that could be used as a weapon.

  Zack sighs and moves to sit on the bed, looking defeated. “You know, you’re right to refuse. You shouldn’t marry me.”

  Taking several deep breaths, I lower my keys. “Then why’d you ask?”

  “You’ve been so distant. I didn’t know what to do. I thought I was losing you.”

  He isn’t totally wrong. Feeling guilty, I move to sit beside him on the bed, and we share an uncomfortable silence.

  “I screwed up, Sophie,” he says softly. “It’s been eating me up inside, and I can’t keep it to myself anymore. I’ve done something really terrible to you.”

  “Zack…”

  “I lied to you,” he says haltingly. “I have been lying to you.”

  When he turns to look at me, I realize that my stomach is doing flip-flops and my heart is beating erratically. “Zachary. Tell me. Fucking tell me what you lied about.”

  “Your brother—he has been writing you letters. But I kept them from you.”

  “What?”

  Zack nods, unable to meet my eyes. “I was jealous. He’s this big shot CEO and I am lucky if I get freelance work now and then to keep us afloat. I read some of
the letters he sent you, the ones you kept in the nightstand… I can tell that he’s in love with you. You and I never have conversations like that. I just wanted you to talk to me for a change. I hoped that if I kept the letters it would improve our relationship. I thought that if you kept communicating with him… you wouldn’t want to be with me anymore. You would never want to get married.”

  My head begins to throb and I press my palms against my eyes. “Zack. God.” Anger surges inside me, but I manage to just barely keep a cork on it. “Just... dammit. Did you read the recent letters? Is he okay?” I try to appear normal, but on the inside, I am paralyzed by the weight of this news. My brain hurts with the effort it takes to process this, and my emotions are going haywire. I try to breathe slowly and calmly to keep from hyperventilating.

  “He… doesn’t seem to be doing well. There are issues with the business,” Zachary explains. “He was saying that he thought someone was trying to sabotage his work, or maybe even hurt him.”

  “Who?” I demand. “Did he say who?”

  “He doesn’t know. He was asking if you could fly to L.A. to help him out. Do you see why I didn’t want to show you those letters? I had this sick feeling that if you went to California, I would lose you forever.”

  I clench my fists until my nails dig into my palms. “Zack, my brother’s in trouble—and you hid this from me?”

  “I can’t tell you how sorry I am,” he says softly.

  “You asshole!” I hiss as tears of rage flood my eyes. Adrenaline courses through me, and I rise to my feet, hands twitching with the desire to punch him in the face. It takes great discipline to restrain my anger, and my whole body trembles with the effort. “Cole is the only family I have, and you kept him from me!”

  “I know,” he says with pleading eyes. “To be honest with you, Soph, I feel threatened by him. Ever since I lost my leg, I’ve just felt… inadequate. I feel like I’m only half a man.” He places a hand on his thigh to illustrate his point, and to remind me that there is no flesh and bone under his sweatpants.

  Of course. Every time Zack does something to upset me, he blames it on the fact that he is an injured vet. This one’s going a little too far. I know that it does affect him, and I’ve seen him completely break down and cry on occasion, but I have been there for him. I have held him and reassured him, and forgiven all of his transgressions due to this overused excuse. I am starting to realize that being an amputee shouldn’t mean he automatically gets to be a dick. He doesn’t get to take away part of me, just so he can feel more whole.