by J. P. Oliver
Fire; it came back to me at once. The gas can. The matches. The frying pan. The taser. The fire.
“This was Edward,” I said aloud. When I looked at him, I saw the grim confirmation in his face. “He broke into the house.”
“I’m sorry,” Zach said, squeezing my hand. “I should have been there—”
“He shouldn’t have been there. It had nothing to do with anything you did or didn’t do—”
“I just should have been there.”
I saw the guilt in his face. The expression was too familiar, too comfortable where it sat.
“I could have done something. Could have stopped him, I don’t know. It would have been better to have two people there, right?” He shook his head, eyes downcast as he swallowed—as if he was the one who’d done something wrong. “You needed me, and I wasn’t there for you, so I’m sorry—”
“Zach.” I took his face in my hands, framed the regret there and kissed him once, slow and tender. He didn’t kiss back—maybe he thought he didn’t deserve to—but let me give it to him. When we separated, he looked disappointed in himself. “This is not your fault. You hear me?”
He nodded.
I grinned, thumb brushing his cheek. “I want to hear you say that to me.”
Zach shot me a dubious look.
“This….” I led, expectant.
“This isn’t my fault.” Zach said it but didn’t look like he believed it.
I kissed him again, reassuring, and this time he kissed back, sighing into it.
“This isn’t your fault, Zach,” I murmured, holding his gaze. “This was Edward. I saw him before passing out. This is only his fault. No one saw this coming.”
At the sound of the door opening, we drew apart, but he kept hold of my hand. I doubted he would be letting go of it anytime soon.
Sara poked her head in through the door, smiling. “You’re awake. Finally.”
“I am.”
“Good. I just came in to check up on you.” She nudged the door shut behind her, flipping through my chart. With a little wellspring of pride in my chest, I thought of how far she’d come as a doctor. “You’ve sustained some burns—as I’m sure you’ve noticed—and I treated you for smoke inhalation. You’re lucky Zach here got you out when he did.”
I looked at Zach, heart soaring. My hero.
“I wrote up a prescription for some antibiotic cream and would definitely recommend some acetaminophen as well,” Sara said, looking up at me. “We’ve given you plenty of fluids via IV but stay hydrated. Zach, force-feed him water if you have to. And make sure you’re coming in to dress your wounds. I know you’re a doctor and all, but it’s not like you can make any excuses. You work here, after all.”
She gave me a sassy look that had me laughing through the dull pain.
“I know.”
“We’ll take an x-ray before you go, but after that, you, sir, are free to go home anytime you’d like to.”
Home.
I didn’t have one anymore, as far as I knew. The last time I’d seen it, I was fading out of consciousness surrounded by the sickly smell of gas. I’d been brought to the hospital for burns. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to put two and two together.
“How badly is it damaged?” I asked Zach. “Our house?”
He pursed his lips; no more dimples. “Pretty bad, but it’s nothing that can’t be rebuilt. I’m just glad we got out what mattered.”
I shook my head, suppressing a smile. “God, I can’t believe you.”
“What?”
“That you just ran into get me?” I asked. I sounded mad and happy; I was mad and happy. “You could have gotten yourself killed, idiot.”
Zach blinked at me, surprised. Sara just snorted as she watched.
“I’d do it again,” he said. “Every time.”
Before I could chastise him—or kiss him some more—the door opened again; it was like a revolving door of characters in a sitcom, spitting Beth, Victor, and Wyatt into the room. Victor, ever the charmer, had a little vase of flowers in his hands, with a very clearly printed ‘GET WELL SOON!’ note tucked into the leaves.
“Hey,” Beth tutted, running over. She wrapped an arm around me, relieved. “How are you feeling?”
“Oh, you know,” I laughed. “Never been better.”
“The burns look great,” Victor said. “Very tough. Very intimidating.”
“Oh, yeah,” I hummed. “I’m sure none of the kids will be scared of the doctor with all the scars. I don’t sound like a horror movie character at all.”
We all laughed; it was a little absurd.
“They’ll heal up for the most part,” Sara assured. “You might have some scarring, but it won’t be too bad if you take care of it.”
“I know, I know.”
“Well, we just wanted to stop by to make sure you were doing okay,” Wyatt said.
“He’s doing better than okay,” Sara said. “I was actually just clearing him to leave whenever he’s feeling up to it.”
“That’s fantastic,” said Victor.
Beth grinned. “I guess I’m just in time then.”
Zach and I looked at each other, confused. He was the one to ask, “What do you mean? In time for what?”
“I was going to tell you later, but I’m going to be staying at Robert’s place so you two can have the guest house behind Mom and Dad’s. Just until Curtis’s house is rebuilt and he’s ready to move in.”
It was generous. Way too amazingly generous. I felt the burden of having to find a place to live lifted off my shoulders.
I gasped, hand to my mouth. “Beth—you don’t have to—”
“Shut it, I insist,” she said, holding up a hand. “It’s already been decided. Mom and Dad are cool with it. You’ve already done so much for the family, with Dad and all. It’s really the least we can do, Curtis.”
“I….” I shook my head, floored. “I don’t know what to say—except thank you, of course. Oh my God.”
“Don’t mention it,” Beth said, sitting at the edge of my bed. “Now, come on, let me get a look at these nasty blisters.”
They all hung out for a while, and it was just nice to be surrounded by people who cared.
I let Beth and the others get a look at the blisters, which Sara scolded really ought to be kept covered, really. Victor went on to tell me about seeing the firefighters put out the fire and how he’d never seen anything quite like it before. He also was the one to survey the damage, alongside Wyatt, who confirmed Zach’s original statement: it was badly damaged—especially the kitchen and upper floors—but overall, it was salvageable. When that was done, he told me he wasn’t there just to pay me a nice visit; he was there on business, too, and needed to take my official statement now that I was awake.
As I recounted what I remembered of the incident—of Edward appearing in my kitchen, gas and matches in hand, and of the words exchanged, the fight—everyone was quiet and grim, but none more than Zach. He just sat in the chair listening, arms crossed over his chest, jaw tense.
“It was because I wouldn’t sell him my land,” I explained. “And because we’d gone ahead and tried to stop them. Everything with the historical society… it pushed him over the edge.”
“It wasn’t anyone’s fault,” Wyatt assured. “I’ll just have to question you—”
I sighed, wanting nothing more than to just be home—wherever that was.
“Hey,” Zach said, putting a hand on Wyatt’s shoulder. “Could it maybe wait until tomorrow?”
“We tend not to want to wait….”
Zach’s look was imploring him, and I must have looked pitiful enough for Wyatt to sigh and shut his notebook.
“You promise you’ll come in first thing tomorrow morning?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Of course.”
He was reluctant to do it, but for the moment, Wyatt seemed like he would let me rest for the night.
“Tomorrow. Don’t make me come after you guys, okay?
” he nodded to me. “And we’ll find him. Trust me: you’re an integral part of this town, Curtis. You’ve been there for all my men, one time or another. We’ll find that son of a bitch and bring him to justice.”
Wyatt was capable, as was the rest of the sheriff’s office. I breathed a little sigh of relief and thanked him, before they were all leaving, Victor assuring he’d see us soon enough with a little wink.
And then it was Zach and I alone again. I heaved myself out of bed and found that the burns ached a little when I walked—that contraction of skin over the muscle and bone would do that to you, I guess—but it wasn’t terrible.
“I probably shouldn’t walk out in this,” I laughed, examining myself in the room’s sink mirror. Glancing over my shoulder at Zach, I opened the backside of my hospital gown enough to flash him my ass. “It’s a little unbecoming of a town doctor, don’t you think?”
His mouth flickered into a smile, but only for a second. “Yeah. I wouldn’t recommend it.”
He was being quiet as he pulled my clothes from a plastic bag—still black in some spots with soot and holed by the fire. He was quiet as he laid them on the bed and as he helped me out of the gown until he said, “Here, put your arms back,” and helped me into my shirt.
I snorted, pulling my boxers over my legs carefully.
When I stood again, Zach’s hands went to the buttons.
“Hey,” I hummed, watching him with a small smile. “I can dress myself, you know. I didn’t burn my hands or anything important.”
Blue eyes caught me, held me. There was no laughter in them, just more of the same: disappointment and guilt. Maybe he was trying to hide it, but the answer was always in his eyes.
“You’re right,” he murmured, letting me do the rest.
I dressed, the sudden silence of the room tense and filled with unspoken words. Zach looked like he wasn’t drowning, but I felt like I was suddenly choking on them. His walls were coming up again; I could feel the distance between us, even as I took his hand and asked, “Take me home?”
Zach nodded and spared his first genuine smile, squeezing my hand.
“You mean my parents’ place.”
“Home. Your parents’ place.” I shrugged. “Home, for now.”
He hummed and led me to the old Chevy, and as we took a silent ride to the Savage property, I felt the fear in my chest. It was an old sort of fear, and one I hadn’t felt since we were both teenagers and he told me he was leaving for Virginia; supposedly, for good.
I didn’t want that again. I couldn’t handle losing him one more time.
17
Zach
The guest home was home—for a little while, anyway.
My folks and Beth went full-on with making it a space for Curtis and I to use: they’d put in fresh towels, blankets, and sheets, cleaned out all of Beth’s and Robert’s stuff, and Robert had even taken the liberty of stocking the fridge with some drinks and snacks. My family really dialed the Southern Hospitality up to one-hundred percent, and I couldn’t have been more grateful.
Curtis and I went shopping for some clothes, since most of his were destroyed in the fire, but even with his new wardrobe, he insisted on our first night together in the guest house that he get to borrow any of my sweatshirts.
It was good for him, I think; good for both of us. I moved out of my old bedroom upstairs to be with him, and it was good for Curtis to be around family more and not be left alone in that big house.
Of course I was happy to have him there.
But I was also guilty.
It was an impossible feeling to shake to know that I wasn’t there to protect him. Curtis was everything to me, and for a flickering moment, I’d almost saw him disappear. The sickness I’d felt spotting the flames through the trees… it was practically Joe all over again.
When I looked at Curtis that first night, cheek pressed to the pillow, fast asleep, I felt my mistakes; my inability to protect him from Edward Morris.
It was a name that kept coming back to me. He was like a poison. Once he got in my mind, the mere thought of him made me want to squeeze the life out of him.
I even told Curtis as much one night, watching him rub the antibiotic cream on his burns.
He’d stopped and looked at me, eyes wide. “I’m not surprised,” he said with a little smile, capping the cream. “If it was you he came after, I think he’d see I’m not as nice as everyone thinks I am.”
It was supposed to be a joke, but I didn’t laugh. I couldn’t—not when I was looking at the evidence of my incompetence streaked up his skin.
Curtis sighed, came over to the bed, and tipped my face up. His eyes searched mine.
“You saved me,” he said, slow to make sure I got the point. “None of us could have predicted Edward would go full Firestarter on our asses, okay? I need you to believe this when I say it, because it’s the truth: if you didn’t show up exactly when you did—exactly when you needed to—I could have died. It was the matter of a few minutes, and you—”
“A few more, and you would have died,” I interrupted, lifting my chin from his fingers.
Curtis sat on the bed next to me. “That’s what Sara said.”
“God.” I looked away. “That pisses me off even more.”
“It’s not supposed to,” Curtis said. “That’s not why I—”
“I know. But it just does piss me off. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you. I….”
With a swallow, I decided this was as far as I would go with it. Curtis was important to me, and he knew that. Worrying him—especially when he had enough to worry about on his own right now—with my own emotions was the last thing I wanted to do.
I might not have been able to be there for him when it counted (despite all he said), but I would be there for him now. A rock, sturdy; something to lean on.
There was one more thing I didn’t want him to worry about: my assignment.
It was my intent that on the night of the fire, I would talk to him about everything: about reenlisting, about my final six months, about Virginia. But, of course, that never happened. That left an elephant in the room that only I could see, and that I needed to deal with.
My leave was running out. This had an expiration date.
We were living together in the guest house, which meant we had all the time in the world to talk, but it was like the words I’d practiced had been burnt up in that fire, too. I couldn’t find the right ones to tell him I would be leaving to finish out the time I owed to the Navy. Leaving him—I didn’t know how to say it, especially after having almost lost him.
I spent days working myself up to it, practicing when I was alone, going over the words and rearranging them and scraping them, because, fuck, this was difficult. I didn’t know how he would react. Would he be angry? Would he cry? Would he leave? Would he end it?
This would be stressful enough for any normal couple, but we weren’t normal—at least, not right now. The investigation was still technically ongoing, officially ruled by the forensics specialist as an arson. We went in for questioning with Wyatt and it hurt to hear the details of what had happened before the fire: the taser, the standoff, the gas and the attack. And I could tell it hurt Curtis to have to retell it, relive it, especially when Edward was still out there.
The unknown was terrifying.
But I was a man. We were both adults. I owed him the truth.
It was on our fifth night home. I set to making dinner for us in the small kitchen, and was only halfway through when he came in.
“Zach?”
“In here,” I called from the kitchen. I turned to find him pulling his shoes off at the doorway, smiling at the scene in front of him.
“What on God’s green Earth are you doing?”
“Cooking.” I held up the spatula. “Duh.”
“Duh,” he mimicked. After setting down a plastic bag on the counter, he took my face in his hands and kissed me, long and lingering. “You’re making dinner for u
s?”
“Yeah, it’s exactly what it looks like.”
Biting his lip, Curtis hummed. “You look sexy at the stove. My housewife.”
I scoffed, amused, before turning back to the stovetop. “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.”
“Housewife,” he sang.
“What’s that in the bag there?”
“Oh. Just some stuff from my place,” he said, patting it. “I was at the sheriff’s office and Wyatt said he’d take me over to see it.”
I looked over at him questioningly.
“I just wanted to see for myself. I got tired of wondering about it—but, uh, it was hard seeing it like that.”
I just nodded, going back to the frying pan. “Did you get anything good?”
“Luckily, one of the photo albums was basically totally intact. There were some other knick-knacks in the living room, too, and a pair of shoes for work.”
“That’s good.”
“Right? I thought it was pretty lu—”
We both jumped at the sudden, frantic knocking at our door. Exchanging concerned looks, I held up a hand for Curtis to stay where he was; we didn’t know who was at the door, after all, and if Edward was feeling bold enough to make attempts on his life, he was capable of doing anything. Sneaking onto my parents’ property just to get to us wasn’t out the question.
I pulled back the door, bracing for the worst.
But it wasn’t Edward.
“Mom,” I sighed, relieved it was only her. “It’s late, I didn’t expect you—”
“There’s been another fire,” she interrupted.
I felt myself freeze up. Curtis came up behind me, placing a hand at the small of my back as he asked, “Where?”
“Jared Clark’s place.”
“Jesus,” he huffed, detaching from me. “I’ll get our shoes.”
“Curtis,” I started, but he wasn’t having any of it.
