But not onto the floor.
Into the arms ofAndrew.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
WYATT
Tires screech as I round the bend from my brother’s house to the ranch, dust and gravel spinning in the rearview mirror. One of the girls murmurs something from the back seat, but my mind is fixated on the house. Smoke curls in the sky. Just as terrifying as it was the first time I caught sight of it. I punch the gas harder, fear for what I’ll find is consuming me. What the hell caused it? I left my phone at home, and when I attempted to use Blake’s or Vivienne’s, they all went straight to voicemail.
“Shit!” Wesley shouts, jolting me from my thoughts. “Watch out!”
I see the figure sprinting down the road just in time. I swerve left, foot slamming down hard enough to ache. Tires shriek beneath me, and the entire truck jolts as we skid to a violent stop. Wesley’s door pops open before we’ve even stopped moving. I’m right behind him, quickly throwing my door open and rushing around the front with him.
My mom stands in the middle of the road—hair wild and face tear-streaked. Brinley is clutched against her chest, just as hysterical. My eyes skim over the little girl. She’s crying, already reaching for me. Relief allows me to breathe for a moment–until I register that there’s no sight of Whitney beside them. “Whereis she?” I demand. My mom’s mouth opens and closes–“Mom!” My voice cracks, “Where is Whitney?”
“S-she was right behind us,” my mom sobs, “but the animals-”
The house is close enough that I don’t bother jumping back in the car. I sprint down the road, not bothering to respond. All I can register is my boots punching through the snow. Wesley shouts something behind me—maybe telling me to wait or slow down, but I’m already gone. Nothing matters.Noneof it matters if she’s still in there.
Whitney.
There’s a faint sound of sirens in the distance as I reach the front yard. The smell hits me first. Burning wood chokes my lungs as I jump the porch steps. Soon after, heat slams into my skin. The front door doesn’t budge when I give it a shove. I step back, chest heaving. Planting one foot, I rear the other one back and kick.
Once.
Twice.
On the third kick, the door bursts open with a deafening crash. Smoke and heat spill out, and my arm flies up to cover my face. I squint my eyes as I try to shield them from the blaze and see through the clouded house. I shout her name, and when she doesn’t answer my heart sinks. “Whitney! It’s Wyatt!”
The hallway is barely visible. I move as fast as I can—ducking low when needed and kicking loose pieces of furniture and fallen wood out of my path.
A high-pitched scream bounces off the crumbling walls of the house. At first it’s nearly impossible to know where it’s coming from. When she calls for me again, I spin towards the sound and crash through the doorway to the kitchen. It’s so raw and close and terrified that it feels like my heart’s about to hammer out ofmy damn ribs. I catch sight of her dark hair in front of a broken window—pinned on the ground.
Fucking. Andrew.
He’s on top of her, face twisted in rage or panic. Whitney’s trashing and clawing at his face as he tries to clamp a hand over her mouth.
Rage licks up my spine.
I stalk towards them, grabbing the back of his ash-ridden shirt and yanking him off of her with everything I have. Andrew stumbles in shock, and I take the opportunity to slam my first into his jaw. Over and over again. Blood sprays. A tooth cracks. My knuckles split. I want to kill him. Iwillkill him. Right here?—
Whitney coughs, and the red clouding my vision disappears. I shove him, the thump of his body more satisfying than it should have been.
Whitney’s on her hands and knees, sucking in what little air is available in here. I rush to her, hauling her into my arms. “Are you okay?” I shout the question, eyes scanning her from head to toe for injuries. She’s covered in soot, but there’s no visible burns. Only a long, heavily-bleeding cut on her hand.
I rip a piece of my shirt and make quick work of wrapping it around the wound. She doesn’t answer me, only tucks her head into my shoulder and sobs. “It’s okay, baby. I’m getting you out of here.”
“Brinley?” Whitney hiccups.
“She’s safe.”
“Wait,” she gasps, “Andrew.”
I keep moving, shaking my head. Her nails dig into my shoulders. Hard. “You can’t be serious.”
“Please, Wyatt.” Her voice is ragged as she begs, “He’s still her father.”
The look in her eyes nearly sends me to my knees.
