“I’m sorry, Jade,” says Carl, and Frank comes up beside him, echoing the sentiment. Mrs. Wilson offers the same apology before the family who run the gas station say the same.
One by one, the residents of Still Springs gather around me to pass on their condolences like some sort of bizarre funeral while I gaze up at each of them and say, “Thank you.”
I try to smile at all their support, but on the inside, I’m thinking:Where were you all when the store was here?
CHAPTERTHIRTY
DYLAN
Acrid smokeclings to the cool November air. The crowd that had gathered to witness the devastation has finally dissipated, leaving only a few rubberneckers who must’ve heard about the blaze too late and come by to see the damage for themselves.
I still can’t believe the store is gone, so I can only imagine how shocked Jade must be feeling. I wish there was something more I could do besides offering the occasional word of support, but at least I’m here. It’d be awful to be across the country and have this happen to her. Even if I caught the first flight out of Austin like I did when I heard about Mom and Dad, it wouldn’t be the same.
The more I think about leaving, the more I realize I don’t want to go.
The folks still wandering around shoot me the occasional glare when I press a hand to Jade’s back or rest her head on my shoulder, but I don’t give a shit anymore. All that matters is Jade.
I steal a glance at her pale skin and tear-streaked face, still so beautiful it gives me a pain in my chest. On the other side of the yellow police tape, Robocop paces between more police officers and the weary firefighters taking a well-deserved rest on the curb.
Deputy Douchebag stops suddenly to duck beneath the tape right where we’re standing. He shoots a glower at me, but his expression softens when he looks at Jade. “Can we talk in private?” he asks her.
The last thing I want is to leave Jade alone right now—especially with him. But I’ll let her decide.
She steps a little closer to me. “I want Dylan here.”
Nate blows out a heavy breath but nods. “I want you to know that there’s going to be an investigation.” The way he looks at me when he says the word “investigation” makes me want to introduce his face to my fist. “Ifthe fire is ruled as an accident, there will be a hefty insurance payout.”
Jade’s brow knits. “What do you mean ‘if’ it was an accident?”
“It’s common knowledge that the store wasn’t doing well financially.”
“Hold on,” she says, holding up a hand. “Are you saying they think I did thison purpose?”
“We just need to make sure everything is above board,” he counters.
And here I thought I couldn’t hate this prick any more. To even suggest that Jade had something to do with the fire is so fucking infuriating. Can’t he see the tears in her eyes? She’s devastated. This isn’t some act. She wasn’t even here when the fire started. My hands ball into fists, and I know I can’t hit him when he’s on duty, but I really,reallywant to. “You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve,” I say.
Jade squeezes my arm. “It’s okay, Dylan.”
“No, it’s not.” What if, by some twist of fate, they actually accuse Jade of setting the fire on purpose? My heart thumps wildly in my chest as all the disastrous possibilities flood my mind. What would happen to her then? Would there be a trial? Would she be wrongly convicted? Would she go to jail? Would the people in this town think she did it, even if she was cleared of any wrongdoing?
I force my fingers to stretch wide before stuffing them into my pockets. Since I can’t hit the bastard, I may as well try to play nice. “Can we put our mutual hatred for one another aside for a minute and have an honest conversation?” I ask Nate.
His lips roll together as his gaze darts to Jade, but eventually, he bobs his head. “Fine.”
I fill my lungs with smoky air and blow out a breath. “We both know Jade didn’t do this.” I look him square in the eye and add, “But sometimes the truth doesn’t matter.” Especially in Still Springs. “You said there’s going to be an investigation. How long will that take, and how public will it be?”
“I can’t comment on an ongoing investigation.”
I should’ve known he wouldn’t make this easy. “In general,” I amend, “what are the procedures for cases like this?”
The walkie-talkie on his vest crackles loudly. He twists the knob on the top until the thing goes quiet. “We don’t get a lot of arson around here, so I’m not sure how long it’ll take,” he says. “The Fire Marshall has been contacted and should arrive within the hour. He’ll evaluate and document the scene. They’ll collect and process evidence.”
Jade’s head swings toward the blackened shell of her family’s store. “What sort of evidence?”
“Accelerants, tampered utilities, burn patterns, stuff like that,” Nate explains. “Could take weeks or even months, depending on what they find.”
Meaning that Jade needs to cover her ass in case this doesn’t go her way. It kills me to do it, but I mutter a “Thank you” to Nate and grab Jade’s hand, leading her up the street to where I parked my bike right on the fucking curb. Tickets be damned.
