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Despite everything his family had gone through, they’d always had a home. He’d made sure of it. The shelves were never overflowing with food, and there’d been a year when he’d turned off cable and made the guys share one cell phone, but they’d had a roof over their heads and beds to sleep in. Always somewhere to come back to.
And now they had . . . what? The truck? The car? Considering the earthquake, he wasn’t sure they even had that much.
Then one of the demolished homes on the cul-de-sac caught his eye. They had a lot more than some of these families.
All this destruction. How much had been his fault? If these homes hadn’t collapsed, would the radio be reporting rescues instead of dead bodies?
His breath shook again. He wanted to ask how many people had been killed, and whether Hannah knew names yet.
At the same time, he was afraid to ask.
“When you two are done, I have a few questions.”
At the sound of the dry voice, Hannah pulled back quickly, and Michael let her go. He recognized the man standing behind the ambulance, and he wondered if it was a good thing or a bad thing that the county fire marshal had shown up.
“Dad!” Hannah said, for all the world sounding like a teenager caught with a boy in her room. “What are you doing here?”
“Working.” He paused, then raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you?”
Michael knew he wasn’t imagining the disapproval in the man’s tone. Hannah and her father had a tense relationship. If Hannah’s mother weren’t in the picture, they probably wouldn’t speak at all. Jack Faulkner was never rude to Michael—but he wasn’t exactly patting him on the back and inviting him over to watch the game, either. The fire marshal had arrested Gabriel and charged him with arson six weeks ago. Once the real arsonist was behind bars, Jack had been civil to Michael. Not quite friendly, but not cold.
Suspicious? Michael had no idea. Hannah said her father treated everyone like a potential criminal—including her.
But to his surprise, when Jack turned steely grey eyes his way, there was compassion there. “How are you doing, Mike? You okay?”
The question, the casual concern, threw him off. Michael’s own parents had always been warm, their home always open to others—to their detriment—and Hannah’s father was the opposite of that. They’d sat across a table for dinner on Hannah’s birthday and talked business and sports. Easy topics, nothing personal.
hole life, this was what his parents had been worried about. This was what the Guides were worried about.
He’d never caused this much destruction. He’d never lost control to this extent.
Then again, he’d never been so close to death, either. Looking at the damage, he didn’t want to consider how bad it must have been for his powers to take over without his knowledge.
He didn’t want to see the destruction. He might not have started the fires, but his earthquake had completed the disaster. He didn’t want to see them bagging bodies and towing disabled trucks. He didn’t want to hear crying from the few survivors, and he sure as hell didn’t want to see who’d survived—because it would make him think of those who hadn’t.
Maybe someone could close the back door of the ambulance.
Hannah sat on the little bench in front of him, trying to shine a light in his eyes.
He brushed her hand away. “Hannah. I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound fine.”
He couldn’t meet her eyes. “Yeah, what do I sound like?”
“Like you have gravel instead of lungs. Look at me.”
He didn’t want to look at her. He wanted to snap and tell her to get the hell away from him before he hurt her, too.
But then her hand caught his chin, and just like every other time she touched him, he couldn’t move. He’d gone so long without a gentle touch that even now, after six weeks, some small part of him still couldn’t believe that she wanted to touch him.
Her tiny flashlight clicked back on. “Let me check your eyes.”
Her voice was gentle, encouraging, but it carried a note of command. A mother’s voice.
He looked at her. Blue eyes, their brightness dimmed a bit from exhaustion. Blond hair cut just above her shoulders, gone flat and tucked behind her ears. She’d lost her coat somewhere along the line and sat there in a T-shirt, worn red suspenders, and reflective pants. Soot smudges were everywhere. He wanted to pull her into his lap and not let go, to reassure himself that there was something in his life that couldn’t disappear between one heartbeat and the next.
Then the light was in his eyes and he couldn’t see anything.
