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Blondie. Michael tucked that away in his head to think about later. Along with the casual way Irish had touched her.
But she gave Michael a last, lingering squeeze of her hand. “Find me before you leave, okay?”
“Okay.”
And then she was gone, following Irish through the door.
Leaving him there with the fire marshal.
Michael wondered if he could make a run for it, or if the guy would take that as guilt and just shoot him.
But then Marshal Faulkner said, “I’m going to let you take your brothers out of here.”
His voice was almost kind, and for an instant, Michael wished he was seventeen again, that the marshal could call DFS and find someone else to make all this go away. He nodded. “Okay.”
“Not far. You understand me?”
“Yeah,” said Michael, making no effort to hide the exhaustion in his voice.
Marshal Faulkner pulled a card from his coat and held it out. “I want you to call me later, after you’ve gotten some sleep. After you talk to the insurance company and get yourself settled.”
Michael reached for the card. He nodded.
The man didn’t let go of it. “I expect to hear from you within twenty-four hours. Clear on that, too?”
“Yes. Clear.” He took the card.
“Good.” The marshal clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go see if you have a working vehicle.”
CHAPTER 6
The truck was undamaged, so Michael had a working vehicle. Three, really, if you counted Hunter’s Jeep and their SUV, but they wouldn’t all fit in the jeep, and the keys to the SUV were upstairs, in a backpack or on top of a dresser. Unreachable, at least for now.
His brothers and Hunter said nothing when he showed up at the ambulance again, the fire marshal at his side. They silently piled into the truck while Michael turned on the heat. His brothers climbed into the back, while Hunter sat up front, Casper curled up between him and Michael.
He wondered how long he could sit here with the car in park before they’d realize he had no idea where to go.
He wondered how long this shocked silence would last.
Did they blame him? Not like it mattered. Michael blamed himself. His fingers felt like icicles, and he flexed them in front of the vent, willing the car to warm up more quickly.
They were waiting for him to say something. To do something. Their expectations sat like a weight against his skin.
He shifted into gear and glanced at the clock on the dash. Four o’clock in the morning. He could check into a hotel at 4 AM, right?
Nick cleared his throat from the back seat. “I texted Adam. He says we can go to his place.”
Adam was Nick’s boyfriend. He was nineteen and he had his own place—but that didn’t mean they’d all fit. Michael glanced at Nick in the rearview mirror and tried to ignore how driving over the fractured driveway pavement felt like driving over downed trees. “You have your phone? Who else has one?”
his eyes followed the light beam as it stopped on the door at the opposite side of the kitchen, leading to the garage—where he kept all his landscaping equipment and supplies.
If this house had gone up in flames, he wouldn’t have just lost their home, he would have lost the business, too.
“No fire in here,” the marshal said. “Just smoke damage.”
“How can you tell?”
“No burn pattern,” said Hannah. “Look at the floor and the walls.”
