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“Where are you going to sleep?”
“You’re funny.”
Silence filled the line for a minute, as she tried to figure out how to respond to that. “I’ve been worried about you.”
He didn’t say anything for so long that she had to make sure the call hadn’t dropped. He finally sighed. “We’re fine.” He paused. “Your dad let me get some clothes out of the house. The truck survived.”
His voice sounded so bleak. She didn’t have much experience with this side of firefighting, and all the intimacy of sitting in the back of the ambulance was gone now that their only connection was based on a cell signal. She wished she knew what to say. “Have you talked to the insurance company yet?”
“I just hung up. They’re having a case manager call me back later.”
She sat up in bed. “You sound . . . you don’t sound good. Do you want me to come over?”
“No. No, Hannah. I want—look, forget it. I felt bad for not texting back.” A long sigh, full of pain and so much emotion that she wanted to drive over there right now and wrap him up in her arms. Then his voice steadied. “We’re okay. We’ll be okay. You don’t need to worry about me.”
“Michael, I just watched your neighborhood burn down. I am worried about you.”
That low not-quite laugh. “Don’t remind me.” A pause. An almost-shaky breath. “Please.”
“Why don’t I come over? I can bring coffee—”
“I said no, okay?”
His tone shut her up quick. Hannah blinked.
He made a shuffling sound with the phone, and his voice sounded distant for a moment. “I’m sorry. I’m—it’s been a bad night. I don’t even know what I’m saying.”
“Did my dad give you a hard time? Are you in trouble—?”
“I need to go.”
“Please don’t go,” she said. “Please don’t hang up. Talk to me.”
“God, Hannah. I wish I could. You have no idea how much I wish I could.”
And then, before she could say a word, he ended the call.
CHAPTER 8
It had been a bad idea to call her. He’d almost lost it again. The wind was picking up, stinging Michael’s cheeks and eyes. He welcomed the pain. It fed him irritation, which worked pretty well to tamp down the anxiety.
His brothers and Hunter were sleeping soundly. He’d checked a minute ago. Common sense dictated that he should be sleeping, too, but sitting inside the apartment left him feeling panicked and claustrophobic. He’d started to walk, hoping motion would help tame his wild thoughts, but twenty feet from the back door, he worried that he was leaving his brothers vulnerable again.
So now he was back on the porch, the blanket wrapped around his shoulders.
Had Calla started those fires? They had a history, Calla and his family. She wasn’t the type to strike hard and not brag, but anything was possible.
Michael had her cell number programmed into his phone, and after gritting his teeth for a full thirty seconds, ready for her taunting voice to mock him for not starting a war quickly enough, he dialed. The line rang and rang and eventually ended on a mechanical tone telling him the number had been disconnected.
Michael stared at his phone, studying the digits as if he’d somehow misdialed a programmed number.
He stupidly called again, sure there’d been some mistake.
Same electronic message.
He sent her a text. Almost immediately, a return message appeared in his inbox.
The number you are attempting to contact has been deactivated. Please dial 411 for directory assistance. Standard voice and messaging rates may apply.
