“Officers, we’ve got a 325 on County Road M. Firefighters are heading to the accident site with jaws of life. Doesn't look good according to bystanders at the scene.”

Charles scoffs, and doesn’t alter the path of our squad car. “Damn. that’s the third accident this week.”

I stare out the window into the black of the dead night. “Fucking drinking and driving. Don't they know what's good for them?”

The dispatcher continues. “We’ve got an ID on the car. Black Honda, license plate DGEJ173.”

A chill sears through me. I'm hot and cold at once. I have exactly two license plates memorized, and Gracie’s is one of them. Even though she hasn’t talked to me in fucking years.

“Turn the car around. Let’s check it out,” I grunt.

“Ryan,” Charles starts. “I know you want to check it out, but the jaws of life are heading out. We can’t do a damn thing there. You heard him. They already tried to pull him out. They need the machinery.”

“I said, turn this fucking car around!” I snarl, surprising even myself at my vitriol. My hand slides, involuntarily, down to my gun and grips it.

I’m not going to pull it out. Or use it. It’s just instinct.

“Whoa! Jeez, Ryan. Alright bud. Don't have a shit sandwich in the fucking car. We’ll head that way.”

“And fucking step on it.”

We pull a u-ie and Charles steps on the gas.

I don't need to tell him that Gracie was the one that got away. He doesn’t want to hear my sensitive bullshit. It doesn't matter anyway. He just needs to step on it and get us there fucking ASAP.

We pull up to the scene. It’s bad from the looks of it. Charles shines his lights on the incident. I open my car door while we’re still rolling.

A black Honda is wrapped around a tree. Worse, huge flames sprout up.

A giant goddamn oak tree is on fire right on the side of the road. The fire department is nowhere in site.

I swear, my blood runs cold and my heart doesn’t just skip. It stops. Adrenaline like I’ve never known runs through me.

It has been years since we last spoke, but it doesn’t matter. Not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought of her.

I think of all the things I never said to her. And now, Gracie’s fucking dead.

I run to the car. There’s a couple of people standing around in shock. A woman grabs my shoulder as I approach the car fire.

“Officer, I tried to pull her out when I first got here. But there’s too much smoke.”

I swallow hard. “Her?” I croak. “You tried to pull her out?”

“Yeah,” the woman says, teary eyed. “Guy in the driver’s seat is dead. No one’s getting that front door open though on the passenger’s side. I think it was melted shut.”

Girl. Passenger side.

I put the puzzle pieces together. Gracie could still be alive.

I take the last breath of fresh air I’ll be having for a while, hand the woman my gun and belt, and head into the smoke and flames.

“But Officer, you can’t go in there!” she yells.

I can’t waste the breath to tell her this isn’t any damn accident. This is personal.

The fire is focused in the engine, but it’s spreading rapidly. The oak tree is engulfed in flames. I glance up, squinting because of the smoke. One of the branches is fully inflamed, and if it burns any longer , it’s going to fall on the whole car.

Through the smoke I can barely make out a blonde female figure in the car, wearing white. If I didn’t remember her scent, I wouldn’t know who it is. But I do.

“Gracie!” I scream through the smoke and the noise of the fire. I try to open it, but it’s melted shut.

My worst nightmare could be coming true. She could be dead.

All the light goes out of me for a moment as I watch her, helpless to do anything, holding my breath.

And then she moves. She flinches.

She’s still alive.

“Ahhh!” I scream at the top of my lungs. I don’t know where the strength comes from.

But suddenly, I’m fucking Tarzan. I’m Samson summoning one moment of great strength.

I yank the door open, grab her, and run to safety.

Before the crowd forms around us, I steal one last kiss.