Art wished he had somewhere to escape to, but for the moment all he had was the tattoo studio. Tess hadn’t expressly told him he was no longer allowed to sleep there, and, despite their turbulent relationship, he didn’t think she’d want to see him out on the streets.

Fuck. Relationship. That was the one thing he’d been trying to avoid all this time and he’d failed. This would all be so much easier if he could convince himself to not give a shit. He was trying to keep Tess at a distance, but she just kept breaking through to him, tugging on his heart strings, when he was trying to persuade himself he didn’t have a heart.

Both Rocco and Kane had offered for him to go and stay on their respective couches, but Art had declined. He hated to admit it, but he was embarrassed at not having anywhere to live, and he didn’t need his employees feeling sorry for him. That Tess had told them made him furious—it wasn’t her place—but he knew she’d only talked to them because she gave a shit. Besides, a part of him didn’t want to leave the shop. At least when he was here, he could lie on his sleeping bag, staring up and knowing Tess was only the other side of the ceiling.

***

ART BURST FROM SLEEP, coughs hacking their way through his body. His ribs contracted with the volley of coughing, his throat burning. Tears streamed from his eyes. He covered his face with his hand, instinctively ducking his head down, trying to figure out what was going on. Confusion blurred his thoughts and he rolled off the sleeping bag he used as a bed and clambered to his feet. Immediately, whatever was attacking his lungs grew worse, and the coughing clutched his throat and chest again. He dropped back down to the floor, on his hands and knees, his head hung. His eyes continued to stream, but at least he could breathe down here.

His mind started to put together what was happening. The room was full of smoke. Something was on fire.

Instantly, his thoughts went to Tess, sleeping upstairs. Was she okay? Smoke rose, and she might be unconscious and completely unaware of what was happening. From somewhere deeper in the building, he could hear a low roar, like distant traffic. Overlaying the roar came a snap and pop, and something cracked.

Fuck. Why hadn’t the smoke alarms gone off? He tried to think of the last time he’d checked them, but couldn’t remember.

Indecision froze him.

Should he find the fire, and try to put it out? Those few minutes might cost Tess her life, and he’d never forgive himself if she died because he hadn’t acted quickly enough. He could already feel the heat rising up from the floor. Knowing he needed to act, he fumbled around and found his mobile phone. He dialled nine-nine-nine and asked for the fire department, and managed to hack out the address between his coughing. The woman on the other end of the line asked him to stay on the line with her, but he hung up instead and tried Tess’s number. It rang out, and went to answer phone.

“Shit.” The heat had grown worse. Knowing he’d need to protect his feet, which were currently bare, he scrambled around and located his boots, then pulled them on. He needed to get to Tess.

Art knew the shop better than any other place in the world, but the smoke completely disorientated him. If someone had asked him if he’d been able to find his way around in the dark, he’d have answered categorically yes. In the smoke, things were different however. His body was fighting to survive, and this made coherent thought a struggle.

He lurched in the direction of the door which separated the back of the studio from the backyard and the stairs leading up to Tess’s flat. Something slammed against his thighs, rebounding him off like a pinball in a machine. He staggered, grasping out blindly. His fingers met with a wall and heat surged through his fingertips. Where was the fire originating from? He couldn’t see any flames in here, so he assumed it was from something out the back. He used the wall to find his way to the back of the studio, navigating a couple of the chairs they used to tattoo clients on as he went. He found the door to the rear of the building, and immediately the heat became more intense. Fuck. The fire must be originating in the room they used to take their breaks, where the coffee machine and under counter fridge freezer were located. He’d known that wiring had been bad. Had that been the cause or had one of the guys left a cigarette unlit, or something else? He might never find out if he didn’t survive this.

He opened the door, the handle hot. Just across the small hallway was the rear exit, and freedom. The staffroom was partly located under the stairs. The door was shut but warped with the heat. Smoke billowed out from the gap beneath, and through the smoke he could see the red and orange flames dancing behind the glass. The staircase would be the first thing to go and when it did, Tess would be trapped.

Panic filled him. He couldn’t lose her. Not like this. Not again.

Art opened his mouth to call her name, but the smoke caught at the back of his throat and sent him into another coughing fit. He staggered for the stairs. The wooden banister was hot enough to smoke and he snatched his hand away. The heat from the fire below seared up through the soles of his boots. He took the stairs two at a time, and quickly reached the top. The smoke was still thick, drifting up in tendrils.

Art balled his fist and hammered on the door. “Tess! Tess!”

The yelling caused more coughing.

There was no answer, and no sound beyond the door. He hated to think of her lying in bed, unconscious.

With no choice, he took a step back and rammed his shoulder against the door. Pain shattered through his shoulder, but he ignored it. He wished he had more of a run up, but the door was right at the top of the stairs. Even so, he took a couple of steps down and tried again. This time, he heard a crack and the door bowed.

“Fuck!” he yelled, adrenaline surging through his body, keeping him focused. He charged again, and this time the lock splintered, and the door flew open, sending him hurtling into the flat beyond. Art managed to keep his balance, his arms pin wheeling.

“Tess!” he yelled again.

He headed straight for the bedroom. The smoke wasn’t as thick up here, but he still had to blink tears away to see where he was going. The heat increased again as he reached her bedroom. The bedroom door was open. If only it had been shut, it would have offered her another layer of protection against the smoke.

Her body was a bundle beneath the blanket and his heart lurched.

“Tess! You’ve got to wake up. There’s a fire.”

He shook her, hard. She moaned and tried to roll away from him. She was hot, her skin filmed in sweat, the t-shirt she wore clinging to her skin.

Art threw back the covers and bent down and scooped her up. If that staircase went—which it was liable to at any moment—they’d be trapped up here.

“Art?” she said, coming round, wriggling in his grip. “What’s going on?”

“There’s a fire downstairs. We have to get out of here.”

Instantly, she grew alert. “What?”

“There’s a fire. We have to go.”

“Shit. Put me down.”

“We don’t have time. The floor’s burning.”

She started to cough, and he joined her.

Holding her in his arms, Art ran for the door. The stairs were starting to go, the middle part sagging.

“Oh, shit. This could get messy. Hang on.” Her arms tightened around his neck, her dark eyes wide and streaming with tears. He didn’t know if they were caused by fear or the smoke.

As his foot made contact with the tread, the step splintered, his foot almost going through it, sending them into the flames below. Instead of going down, Art pitched forward, shielding Tess with his body as he hit the remaining stairs. Battered and bruised, they came to a rest at the bottom. There wasn’t any time to catch their breath. The glass of the other door shattered outward, covering them with glass. Oxygen hit the flames, and they roared higher, and another part of the staircase collapsed. Tess let out a scream.

Art climbed to his feet, pulling Tess with him. With his arm around her, they both ran for the backdoor. He kicked it open, and they burst out into the fresh air.

They both collapsed to the ground, Tess crying in his arms. He held her tight, stroking her singed hair and checking her over for any injuries. The soles of her feet were burnt and she obviously had smoke inhalation, as did he, but otherwise she was safe.

In the distance, he heard the wail of sirens approaching. The fire brigade and most likely the cops were on their way. Further crashes came from inside as things collapsed.  People in the surrounding houses emerged, looking frightened and confused.

Art’s heart broke at the thought of all the artwork inside, all the equipment that would be lost. He had Tess though—that’s what mattered. He hated to think what might have been if he hadn’t stayed at the shop that night. What if he’d taken one of the guys up on their offer and gone and slept on their couch? He wouldn’t have been here to wake Tess. She would have died.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice hoarse from the smoke. He pulled away from her so he could look into her face. He noted how she only wore her knickers and a t-shirt. She was shivering from the cold, and shock as well, most likely.

She nodded. “I am, thanks to you.”

He pulled off his own t-shirt, leaving him bare-chested and wrapped it around her shoulders. She reached up to tug it closer, and he noticed something and frowned. The inside of her arms were criss-crossed with lines, some of them still pink and new.

He caught hold of her wrists. “Fucking hell, Tess. What happened?”

She snatched her hands away. “Nothing.”

“That’s not nothing. Those look recent, too.”

Her face flamed red. “Please, Art. Just leave it.”

“No, I won’t. I care about you. You can’t expect me to see scars like that and not want to know what happened. Did you do that to yourself?”

“I was in a bad place. I’m better now.”

His voice softened. “I know you are, but I want to know all about you, and this is a part of you I never knew existed.”

Her dark eyes met with his. “We’ll talk about it later, Art. I promise. Now’s not the time.”

He nodded his agreement. They both had their pasts, their secrets. He hadn’t told her things either, but he knew now that he wanted to. He wanted to know everything about her, and wanted her to know everything about him. No more secrets.

No more trying to push her away.