Margot
It’s beginning to feel as though nothing has changed. The last five years have almost been erased—as though I never transferred colleges and left him, as though we remained friends despite what our parents wished.
With Amelia softly snoring in Boone’s bed down the hall, it even feels like our family’s whole again. Boone is such a natural at being a father. I suppose it’s because he’s giving Amelia all of the love and affection that he wished his father gave to him.
I haven’t seen Robert Masters in more than five years, but I remember the stories Boone told me throughout college. Boone was raised by the best nannies and caregivers that money could buy…but not by his parents.
I wonder if their relationship has improved since college.
Then I look around the room we’re sitting in now. Boone left Wall Street and the City, preferring to live high in the mountains rather than towering over everyone in a penthouse. But if Robert Masters had his way, Boone would’ve been the head of his own Fortune 500 company by now.
Their visions of the future have never been the same.
I’ve always wanted something different for Amelia. Despite the St. James fortune and my trust fund, I didn’t want to raise her like a spoiled little rich girl—with nannies, a pony, and emotionally distant parents.
I want her to have a normal childhood, as normal as any childhood can be, without the struggle of having more money than common sense.
I want to always support her, too. When the time comes for her to go to college, I won’t force her to take a course that she doesn’t want to take—like what my parents did to me, and what Boone’s parents did to him.
At least, he had his role in the Fire Department. But even that was taken away from him. And now, he’s finally willing—maybe—to talk about how that happened.
Boone sighs, shuts his eyes, and pauses for a second to think of the right words to say.
“It was a real busy night. The whole department was stretched thin across the city.”
Boone’s reliving the memories behind his eyelids, and I can see how much he’s struggling.
I put my hand gently on his forearm, my fingers gently brushing against his golden skin, reminding him that I’m here if he needs me. Boone turns to look at me, and the ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. But then, it’s gone again as he remembers his fallen brothers.
“It was the end of my shift too, but just as I was getting ready to go home a call came through—a warehouse had caught fire and the blaze was spreading rapidly. There had been reports…reports of shouts inside.”
Boone pauses again and takes the hot chocolate that I’d been cradling. He places both cups on the table, and pulls me against his chest, holding me tight against him so that I can’t see his face.
“So, my team and I drove out. There were only two trucks available. When we got there, the whole building was already on fire—and the report was right, there were cries from inside. The other team began to try and douse the flames. We went inside, and mostly what was burning was wood crates and paint tins. There were drums of gasoline…but we didn’t see them at first. Not until the marshal’s report.”
Boone has always been the type of man who carries everyone’s problems but never shares any of his own burdens. He struggles on in silence, never complaining even when I know it’s eating him up inside.
It’s heart breaking to know he’s been holding this in for all these years.
“The shouts came from a night guard. He’d been semi-pinned by a falling beam and was on the brink of passing out after smoke inhalation,” he continues. “My teammate and I managed to free him, and I was carrying him to safety when we started to hear the building creak.”
Boone sighs. I can tell that he’s sad, but that’s not all. There’s a twist to this tale, and I’m horrified but curious.
“I just bolted. I had to get the civilian to safety. I wasn’t thinking about anything else but saving that guard,” he says, the memory vivid in his eyes. “But…but as I break through the door and escape the flames…the building starts to collapse. The gasoline drums began to ignite and explode, it all happened too quickly.”
I can tell what’s coming next, and I hold Boone as tightly as I can.
“I was the only one who made it out. In the end, even the guard didn’t survive. He died in the ICU due to his injuries because I was too late.”
“Boone, I’m so sorry…”
“No. I’m not yet finished.”
Boone begins to clench his fists, holding it so tightly that his knuckles go white.
I move his hand to my thigh, and Boone takes to gripping my flesh as tightly as I was holding his. His hand quivers somewhat—he’s shaking with rage.
I look up at him, placing my hand on his cheek, holding his gaze. His dark eyes are burning with an intensity that I’ve not seen before.
Boone is usually so controlled, so calm. But now he looks almost primal—there’s a wild rage in him that burns with the memories of that warehouse fire. He’s holding onto me like I’m the last thing keeping him sane.
I want to kiss him, and tell him that everything will be okay. But I don’t dare interrupt him.
His voice is low and deep, like a predator who’s trying to warn away another creature. With his hands on my thighs, he’s all but pinning me on the sofa, and all I can do is listen to what comes next.
“When the Marshal did his report, it was hard to trace the owner of the building, and the contents in the warehouse were perfect for the fire. I bet it was a big company using a shell,” Boone goes on.
“I tried to go to city records to find out who filed for insurance. But there was no record. It was too clean, too planned,” his voice occasionally breaks, as sadness and a tinge of rage mix.
Boone takes a shuddering breath, trying to calm himself, but it doesn’t work.
“But the plan failed. And we were the ones who took the fallout.”
He stands and crosses to the other side of the room, standing in front of the unlit fire. He grips the mantle with one hand, and I watch in the low light as his whole body trembles.
“Good men died. My team—my brothers—died, and it was all for profit.”
For a moment, all I can do is sit in silence.
I’m stunned, and my heart feels broken for Boone. I can feel the pain he had to endure with his survivor’s guilt. I can’t imagine how much agony he felt when the security guard died too—how crushing it must have been to know that despite his best efforts, he was still too late.
Boone’s two worlds collided that night—the world of Wall Street and insurance fraud, and the world of fire-fighting and trying to do what’s right. But of course, Wall Street had to prevail.
I wish I had been there so that I could have comforted him then.
But I can comfort him now and try to make up for the lost time.
I slowly stand from the sofa and pull Boone’s flannel back down over my legs, though it still barely covers my thighs. I cross the room and come up behind him, reaching out, and place one hand on his shoulder.
“Boone, I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”
I pause. “That you had to go through that alone.”
Boone grunts in response.
We both know Amelia and I should’ve been there with him.
It doesn’t need to be said.
I move around to his side, gently tracing the muscles of his back with my hand and feeling the tension that lies there.
“But I’m here now. And I’m glad you told me,” I whisper.
The moonlight spilling in once again reminds me of why we’re still awake.
Boone only stayed awake tonight to protect Amelia and me from the bad man of her drawings—because he cares about us. He cares about everyone.
I watch him and his labored breaths, showing me how deeply passionate and raw he can be about the people he cares about. Despite everything, I can feel myself wanting him.
I want him to show that passion.
I want to experience this new side of Boone in every way that I can.
As though he can read my mind, Boone turns around takes me. He grabs me, pinning me between his towering form and the fireplace—holding me closely against him.
“You realize how much this means to me, don’t you?” he asks softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
But I can tell he’s only just keeping himself together.
Boone thought he’d lost me, and now I’m back in his arms.
He never wants to lose me again.
He wants to make me his.