The smell of smoke woke him, and before his eyes could adjust to the darkness, Asher shot out of bed. Opening the bedroom door, he peered into the hall. The hallway smoke detector wasn’t going off, and it was eerily quiet for just after midnight. He walked down the hall toward his mother’s room, checking the other bedrooms as he went. No sign of fire…No smoke…In fact, the farther he moved from his own room, the less the heavy, putrid smell reached him.
He stopped at the top of the stairs and scanned the area below. The Christmas tree lights, which his mother insisted on leaving on, cast a glow over the room and entranceway, illuminating his view of the space as he went downstairs. He checked the kitchen first, then the living room and bathroom…Nothing.
And the smell of smoke was gone.
Was he having a stroke or imagining things? The smell upstairs in his room had been undeniable.
Outside, maybe?
He flicked on the outside light above the door and opened it. A flash of orange to his left caught his eye, and he rushed outside.
Mr. Callaway’s porch was engulfed in flames.
The obvious source of the fire, the tiny evergreen tree he’d decorated with old fifties-style bulbs, blazed close to the house.
Shit.
Running back inside, he grabbed his boots and shoved them on his feet, then ran toward the neighbor’s house. The fire had already covered one side of the porch, and the flames were spreading to the siding. The path to the front door was blocked.
How was he supposed to get inside? And why in the hell hadn’t a smoke detector gone off yet? Immediately regretting not taking his cell phone as he’d rushed out in his boxer briefs, he contemplated going back inside to call 911, but what if the rest of the house caught quickly from all of these wires and electrical cords draped everywhere?
Fuck these stupid holiday lights.
Oblivious to the cold, he headed to the side of the house, looking for a back door. The last time he’d been inside the house was years ago, before Emma’s father had bought it…he hoped the layout was similar to his mother’s interior. Seeing the screen door over the fence through the yard, he tugged on the gate, but it didn’t move. Reaching over it, he found a padlock on the inside.
Damn!
Moving away, he took several steps backward and then ran toward it, hiking himself up and over. Then, running up the back steps of the deck, he tried the handle.
Locked.
Seriously? Mr. Callaway had to be the only person in Glenwood Falls worried enough about security to lock their back door and fence. He banged on the glass with his hand, and immediately Terror came running.
“Good. Bark, little guy…wake up Delaney.” He nodded encouragingly at the dog as he tried to see into the house. The kitchen was fire- and smoke-free, but this was the back of the house. By now, the living room could be up in flames. Sweat gathered on his forehead, despite the chilling air, as adrenaline made his heart race.
He continued to hammer on the door and the dog continued to bark, but Delaney didn’t appear.
He had to go in. Depending on where the old man’s bedroom was, he could already be passed out from smoke inhalation.
Using his elbow, Asher smashed the window, wincing as a shard of glass tore into his flesh. Ignoring the pain and the blood dripping onto the snow at his feet, he reached inside for the handle, unlocking and opening the door. He scooped Terror into his arms and headed toward the hallway, checking the way before moving on. A set of stairs leading to the second floor was on his right, so he took them two at a time, calling out as he went. “Delaney! Mr. Callaway!”
No response.
Glancing toward the ceiling, he saw the reason for the silence. The smoke detector hung open, no batteries inside.
His jaw clenched. Emma’s father shouldn’t be living alone. Unlike Asher’s mother, the man had never fully learned to take care of things, depending on Emma and Jess far too much since their mother died.
With Emma gone, Jess would be completely responsible for the man. A rare sense of sympathy for Emma’s sister filled him. He continued to call out as he checked the three bedrooms and the bathroom at the end of the hall. In his arms, Terror barked loud enough to wake the dead, but still no response.
And no Delaney. Where the hell was he? Was the man not even home?
As Asher ran back downstairs, he could see the flames had worked their way into the entryway. Heavy, thick, dark smoke filled the air and he bent low as he moved through it.
Crouching made his knee throb slightly. Maybe he wasn’t as fully recovered as he’d thought. He hurried past the hall bathroom, checking it quickly, then continued on toward the living room at the front of the house.
Finally, he saw the older man, asleep in an old rocking chair near a burnt-out fireplace. He sat under a quilt, his head tilted to the side. His right hand hung limp over the arm of the chair, and a picture of his wife, Clare, had fallen to the hardwood floor.
Flames were working their way into the room through the front wall and had already shattered the glass window. The smoke was bitter to his nostrils, and Asher held his breath against the pungent air.
“Delaney,” Asher said through his hand as he stooped next to him. “Hey, wake up. I need to get you out of the house.” Please, God, do not let him be passed out. Emma’s father was not a small man, and unconscious he would be difficult to move, especially with Terror in his arms as well.
The old man’s eyes opened slowly and he blinked and coughed. Dazed, confused…he stared at Asher as though he didn’t recognize him before his eyes closed again.
“Mr. Callaway, wake up!” He shook him hard, but the man’s head just fell forward.
Shit. How long had the smoke been filling up the house? He had to get him out into fresh air.
Coughing, he blinked through the smoke burning his own eyes as he lifted the blanket back, picked up the photo, and hesitated momentarily before tucking it awkwardly under his arm. He set the dog onto the floor. “Go outside,” he told him.
The dog stayed by his side and yipped.
Loyal, if not smart.
Placing one arm under Delaney’s legs and the other at his back, he lifted him as best as he could and scanned the area for a clear, safe path outside. The thick smoke made it hard to determine whether the back door was still an unhindered path, but the front door certainly wasn’t an option, so he headed toward the back of the house. Coughing and struggling to breathe, the lack of oxygen tiring his muscles faster, he made his way through the smoke, struggling under the man’s dead weight, checking to make sure the dog was following.
A glance toward the front of the house revealed that the porch was now completely engulfed in flames, so he went back through the kitchen, breathing in the thick, poisoning air slowly, as his own consciousness started to struggle. He had to make it outside. If he passed out, they were both screwed.
Picking up the pace, he went into the kitchen, and in the limited visibility, he tripped over a chair.
Pain seared through his newly recovered knee and he blinked through the haze. The weight of the man made his forearms burn, and the thick clouds spiraling around him threw off his sense of direction.
He could barely make out the open door.
Almost there.
A few more feet and they were both outside.
Terror ran out behind them, and Asher inhaled a large gulp of air as he looked around for a place to set Delaney a safe distance away from the house. There was no way he could climb over the fence carrying the man, and he couldn’t risk injuring him by throwing him over unconscious.
He set him near the back fence and removed his winter boots, putting them quickly on the man’s bare feet.
Running back toward the fence, he could hear yelling near the street. Peering through the planks of wood he could see a crowd gathered there, and hearing a fire truck siren wailing in the distance, his shoulders relaxed.
They were outside. Delaney was okay. Terror was dancing around his feet, yapping incessantly…
“Asher!” he heard his mother call out from the back deck of her house next door.
Turning, he saw her and relief flowed through him, despite the panicked expression on her face.
“We’re okay. Send the firemen back here. Delaney’s unconscious.” He struggled to yell, as his chest felt like it was full of thick smoke. Breathing was still difficult, and his sight was slightly blurry.
Picking up Terror, he carried him, oblivious to the numbing cold of the icy snow crunching beneath his bare feet, back to where Delaney lay slumped, still unconscious near the fence.
Then, exhausted, his knee aching, his feet numb, and his lungs torturously struggling to breathe, Asher set the dog down next to his owner and collapsed beside them both as he heard the fireman cutting through the padlock on the gate.
Those stupid Christmas lights.
* * *
Emma rushed through the hospital doors in Denver two minutes after three a.m. In her pajamas and winter coat, mismatched running shoes on her feet, her heart was in her throat. Exhausted from reading the course prep material, she’d basically passed out around midnight and hadn’t heard her cell phone ringing the first two times Jess had called. Thank God, her sister had kept trying. Running up to the information desk, she gave the nurse her father’s name.
The older woman checked several files on her desk then pointed to the elevators down the hall. “He’s being treated on the third floor in the burn unit…”
Burn unit. Emma didn’t hear anything else as she sprinted toward the elevators, not feeling her legs beneath her. As she rode the elevator, she swallowed back tears. Those damn Christmas lights. She’d said they were a bad idea. Her father living alone was a bad idea. She hoped her sister realized that now.
The fire may have been an accident, but she couldn’t help but have a feeling in her gut that accidents like this would happen often. Her father was more than just a little lost without their mother. And being in Florida, where she couldn’t help Jess take care of him, would be torture.
She bit her lip as the slowest-moving elevator in history finally stopped on the third floor. Following the signs to the burn unit, she hurried there.
She saw Jess and Trey in a waiting area. “Where is he?”
“He’s okay,” Jess reassured her, hugging her, though the mascara stain tracks on her sister’s cheeks revealed she’d been just as concerned. She couldn’t remember ever seeing Jess disheveled or not put together, but this evening, her sister’s blond hair was tangled and she wore her husband’s winter coat.
“The doctor has him hooked up to oxygen,” Trey told her, handing her a steaming cup of black coffee, like the one Jess clung to.
She took it with a shaky hand even though she knew she wouldn’t be able to get the liquid past the lump in her throat. “Oxygen?”
“He’d inhaled a lot of smoke before Asher found him and got him out of the house safely.”
She blinked. Ash had found her dad? Had saved her dad? Jess hadn’t mentioned that little detail on the phone. “Can I see him?” she choked out.
“In a few minutes. The doctor just wants to check him out a little bit more first,” Jess said. “But he really is okay. They both are. No burns…just smoke.”
Emma collapsed in a seat. Asher had saved her father’s life. They were both okay. The emotions welling up in her chest nearly strangled her. “The house?” She’d been in too much of a hurry and terrified to drive past it on her way.
“Not as lucky,” Trey said. “Fire damage to the left side, mainly the porch and front living room.”
Damn. “That sounds like a lot.”
Trey nodded, wrapping an arm around Jess. “But honestly, your dad and Terror were lucky to get out. He was asleep in the living room.”
Her heart fell. Not exactly the way any of them had expected to be starting Christmas Eve. A Christmas Eve she already had been dreading. She’d never thought it could go from depressing to absolutely devastating.
Thank God everyone was going to be okay. She swallowed the lump of fear that had taken up residence in her throat since the moment she’d answered the call from Jess.
“How’s Asher?” she croaked. He’d saved her dad’s life. She still couldn’t wrap her mind around it. Jess had said on the phone that the smoke detector had been disabled. That didn’t surprise her, but it definitely angered her. Her father was always complaining about it going off when he tried to cook. The fact that he’d disabled it was just another reason Jess could no longer argue against him moving into a retirement community.
She was confused about how Asher could have known about the fire in time without the silence-piercing noise going off next door.
What if he hadn’t discovered it? The thought made her blood run cold, and she shivered.
No, she wouldn’t go there.
“He’s being treated for smoke inhalation as well,” Trey answered. “Although I think Asher’s more concerned about his knee.”
Emma frowned. “What happened to his knee?”
“Tripped over a chair carrying Dad out of the house,” Jess said quietly.
“He carried Dad out?” Her mouth gaped. Her father was over two hundred pounds.
Trey nodded. “In his boxer briefs…And he also gave Delaney his boots, and the two of them sat in the snow near the house for a little while until firemen could get them, so the doctors are treating Asher for hypothermia.”
Emma blinked. Sounded like Asher had gotten the worst of things.
“Where’s Beverly?” Emma asked.
“She rode in the ambulance with Asher and Dad,” Jess said.
The elevator doors opened and Jackson and Abigail stepped out. They rushed toward them, looking as terrified as she’d felt moments before.
“Everyone okay?” Jackson asked.
She nodded.
Trey spoke, filling them in.
Jackson sat next to her. “Shit,” he muttered, echoing everyone’s thoughts.
Sitting in silence for what seemed an eternity, each of them no doubt going over the inevitable what-ifs that could have made this Christmas a hell of a lot worse, they all stood immediately as Beverly came out of a room and walked toward them.
She raised a hand as a million questions flew her way. “Asher’s good. They both are.”
They were both okay. She sank back onto the chair, not trusting her legs.
Beverly continued. “Jackson, did you bring a change of clothes?”
He nodded. “In the car. I wasn’t sure if they were letting him go home tonight.”
Beverly nodded. “Yes, in a few hours…” Then turning to Emma and Jess, she said, “Unfortunately, they will be keeping your dad overnight, since he did get the worst of the inhalation.”
Emma nodded.
“We’re not going anywhere,” Jess said.
“And don’t worry about the house…I know a contractor who can help your dad rebuild quickly,” Beverly said, winking at Jackson.
He smiled and nodded in agreement, wrapping one arm around Abby and one around his mom.
Emma gulped. The Westmores were so close. And their kindness extending to her family had more tears threatening to fall.
She glanced at her sister and Trey, and her stomach twisted.
So much of her time as an athlete had been spent on the road, traveling, training…she’d never developed a strong bond with her family. She never felt the void as much as she had the last few days, especially tonight. In this emergency setting, she felt slightly like an outsider among people she’d known her entire life. People she loved and cared about. She’d spent years away, being too busy for what mattered, and now another dream was taking her away from them as well.
“Can I see Asher?” she croaked, needing to at least be in the same room with the one person who’d always made things okay.
Beverly glanced at her and nodded. “I’m sure he’d like that.” Her expression was soft, kind, as though she knew the pain Emma was going through. It made her chest tighten even more.
Turning to her sister, she laid her coat on the seat. “I’ll be back. Come get me if they say we can see Dad,” she said, before disappearing down the hall.
At Asher’s door, she lingered in the hallway.
Start with a thank-you for risking his life to save Dad.
With a deep breath, she went inside and relief mixed with disappointment to see that he was sleeping. Lying on the bed wearing an oxygen mask, his leg elevated with the knee wrapped, the rest of his body wrapped tightly in a heated blanket, he looked even worse than he had the night of his own injury, and she swallowed hard.
He’s fine. They are both fine. Deep breath.
Those stupid Christmas lights, she thought again as she sat next to him and tears gathered in her eyes. If nothing else, she hoped their parents would finally put their silly arguing and competing behind them. Though it wouldn’t matter. With or without Jess’s support, Emma needed to talk to her father about a retirement home.
Asher’s face looked peaceful, and she released a deep breath as she touched the blanket, so grateful that he’d been there…so grateful that he and her father were okay. She’d missed him so much in the last week, and as each day had passed, reaching out to him and making things right between them again had seemed less and less possible.
His eyes opened, and a small smile appeared on his lips beneath the mask.
“Hi,” she said, not trusting her voice to say more.
He reached up to remove the oxygen, but she stopped him. “Don’t. You need that. I just wanted to see you…To say thank you.” Her voice broke and he covered her hand with his own, squeezing hard.
His gaze locked with hers, and the sight of his own tears glistening in his icy blue eyes was too much. There were too many questions, too many emotions to decipher, and she was too mentally and emotionally drained to try to start figuring them out.
Their friendship had always been easy, and their physical connection had never left her any doubt of their chemistry…but love was the hard part, the mystery she’d yet to solve.
She squeezed his hand and leaned forward to kiss his forehead, as tears fell down her cheeks. “Thank you again,” she whispered, letting her lips linger against his warm skin just a fraction of a second longer. “Merry Christmas, Ash,” she said, turning to leave.
Walking away from the man she loved, she wished for a metaphorical fire of their own.