“Sorry if I was a dick earlier. I’ve got some stuff going on. I’m happy you’re here.”
My lips find the stubble of his cheek. I want to ask, What’s happening? Explain everything to me. I’ll understand, I promise. But instead, I kiss him, whispering softly into the dark, “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. We’ll figure everything out in the morning.”
Chapter 24
I wake to a buzzing sound, then panic because I don’t recognize the feel of the sheets or the crack in the plaster ceiling above me.
I’m not in my bed.
Oh shit, it’s happened again.
Before I can bolt upright, warm fingers squeeze mine, and a wave of relief washes over me.
Dax.
I’m in his bed. Exactly where I’m meant to be.
“I think that’s your phone.” His voice reflects a short and painful night’s sleep.
It’s still dark, and it takes me a moment to locate my little white Samsung, flashing on the floor next to the nightstand.
“Hello?” I’m still half-asleep. My eyes are too heavy to open. The heat from Dax’s body is too pleasant to even consider leaving this bed.
“Gemma?” My aunt’s voice wakes me enough that I’m now coherent.
“What’s up? What’s going on?”
“Well…” There’s a distinct hesitation in her speech. “Mr. Zogaib just called me…” She pauses again, and I roll my eyes beneath my closed eyelids.
“It’s still dark outside. If Mr. Zogaib’s mother needs moisturizer, she’s gonna have to wait like the rest of the city.”
“No—” Her voice takes on a new tone. One I can’t quite place. “There’s been a fire. We’ve been trying to get a hold of everyone, but…”
I don’t hear the rest of her sentence. It’s as if the world around me goes silent for a moment. Like time freezes, and the only thing that’s allowed to move is my hammering heart.
“Wilde!” My body fills with adrenaline, and I sit up so quickly that the mattress shifts, and Dax lets out a soft groan beside me.
“Wilde is fine, sweetheart. No troubles on that block, but, um, is there any chance Daxon is with you right now?”
The vise around my heart wrenches another notch tighter. “What happened? What’s wrong with Kicks?” As the words leave my mouth, Dax lifts his head so quickly that he grabs his side in pain.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
“Aunt Livi,” I say into the phone, pulling it from my ear. “Dax is right beside me. I’m putting you on speaker. Hold on, okay?”
The next minute is a blur. It feels like I’m watching a movie. Like the words fire, quickly spread, and significant damage all belong to someone else and not me. And they do, in a way. My store and my block escaped all harm, but Kicks and two others were collateral damage from a kitchen fire at the new Nashville-style chicken shop that opened only a week ago.
Dax takes it all in without saying a word. I swear he’s a shade whiter, although it’s hard to tell in the light of my phone.
“Do you want to go down there? See what the situation is?” I ask.
He nods, but he heard Aunt Livi as well as I did. Significant damage. Firefighters are still working. We won’t be allowed in for days.
“Are you okay?” It’s the world’s stupidest question to ask. How can he be okay? I’m far from okay, and it’s not my store, my dream that has turned into ash.
Dax doesn’t say a word as he dresses, as we descend the stairs of his building, or as we get into the waiting cab.
We see the fire trucks and the smoke long before the block where All the Other Kicks comes into view.
“Fuck.” He says it so softly under his breath that I almost miss it. We pull up, and the small span of space in between two fire trucks drains any hope still left in my heart. His storefront is black. The big beautiful glass window that once looked out onto James Street is now shattered into a million pieces, mixing with puddles of water and ash.
“It looks like the fire is out now.” I point to the group of firefighters standing on the sidewalk, talking. Not clutching hoses. Or running into burning buildings. That’s good news, if there can even be good news in this entire fucked-up situation.
When Dax doesn’t answer, I turn to find him with his head between his hands, drawing deep breaths.
“Hey.” I rub slow circles into his back. “I’m so sorry, Dax.”
He continues the deep breaths. I make eye contact with the driver in the mirror and give him a silent nod that says, No rush. Let him take all the time he needs. At least five minutes pass before Dax raises his head.