Torch (Take It Off #1)(15)
Author: Cambria Hebert

Was a chair.

My chair.

The one I was tied to.

In fact, a length of rope still lay coiled beneath it.

I felt as if I were in a vacuum and the memories of my attempted murder were trying to suck me up where all I could do was relive them over and over again.

“I should have had that moved,” Holt said, coming up just behind me to stand.

I tore my gaze away from the chair, away from the rope that tried to hold me hostage. “The police told me they would let me know when the house was clear, and I could search it for anything that might have survived,” I told him as a breeze ruffled my hair. It also drifted the still lingering scent of melted plastic and burned timber toward us. “But by the looks of things, there isn’t going to be anything left to save.”

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his fingers brushing across mine.

I looked over my shoulder at him. “It’s okay. Just about everything can be replaced.”

“Just about?” he asked curiously.

I nodded. “There was one thing that could never be replaced.” The realization caused an ache to erupt inside me. I felt a loss that I didn’t think I would ever have to feel again. How would I survive something like that twice?

I didn’t realize that I swayed on my feet until a strong arm wrapped around my waist and offered some support.

I leaned on him for a few seconds and then pulled away. “Thank you for the ride. For everything.”

“You really need to stop thanking me.” His lip tilted up in the corner.

I pulled the key out of my pocket and hugged the bag against my chest, putting a barrier between us. “Well, I have a lot to do,” I began, not really knowing what to say.

“You’re sure you won’t stay at my place?”

I nodded. “I’m sure.”

Now more than ever I wanted to be alone. I wanted some time to think—to absorb what had happened. I needed to regroup and make a plan. Once I had a plan, I would feel more in control.

I glanced back at the gaping hole that was my home.

I needed to get out of here. Being here, seeing this, was not helping. It was making everything worse.

“I have to go,” I told him.

He frowned, watching me like I was on the verge of some mental breakdown.

Maybe I was.

I didn’t bother to try and say anything else. It didn’t matter what I said anyway. It would all come out awkward. I walked to my car, which was covered in soot and ash, and climbed inside. I turned the key, letting out a breath when the engine roared to life. I cranked the air and then leaned over, opening the glove compartment, smiling a little when my ID and a twenty spilled out.

I had an ID.

I had a twenty.

I had my car.

It was a start.

I pulled out of the driveway and pointed my car away from the destruction. The hollow feeling in my chest, the ache deep in my bones didn’t lessen as I drove away.

Even still, I didn’t look back.

7

I chose a locally owned motel—not one of the chain hotels in the area. This one was small and less crowded looking. Plus the rates here were a lot less than the other places I looked. Yes, I had money in savings—but very little. Everything I’d saved as a teenager had gone into the purchase of my little house and all the furnishings inside.

I knew I would get the bulk of it back (thank goodness for insurance), but it would take a while, and until then I was going to have to be very careful about how much money I spent.

After I paid for a single room, I drove my car down the parking lot. It was a one-story motel made entirely of brick, and all the rooms sat connected together in a row. All the doors were red, and I drove past the line of them toward the end unit where I parked my car.

I still hadn’t been shopping, so I had nothing to bring inside but my little bag of ruined pajamas and the bandages the nurse gave me at the hospital. The inside of the room was very basic. A twin-sized bed sat in the center of the room with a dark-blue quilt covering the top. The carpet was also dark blue—the kind that wasn’t really there for comfort but necessity. There was a tall wooden dresser against the wall and the television sat on top of it. There were a couple of ocean prints hanging on the white walls and heavy blue draperies hanging on the window beside the door. Because this was an end unit, I got the luxury (if you could call it that) of having an extra window on the far right wall with the same heavy drapery.

There was a small bathroom with a single sink, toilet, and shower. The shower curtain was white and so were the scratchy-looking towels.

It wasn’t my idea of home, but it would do for a while.

I spent the next two days dealing with the insurance company, the bank, the driver’s license office, and shopping at Target for some new things to wear. I managed to keep my job and get the weekend off, needing to report back to work on Monday morning.

I didn’t sleep well in the little motel room. The bed was uncomfortable and I kept waking up flushed with sweat and feeling my heart pound, only to not remember what I was dreaming about.

When darkness covered the sky on the second night, my stomach began to churn with nerves.

I wondered what Holt was doing, if he was at work. Part of me wanted to see him, to be comforted by his presence. But it wasn’t his responsibility to comfort me. He’d already done enough for me—saving my life and giving me somewhere to stay my first night out of the hospital.

I told myself the reason I kept thinking about him was because he saved me. He literally walked through fire to carry me to safety. If it hadn’t been for him, I wouldn’t be here at all. I was somehow bonded to him. I felt like he was literally my lifeline. I supposed it was natural and would fade over time, hopefully sooner rather than later. I kept looking at the phone, like I wanted to call him to hear his voice, but I knew I shouldn’t.

I settled for taking a quick shower instead—skipping washing my hair (too much wrist involvement)—and then changing my bandages. The burns didn’t seem as bad as before—they still hurt; it was just more bearable.

After showering, I pulled on a pair of sleep shorts and a tank top from one of the shopping bags and dressed carefully. My muscles felt a lot better today, as well as the bruise on my shoulder, finally a fading yellow color.

Everything was going to be okay. My body was healing. I still had a job. I would get the insurance money, and I could buy a new house. Soon, everything would be back to normal.

I watched reruns of Friends on the TV until my eyes wouldn’t stay open anymore, and I shut it off and snuggled down in the covers, falling asleep quickly.