“No.” I pull her to me and hug her close. “A for today breather. I have work, Amelia. I promise I’m not lying about that. I have a Monday deadline that I’m behind on. And I know that I’ve been keeping you away from work, too.”

“I have some work to do,” she confirms. “But I hate letting you leave like this. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“I know.” I kiss her forehead and then her lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She nods and lets me go.

Jesus, it’s been a long fucking day.

Productive, but long.

My back aches from sitting for too many hours in this godforsaken chair, and my head hurts from staring at the computer. I’ve been on the phone more than I like today, and didn’t eat anything to speak of. Unless coffee is considered a meal, in which case, I had about six of them.

But, I’m fully caught up, and even ahead for the week to come. It feels good. I turn the computer off and rub my eyes. I’m exhausted. Sleeping for a week sounds like a great idea.

But first, a shower.

I grab my phone and notice that I’ve missed a text from Amelia. I’ve been so engrossed in work, I didn’t even hear it.

Hey. I’ve been thinking about you a lot today. I feel bad about the way we left things. Please tell me that you know that I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.

I smile and type out a reply. I know you didn’t mean to. We’ll talk about it tomorrow. I promise.

I leave the office and head upstairs to my bedroom. My feet feel heavy. My phone pings with an immediate response from Amelia.

I was hoping we could discuss it tonight, but it’s late, and I’m already in bed.

I quickly peel off my clothes, start the water, and reply to her.

I’m exhausted, sweetheart. We should both get some rest and talk tomorrow when our heads are clear.

I reach for a clean towel, hang it on the rack, and just as I’m about to step under the water, she replies.

Goodnight. She follows it up with a sleepy emoji, and my heart swells. Part of me wants to say screw it and run over to hold her and talk everything out with her tonight. But I’m so fucking tired, I can barely keep my eyes open, and exhaustion wins.

The shower is a balm to my sore body. I’m not this tight and sore after working out with Jace for an hour, and that man is an animal. No more getting so behind on work that I have to do this again.

After I shut off the taps and dry myself, I pull on a T-shirt and pair of gym shorts, then head downstairs for a bottle of water. I notice my office light is still on, so I swing through to shut it off.

Before I turn to leave, I notice a flash above Amelia’s house. Expecting it to be lightning, I walk to the windows, looking closer. There’s nothing for a long moment, and I begin to think that it was just a figment of my tired brain, but then it happens again.

Except, that’s not lightning.

It’s fire.

Amelia’s house is on fucking fire.

My heart slams into my throat as I run out of the house, desperate to get to her. I pound on the door, but she doesn’t open it. She’s not outside. The smell of fire and falling ash hangs around me.

She must be asleep.

“Wake up, baby.” I bang on the door again, pounding with the flat of my fist, but she still doesn’t come outside. I look in the front windows, but the house is dark.

I have to get in there. I told her we would talk tomorrow, and what if tomorrow is too late? What if I don’t get the chance to tell her that I love her?

What in the hell have I done?

I race back to my own garage, calling 911 on my way. I need shoes.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“A house fire,” I reply, panting heavily. I rattle off the address. “I can’t see where it’s coming from, but the flames are coming over the house. And my girlfriend is still inside.”

“She’s in the house, sir?”

“Yes.” My heart is in my throat as I reach for a sledgehammer and shove my feet into my yard-working shoes. “She’s not opening the door. I’m going to bust the window in to get to her.”

“Sir, do not enter the house. Help is on the way. I need you to stay away from the building.”

I hang up on her. Fuck that. I won’t stay away from the house. The woman I love more than anything is in there, and it’s on fucking fire.

I run back over and bust the front window open easily. I can hear sirens in the distance as I climb over the glass.

“Amelia!”

There’s no smoke inside the house, which fills me with relief. Now, where the hell is she?

~Amelia~

I sit up in bed with a start. I swear someone just broke a window.

Someone is breaking into this house!

“Amelia!”

It’s Wyatt. I throw on a T-shirt and shorts and meet him at the top of the dark stairs.

“Wyatt? What’s wrong? Did you break the window?”

“Are you okay?” He cups my face. His eyes are wild in the moonlight, and suddenly, I realize there’s light dancing on the walls.

“Of course. What’s going on?”

“The house is on fire. Come on, we need to go.”

“I need to grab my purse.”

“Lia.” He stares at me like really? but I just run back to the bedroom, grab my purse, and before I can slide my feet into flip-flops, he slings me over his shoulder and carries me down the stairs and out the front door.

He sets me down, and I immediately run around the house, Wyatt on my heels.

“Stop, Amelia. I called 911.”

“I hear them.” And I can smell the fire. I need to know where it is. Have I just burned Natalie’s house down? I round the corner of the house to find Natalie’s studio ablaze and reach out blindly for Wyatt. “Holy fuck.”

“I don’t want you back here,” he says, pulling me toward the street. “It’s dangerous. Come on, baby.”

“The studio is on fire.” I’m not moving, and Wyatt takes my face in his hands again, making me face him.

“Look at me, goddamn it! You’re not safe here. Let’s go.”

I blindly follow him back to the street where fire trucks and an ambulance have pulled up, and the next three minutes are a blur of men running with hoses to the back of the house, and Wyatt and me watching from the safety of his driveway.

“Let’s go inside.”

“No,” I reply, shaking my head, my feet hurting a bit from the rocks on the driveway. “I need to call Nat. And I need to make sure that I haven’t burned her house down.”

“You didn’t do anything,” he murmurs. His hands are rubbing up and down my arms soothingly. His voice is strong and reassuring.

God, I love this man. It’s torn me apart all day that I could have hurt his feelings last night.

But I have to table that for later.

The guy who seems to be in charge jogs over to us.

“Do you live here?” he asks.

“I do, but I’m not the homeowner. I’m about to call her. What’s happened?”

He scratches his cheek and props his hands on his hips. “It started in the guest house out back. We have it out now, but we’re going to keep working on it in case it’s burning below ground.”

“Do you know how it started?” Wyatt asks.

“Not yet,” he replies. “We’ll be here for a while.”

“I’ll call Natalie,” I say as the fireman walks away. I dial her number and squeeze my eyes shut. She might not be awake.