Through the Fire (Daughter of Fire, #1)(25)

He tilted his head away from my touch. “It doesn’t matter.”

“You got hurt saving me—of course it matters,” I said. Then I smiled at him. He was okay. We were both okay. That simple fact was more than I could have hoped for when I heard his brother and father that morning. “Don’t worry though, Dad’s very adept at first aid. There was a time he was going to be a doctor, you know?”

The corners of his mouth turned down even further as he snapped his head away from a fresh attempt to examine his wound. “I came here as quickly as I could. I hoped you’d come back here even though it was dangerous to return. I had to know you were safe, especially considering—” he stopped as a choking sound stole his voice.

“Considering what?” I reached for his hand and placed it on my cheek.

He didn’t answer me; instead, his face crumpled into a mask of grief. When his gaze slide past mine, his eyes were hollow—empty. He blinked his lifeless eyes and pushed his bottom jaw out as a subdued sob left his throat. I didn’t understand his distress.

“Hey, it’s okay,” I reassured him, holding his face in my hands and drawing his eyes to mine. He couldn’t hold my gaze, and I figured it might have been because he’d worked himself up with concern for me. I pressed my lips to his again and again, but instead of calming him it made him start to sob. “I had a close call,” I gently brushed the skin underneath the cut on his face, “but I’m safe. We both are.”

He shook his head. Nothing I did or said seemed to calm him in the least. If anything, it all served to make him more agitated. “There was a fire,” he said, turning his head in the direction of the house.

“What do you mean?”

“I thought you were in there. I thought . . .” he choked on his breath. “But you weren’t and, oh god, I’m so sorry, Evie.”

“What is it?” My heart raced as I realized his concern might not have been for me.

“Your house, it’s . . .” He choked again before taking a deep breath and looking away.

My hands closed over my mouth to stop from crying out as the cause of his agitation became clear. Then I remembered the coroner’s van that had passed me earlier, and the reality of it hit me with full force. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no!” I wailed.

Clay closed his eyes and took another breath before shaking his head. He couldn’t even look me in the eye as he delivered the news, “Your Dad . . . he didn’t make it.”

I shook my head. “No, he would have left.” After the initial thought flooded through me, my mind shut down and refused to process his words. They can’t be right. “How can you say that?” I cried. “He’s okay! He’s got to be okay. He just escaped without anyone seeing him, that’s all. We’ve done it before.”

Clay shook his head sadly.

“We’ve done it before!” I screamed with all the fury I could muster. Dad couldn’t . . . he couldn’t just be gone.

The forlorn look on Clay’s face wiped away all traces of hope that had begun to build in me.

“No,” I whispered as my knees gave way.

He stepped into the space between my arms and pressed his body against mine, holding my weight against himself. As I fell to pieces, he found the strength he needed to support me.

“What happened?” I asked, needing to hear his voice and wanting confirmation of what I already suspected. Even though doing so would allow the worst of my fears to come to light.

“When I got there, he . . .” A shuddering sob ripped through him. “He was already . . .” He held my head against his chest as sobs escaped me. “Evie, I’m so, so sorry,” he whispered.

His words and the sorrowful tone of his voice were too much for me to handle. I ripped myself out of his arms and ran toward the house, taking great gasping breaths as I sprinted as fast as I could. I stumbled as I got closer to the smoldering site, falling heavily onto the grass. My head spun as I tried to pull myself upright, but I couldn’t gain control of my legs or get enough air into my lungs. I dragged myself up until I was supported on all fours. Dizziness overtook me as reality hit me. I’d lost my father. The taste of smoke burned my tongue and forced vomit into my throat.

Strong hands wrapped around my shoulders and pulled me upright. Clay held me against the front of his body, supporting me completely with his arms crossed in front of my chest. He nuzzled his nose into my hair and tried to comfort me, tried to make me leave before I saw anymore, but I had to know. I had to see for myself.

With Clay trailing behind me every step of the way, I covered the last of the distance toward the house and fell to my knees again. The house that Dad and I had shared until early that morning was gone. In its place was a hideous skeleton of ash and debris, rising up out of the block. The trees that had surrounded our makeshift home were largely untouched by the fire that had consumed everything else but bent inward toward the yawning space as if they too were mourning a loss.

A high keening sound issued from me as the gruesome reality tore through my mind and ripped the tattered shreds of my heart into tiny pieces. Clay pulled me against his body to try to stop the sound.

“It’s my fault,” I whispered as a fresh wave of nausea ripped through me. “It’s all my fault.” The words spilled from my mouth again and again without thought. I couldn’t stop them even if I’d tried.