The Perfect Match (Blue Heron #2)(119)

She opened the door to the front staircase. “Hold on to me,” she told her grandmother.

Close the door, honey.

Honor did. The front staircase was clearer than the lilac room, and breathing was slightly easier. Goggy was still coughing, hard. Down the front stairs they went, Goggy’s hands on Honor’s shoulders as the fire taunted them with its high-pitched, crackling laugh.

If the front door hadn’t been nailed shut, they’d be out right now, running across the lawn, sucking in the sweet, clean spring air.

But it was. She tried it just in case, banged on it, yanked it, kicked it, but it opened inward, and Pops had done a good job of making sure it wouldn’t blow open again. Another kick. Another. The door didn’t budge.

Her phone was with Pops.

“Help us!” she yelled, doubting that anyone could hear her over the roar of the fire.

“Okay, we have to make a run for it,” she said to Goggy. Maybe the fire department would be there to help them. Please. Maybe she could break a window if they couldn’t get to the dining room door, though the twelve-over-twelve panes would make that hard. “Keep the blanket over your head and hold my hand.”

“Go without me,” Goggy said, coughing. “Go, honey.”

Honor looked into her eyes. “No. We can make it. We’re Holland women. Okay? I’m not leaving you. Now are you ready?”

Goggy gripped her hand. “Yes.”

Honor opened the door.

A wall of smoke and flame greeted her, and she yanked it shut again, shoving Goggy back onto the stairs.

That’s when the roof fell in.





CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

TOM COULD NOT sleep.

His entire body hummed with adrenaline.

Charlie would be all right. Charlie was going to be just fine, in fact. Tom had brought him back to the Kelloggs’ house after dinner. “I’ll see you soon,” he said.

“Yeah,” Charlie said. “That’d be good.” He hesitated, then leaned over and hugged Tom. “Thanks,” he whispered, then ran into the house.

Tom sat there another minute and had to wipe his eyes. Maybe Charlie could come live with him. Or maybe there were some good things about him living with Melissa’s parents. Maybe seeing Tom a few times a week would be enough.

He’d wait and see. For now, he’d be content.

Charlie would be fine. That wasn’t why Tom was awake.

Honor was the reason for that.

The fire siren went off three blocks over. Lonely sound, that.

And yes, he was lonely. Oh, he had friends enough here in this little town, Colleen and Connor, Droog. He had the kids in the boxing club, Dr. Didier, who now used him regularly to spot her, and even Levi Cooper, who’d bought him a beer the other night, despite the fact that Levi was Honor’s brother-in-law.

But he missed her. Her gentle voice, her way of thinking before speaking, the feel of her mouth, her hands, her hair.

God, he had it bad.

It had been twenty-two days since he broke her heart. Eight since he’d seen her at O’Rourke’s. Roughly one hundred and eighty-six hours since he’d seen her, five hundred and twenty-eight since he’d kissed her in that soul-wrenching encounter in the cask room, since he told her he didn’t love her.

Idiot.

Liar.

Without further thought, he rolled out of bed and pulled on some clothes. Her father would probably strangle him on sight, and more power to him; he’d do the same thing if he had a daughter who was jerked around by some prat foreigner.

Nevertheless.

But perhaps a phone call was in order.

Her voice mail picked up. It was 2:50 a.m., after all.

“It’s Tom,” he said. “I miss you. I love you. I’m on my way to see you right now, so if your father has a gun, please talk him down, and tell Ratty not to attack me. I love you, did I mention that?” He paused. “And I’m sorry, Honor.”

Then he went downstairs, grabbed his keys and headed for the car.

He didn’t think much of it when the first pickup truck passed him, the flashing blue light indicating one of Manningsport’s volunteer firefighters.

But when a second, and then a third, vehicle flew by him, all heading in the same direction he was, up the Hill, cold dread suddenly sat in the passenger seat next to him, certain and unwavering.

Honor was in trouble.

He floored it.

The glow told him what waited ahead. Flashing red lights against an evil orange flicker, a herd of vehicles on the lawn of the grandparents’ house, people milling around, water arcing onto the roof of what appeared to be a massive ball of flame, once the Old House.

Please, God, the grands made it out.

An old man with a fire police vest was waving him over, but Tom veered around him, ignoring his shouts. Into the driveway, onto the lawn, behind the other cars and trucks, a police cruiser.

Only two fire trucks. Shit.

Levi Cooper was there, yelling into the radio. There was Honor’s grandfather. Faith was on her knees, sobbing.

Then part of the roof collapsed in a great cloud of smoke and sparks.

Tom wasn’t aware he was running until someone grabbed him.

Brogan Cain, dressed in firefighting gear.

“Where is she?” Tom asked.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, his eyes wet.