Page 65 of A Very Happy Easter

A paramedic approached. “Sir, can I take another look at your hands?”

His hands? Oh hell, Heath was burned. The skin had blistered, and the redness continued up his arms.

“How bad is it?” I asked.

He had a coughing fit before he answered. “I’ve had worse.”

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

“Somebody had to play hero,” the paramedic muttered, and Heath turned sheepish.

“I went back for a dog.”

“You got out, and you went back in?”

More prodding while the paramedic treated Heath’s hands revealed he’d actually gone back in five times—four times to evacuate his neighbours and once to rescue a Staffordshire Bull Terrier locked in an apartment on the ground floor. Plus his shoulder was bruised from breaking the door down. Honestly, I didn’t know whether to wrap him in cotton wool or yell at him for risking his life over and over. Not that I didn’t love dogs, but if I’d lost Heath…

“Don’t cry, Edie. I think everyone got out.”

“I’m crying because you’re hurt, you idiot.”

“Ah.”

“Who would I shit-text at four a.m. if you’d gone down in a blaze of glory, huh?” Another sob burst out of me. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. I just saw the fire, and…and…” My phone began ringing, and I fumbled it out of my pocket. Blackwood was calling. “It’s for you.”

He glanced at the screen. “Blackwood?”

“I saw the fire on TV and freaked out, okay? They said they’d send a car.”

“And you beat them here?” Heath chuckled, and I’d missed that smile. “Good going.”

He spoke with a colleague for a few moments, pressing the phone against his ear with a bandaged hand. There were a bunch of mmms and uh-huhs, and he assured them he was okay, just a bit of superficial damage and a little smoke inhalation. How could he stay so calm? My legs were still shaking.

“Is the Aston Martin yours?” he asked.

“I didn’t have time to wait for Jerilyn.”

“Yeah, it’s hers.” He hung up. “Someone’s going to stay with the car.”

“I don’t care about the car. What can I do to help? I could rent you another apartment, or you could stay with me. I have a whole empty floor.”

Heath was already shaking his head, and although I’d sworn never to share a home with a man, that bloody hurt.

“Would it help if I said I’d really like you to stay with me?”

“It’s not because I don’t want to. When I heard the first crash, I jumped out of bed pretty fucking fast, and I saw the guy who did this. He threw a second Molotov cocktail, but his aim wasn’t so good, and it hit the wall.” Heath rolled his eyes. “Which would have been fine if the wall wasn’t flammable.”

“I’m quite an expert in civil suits now, and I know an excellent lawyer.”

“That’ll be up to my landlord, I imagine. It’s his smoking ruin now.”

“Do you think he knew about the safety issues?”

“I doubt it. He lives in Manchester, and an agency deals with everything. But the bigger issue is that the guy who did the damage was wearing a motorcycle helmet.”

A chill ran through me. “Was it the same man we saw earlier? After the show?”

“We can’t rule it out.”