Page 46 of Daring the Hockey Player

When I get home, I fall right into bed, but I don't get to sleep for long. Two hours and twenty minutes, to be exact.

The fire alarm goes off, and thankfully, I chose to sleep in a T-shirt and flannel pajama pants. I grab my purse, phone, and keys. It's probably a false alarm. Drills are a semi-regular occurrence, but they've never been in the middle of the night.

I touch the door handle and head into the hallway. There's a haze of smoke, and the hallway is warmer than it should be, like fire is covering the building.

I'm not the only one in the hallway. A few more neighbors start to see what the fuss is about, and when we realize it's not a false alarm, we knock on the doors, making our way for the stairwell, trying to wake everyone up.

Finally stepping foot outside, in the distance, the sound of a fire engine wails upon its arrival. Flames light the night sky. The roof is consumed by fire, and the top floor near the west side of the building is completely gone. At least two apartments have been destroyed, possibly more. It's impossible to tell from here.

We move across the street, watching as the fire department arrives and hooks up their hose. They send a team in, searching for residents.

Another fire engine and ambulance arrive. I glance at my watch. It's half past four in the morning.

Charlotte lives in another apartment complex. I dial her, but it goes straight to voicemail. I'm not even sure she's home. She might have slept over with some guy she met at Blue Line.

I send Charlotte a brief text.

Apartment fire. I'm fine. Text me when you get this.

I'm sure she'll hear about it when she gets up or sees the destruction on her way to class tomorrow at seven.

I didn't even bother with shoes in my haste to leave, but it's probably for the best. I could have been stuck, trapped inside.

The fire roars, flames kicking up higher as more of the building becomes charred, and the fire rages down another floor.

My floor.

I glance at my phone.

I ring Emerson, but she doesn't answer. I hang up and try her again. Maybe she didn't answer it quickly enough? No doubt she got in late. Her phone is probably set to silent.

I have Kyler's number, and I grimace, trying him next.

"Hello?" he grumbles, half asleep.

"I need to talk to my sister."

"Amber, is that you?" Kyler asks. "Are you all right?" He sounds more alert, awake when he realizes that I'm calling and something must be wrong because I never reach out to him.

"I need to talk to Emerson."

"What's wrong, Amber?" my sister asks, finally answering the phone.

"There's been a fire at my apartment," I say, my voice shaky. "I'm fine, but I need a place to stay for the night."

She invites me to their place, and they insist I take a cab at this hour. I don't argue. I call for a ride and wait down the block, away from the chaos. The police are arriving, having people move back, out of the way, and away from danger.

The firefighters no longer appear to be trying to salvage the building so much as protect the apartment complex beside it and keep the fire from raging out of control onto another building.

But they are shooting water hoses, and smoke towers above before more flames brighten the night.

I can't watch, and I'm grateful when the cab arrives and takes me far from campus.

The gate opens promptly before I have time to buzz it, along with the front door.

Kyler is awake, waiting for me when I arrive.

"I'm sorry to have woken you," I say.