Page 21 of Her Fire Master (Master Me #5)

L ia

I show up at my parents’ house with a pasted on smile, even though I can barely put one foot in front of the other.

It’s hard to believe breaking up with a guy I wasn’t even sure I was dating can hurt this badly.

I just keep seeing Blaze’s tortured expression when I got mad, keep wondering how he’s taking all this.

For some reason, I have a ridiculous need to know he’s all right.

That he’s not suffering.

Which is stupid.

Wouldn’t I want him to suffer for taking me on like a social work case?

But no. I definitely don’t.

The house is a loud clatter of voices and activity, as always. I do the round of greetings like a robot running a program. But I can’t pretend anymore. When we sit down around the giant table to eat—adults inside, kids at card tables outside—I clear my throat. “I’m sorry.”

“For what, mi amor ?” my mom asks.

“For burning the house down.”

The noisy dining room goes dead quiet, all the side conversations silencing, all eyes turned to me.

“Talia told me that everyone knows.” I look around the room, find the eyes of each of my brothers, of my mom, and finally, my dad. “So, I wanted to tell you how sorry I am.” I choke up on the last word and then everyone moves, everyone speaks at the same time.

Hands drop on my shoulders from either side. Words come at me. It wasn’t your fault. You were just a kid. It was an accident, reach my ears.

I blink back tears and nod. “Well, I’m still sorry. That’s all.”

“Nobody ever held it against you,” my father says from across the table, tipping his beer bottle in my direction. “Nobody.” He says the last word fiercely, like he’s daring me to disagree.

“You always were so fascinated by fire,” my mom says. “And now look at you—we couldn’t be more proud. You put your interest to work in the best possible way, didn’t you?”

That’s what I had always thought, but I’m suddenly not so sure. Was I just doing it for my family? To make up for my horrific crime and my cowardice about not telling them? And to think they knew all along!

I sniff. “My captain thinks I should become a fire inspector.”

My brother Alex lowers his fork. “That’s not a bad idea, sis.”

I shrug, too mixed up to know if it’s a good idea or not.

“You’d be a detective, like me.” He grins and winks at me, and I can’t help but feel a small tingle of pleasure at hearing how proud he sounds of me.

“Well, there’s no telling if I can get a job as one. Look how long it took me to get onto the FDNY. But I might take a training for it.”

“You should,” Alex says, his expression still glowing with enthusiasm. “I think that’s a great idea. So your captain—he must really see your potential.”

My heart stutters to a stop, then reboots with a thunk. Does Blaze see my potential? Or was he just trying to get me off the crew, somewhere safe. Or out from under him so we can date.

Neither of those motivations would be reason to vilify Blaze, though, would they? They show he cares.

He cared enough to pull strings and make arrangements for me.

He shouldn’t have done it without asking, but he did act with my best interest in mind.

Tears pop into my eyes again and I blink them back. “Yeah, he’s a good guy,” I manage to say, probably not pulling off casual as well as I hope.

Blaze is a good guy. He’s a great guy.

And I probably owe him a chance to explain himself. I’ll send him a text when I head home to open the door for a talk.

Blaze

I wait outside Lia’s apartment for ninety minutes before I see someone approach. I’m not sure if it’s lucky or unlucky that I recognize the guy. He’s the geeky neighbor who asked if she was okay that night I left the door open.

“Excuse me—hang on!” I call out, jogging up to him.

He flinches and throws me a suspicious look over his shoulder, but the flowers catch his eye and he stops.

“Hey, you live next to Lia, right?” I speak fast before he pushes in and leaves me with my dick hanging in the wind.

“Today’s her birthday and I wanted to leave this for her.

Could you let me up? Or will you leave these in front of her door for me? ”

He gives me another guarded sweep of his eyes, but snatches the vase with the giant bundle of flame-colored flowers from my hand.

“This too.” I thrust an envelope forward. It’s my apology and the outline of how I hope to fix the situation.

The neighbor gives it a mistrustful glance, and I draw up just a bit, using my size now to intimidate him. He grabs it and pushes in.

“Thanks, man!” I call after him and return to my park bench where I can keep an eye out for Lia’s return. I’ve never felt more like a stalker. I think about leaving about twenty times. But it’s too late now—the note went upstairs. She’ll be looking out her window. If she reads it.

I guess the chance of her chucking it straight in the wastebasket is medium to high.

When I finally see her approach, my chest cinches up tight. There’s no spring in her step. Her youthful face appears older, and tired. Dark circles are under her eyes.

Shit. I did this to her.

I don’t get off the bench until she’s inside. I’m not going to force my presence on her until she’s ready to talk. I need to give her space. But I also need her to know I’m going to do everything in my power to make things right.

I pick up the paper bag of lighter fluid beside me and get to work.

It’s showtime.

Lia

When I get to my door, I find a giant vase of flowers propped against my door. The flowers are spectacular—like nothing I’ve ever seen. Brilliant flame-orange tiger lilies mixed with blood-red roses.

It’s a fire bouquet. The flowers you give to a pyro.

My foolish heart picks up speed, thrilled to be honored this way. I pick them up and find a long envelope behind with my name scrawled on the front in block letters. I open the door and stumble in, setting the flowers down to tear open the envelope.

Lia,

You were never a project to me. You were (are) the brightest thing to come into my life in a long time. Maybe ever. I think we had (have) something special together, and I sure as hell am going to do everything in my power to get it back.

I’m so fucking sorry I tried to dick with your life without talking to you first. I never should’ve presumed that way. I understand now that I took the dynamic we have in the bedroom and applied it to real life and that was wrong and offensive.

I want you to know that I put you back on the schedule starting tomorrow, and I got myself transferred to another station, so you don’t have to worry about anything being awkward when you go back to work.

That doesn’t mean I don’t want to work this thing out with you—I definitely do. I’m going to do everything I can to prove how much I respect you as a person, a firefighter and the woman who turned my world on its head in bed.

But I know I tend to move too fast and smother, so I want to give you space and time. That’s why I’m saying this in a letter and not crowding you in person.

Lastly, I want to say I don’t need to fix you. There’s nothing wrong—you’re perfect as you are. In fact, I want to honor and love everything you love—including fire.

Please look out your bedroom window.

My breath sucks in and I’m already running to my bedroom and pulling open the shade.

I spot Blaze below, standing in the middle of the street, facing my window. As soon as he sees me, he strikes a match and drops it into the street.

I cover my mouth with my hand, choking on a cry.

There, in the middle of the dark, empty road, is a fire. Not just any fire—flaming words: I [giant heart] U Lia.

My vision blurs as I watch the flames curl and lick and then die out.

Blaze holds up a finger. Uses a bottle of lighter fluid to write something else and throws another match down.

Sorry, it says.

“Hey you!” One of my downstairs neighbors leans out her window. I can hear everything through the single glass pane windows in this old building. “What do you think you’re doing? I’m calling the cops!”

I throw my window open. “It’s okay!” I open my window and yell down. “He’s with the FDNY. He can put it out.”

Blaze straightens and pulls the hem of his FDNY shirt down to display the big white logo scrawled across his massive chest. Then he turns back to me and holds up his finger one more time.

He writes again. This time:

Happy Birthday.

I pull my head back out of the window because I don’t want him to see me cry. Somehow this has turned into the worst and best birthday of my life.

When the flames extinguish, all he does is lift a hand in my direction and walk away.

He meant it about giving me space.

I can’t help but notice the gaping hole left in my chest cavity where my heart used to be. Space from Blaze feels all wrong.

So does working at the station without him.

I hate his solution.

I shut my window but stay there, forehead pressed against the glass, remembering the beautiful flames shaping my name.

He loves me.

He said so.

And how could I not believe it? He’s willing to leave his station and his crew.

For me.

And he’s not making my pyromania wrong—he gave me gifts of fire. I laugh, suddenly realizing how fabulous it is for a fire-junkie like me to end up with a guy named Blaze. It’s like fate drew us together.