Page 21

21

CHASE

I floor it, the tires screaming against the pavement. Nothing else matters—just getting there. I try Honor again, my hand gripping the phone so tightly my knuckles ache.

“Come on! Pick up! Pick up!” My voice cracks as I shout into the empty line. When it cuts to voicemail again, I let out a roar of frustration, slamming my hand against the steering wheel. “Fuuuck!”

I don’t even notice the speedometer creeping higher. Fire and rescue are on the way, but my house isn’t exactly right off the main road. I can’t wait for them. Right now, my only ally is Hux. And even that feels like a thread stretched too thin.

When I arrive, the scene hits me like a punch to the face. My house—a fortress, a place meant to protect—is a battlefield. Smoke seeps from the vents like the building itself is suffocating. Hux’s four-wheel drive is smashed against the front door, its hood crumpled like paper. He tried to ram his way in, as he said. Desperation has teeth, and it’s already sunk into him.

I spot him on the roof, his broad frame swinging an axe with relentless force against the south-east corner, just as I’d instructed. Each swing sends shards of roofing flying, but even from here, I can see it’s not enough.

“Climb over my truck!” Hux yells, telling me how the hell he got up there with no ladder.

I grab the heavy-duty cutting saw from the back of my truck—thank God for Red Mark’s prep—and haul myself up from the roof of his GMC with everything else I can carry. My lungs already burning from the faint smoke curling into the open air.

“Move!” I yell to Hux, revving the saw. Sparks fly as the blade tears into the reinforced material, grinding against steel. Hux picks up the axe again, attacking the weakened section in rhythm with me. Sweat pours down my face, stinging my eyes, but I don’t stop. I can’t. Not while they’re inside.

The roof starts to give. A groan of protest, then a crack. I toss the saw aside and grab the loosened sheet with both hands, pulling with everything I have. What good is rolling tires in the gym every damn morning if I can’t save Honor and Laramie now? My arms burn, my shoulders scream, but the sheet shifts, just barely. I growl, putting every ounce of rage, fear, and adrenaline into one final pull.

It gives.

The section of roofing tears free, leaving a gap just wide enough. Hux and I lock eyes, his face streaked with soot and disbelief. Even he seems shocked I managed to rip through that much.

“Put this on!” I throw a mask at him, strapping my own into place as we climb into the opening. Smoke billows around us, thick and choking, but I don’t hesitate. I yank my mask off briefly, shouting into the chaos. “Honor!”

No answer.

We trudge through the smoke-filled house, my heartbeat hammering so hard it drowns out everything else. The air is unrelenting, clinging to my skin, stinging my eyes even behind the mask. Every corner we turn, every room we check, she’s not there.

The living room? Empty.

The kitchen? Nothing.

My chest tightens, fear breaching the edges of my control.

“Honor!” I bellow, my voice raw. “Answer me, damn it!”

I pause, my mind racing, replaying every conversation, every detail I’ve told her about the house. Then it hits me like a bolt of clarity. The wellness room. She knows it’s there. She’s smart—she would go where the air might still be clean.

“I know where they are!” I shout to Hux, already running toward the far hall. My loafers pound against the floor, each step fueled by desperate hope. “Smart girl. Smart girl,” I mutter to myself, clinging to the thought. She has to be there. She has to.

Huxley and I arrive at the sealed door of the oxygen suite.

I glance at him. “You go back outside. Guide the fire crew to where we are. I’ll handle this.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t argue—chain of command is ingrained in both of us. Military training. There’s no time for back-and-forth. Even though he was once my senior partner, here he respects my lead. He knows what’s at stake. He knows I need to do this.

I grip the door handle and pull it open, just enough to slip through, keeping the gas out as much as possible.

“Honor?”

Every second stretches into an eternity.

And then I see them.

“Chase!” Honor’s voice cracks as she throws herself into my arms. She clings to me, shaking so hard I can feel it in my bones.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” I murmur, my hands moving instinctively to check her over, patting her shoulders, her arms, her back. “Are you hurt?”

She pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, bloodshot and watery from the gas. Her skin is flushed and damp, with traces of irritation around her nose and cheeks. “No, I’m okay. I’m okay,” she insists, her voice hoarse but steady.

“Is Laramie?” My voice falters as I glance over to the daybed in the corner—the little girl is lying still.

Honor shifts, trudging back to her daughter. She holds the baby up toward me. “I think so. I think she’s okay.”

The weight on my chest loosens as I take in the sight of Laramie. She’s pale but breathing, her tiny body curling against Honor’s chest like she knows she’s safe there.

But we’re not out of the woods yet. The tanks are running low. I was supposed to replace them soon—the timing couldn’t have been worse. The oxygen won’t hold out much longer.

“The fire crew will be here soon,” I assure her, keeping my voice steady. “We just need to hang on a little longer.”

Honor nods, but she doesn’t let go of me. Her arms stay wrapped around my waist, her grip almost crushing. I don’t mind. I pull her closer, anchoring her to me as my own body trembles with the aftershock of it all.

I glance around the room, my mind flashing to all the ways this could have gone wrong. The smoke. The gas. The oxygen. If there’d been a single spark, the whole house could’ve gone up in flames, taking them with it. My stomach twists at the thought, and I tighten my hold on Honor, as if that alone could protect her.

I hear them before I see them. The muffled thud of boots, the clatter of equipment, and urgent voices cutting through the suffocating silence. The fire crew has arrived. Relief rushes through me, still, every second feels like borrowed time.

The door creaks open, and a firefighter steps inside. “We’re here. Let’s get you out.”

Another firefighter follows, holding a small oxygen mask—the size for an infant. He carefully fits the mask over Laramie’s tiny face. It settles perfectly, and I watch, breath held, as her breathing steadies beneath it. Then he reaches out. “Pass the baby to me,” he says.

Honor freezes, her body taut with fear, her gaze darting to me. “No… no! Chase, you take her. You hold her,” she says, her voice trembling but firm.

Her words hit me with a force that’s almost physical. She’s trusting me—not just with her daughter but with her entire world. There’s no hesitation in her eyes, only raw, unshakable belief that I’ll do the right thing.

“I’ve got her,” I nod to the firefighter, gently lifting Laramie from Honor’s arms. Her grip loosens, and I pull the baby close.

I pull off my own mask and pass it to Honor. “Here. Take this.”

“What about you?” she whispers, her voice cracking. Her hands tremble as she reaches for the mask.

“I’ll be fine,” I say, reaching for a smaller mask the firefighter hands to me. “Put it on. Please.”

She hesitates, then finally nods and as I help her slip it over her face.

The fire crew leads the way, guiding us through the smoke-choked air. The tear gas has dissipated somewhat, but the acrid sting still clings to the air, caught in low-lying areas and enclosed pockets. It’s thinner now, easier to push through, but the burning edge still lingers.

Honor takes in the scene as we move, her eyes lingering on the jagged hole in the roof—the section Hux and I hacked through to get in. Around us, debris and traces of the firefighters’ efforts are strewn about. Her shoulders sag, and she lets out a broken sigh.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmurs, her voice barely audible. “I ruined everything.”

She’s sorry? For what? The house? The mess? None of it matters. She doesn’t understand—she and Laramie are all that matters.

“You haven’t ruined anything,” I say. With Laramie snug in one arm, I reach out and pull Honor closer with the other. She leans into me, her weight pressing against my side as if she’s afraid to let go. “Everything that matters is right here.”

Her eyes fill with tears, but she nods, her head resting against my shoulder.

The fire crew leads us outside, and the fresh air hits like a jolt to the system. Huxley is there, standing by the ambulance. He looks utterly spent, his shoulders sagging under the weight of everything we’ve just been through. His face is streaked with soot, his clothes a mess, but that trademark grin of his still manages to shine through.

“You good?” he asks, his voice rough, like the smoke is still clawing at his throat.

I nod, glancing at Honor and Laramie. “Yeah. You?”

He chuckles dryly, running a hand through his ash-covered hair. “Been better. But I’ll live.”

“Huxley. We finally meet,” Honor rasps.

“Honor. Nice to meet you. Are you okay?” Hux asks.

Honor breaks from my embrace to throw her arms around him, giving him a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. “Thank you!”

He gets a peck on the cheek? How about me?

“Hey, I didn’t do anything,” Hux says to Honor, holding his hands up as if in surrender. He tilts his head toward me with a wink. “It was all him. Be gentle with him, yeah?”

Before I can respond, someone shouts from behind us. “Come on, we’ve gotta go!”

A pair of paramedics steps forward, guiding us toward the ambulance with brisk efficiency. Inside, one of them gestures toward a cot designed for an infant. “Lay the baby here,” they instruct.

I carefully place Laramie down, my hands lingering on her for just a moment longer than necessary. The small weight of her absence making my chest ache. The team immediately gets to work, checking her vitals. She fusses for a second, her tiny hands waving in protest, but then her breathing steadies.

“Is she okay there?” Honor’s voice is brittle with worry. She’s still standing at the edge of the ambulance, her hands gripping the metal frame.

“Yeah,” I reassure as I glance back at her. “She’s fine, Honor. We’re gonna be fine.”

Her eyes flick from me to Laramie and back again, and then, without warning, she steps forward, grabs me by the jacket, and pulls me to her. Her lips crash against mine, fierce and desperate, like she’s pouring every ounce of fear, relief, and gratitude into that single moment.

I kiss her back, my hands finding her waist, holding on. For a second, the chaos around us fades into nothing. It’s just her. And me. And the life we’ve fought to save.

The paramedics are already back at work, securing Laramie for the ride to the hospital. I steady Honor as she climbs into the ambulance, her movements still shaky, and settle in beside her just as the doors swing shut.

The close quarters of the cabin don’t stop me from studying her. The sensation of her kiss still lingers, but there’s more to Honor Deveraux. Being near her feels like stepping into a moment from the past—seeing a face and wondering, Have I seen it before ? It’s a trivial thought, perhaps. A fleeting reminder of an old friend or an actor whose name hovers just out of reach. But is that really all this is?

Her hand lands softly on mine.

“Well,” I murmur, holding her close as she leans into me, “you’ve ruined something, actually.”

Her head tilts up slightly, her brows knitting in confusion. “What?”

“You’ve ruined Damon’s plan,” I say, my tone growing firmer. “His plan to reclaim you and Laramie. You destroyed it.”

The words hang in the air, and then the full weight of it all hits me. My throat burns with something far more powerful than smoke. Relief. Gratitude. Love.

“My God, Honor,” I breathe, my voice breaking as I press my lips to the crown of her head. Tears threaten to spill, and I don’t care. I hold her tighter, my arms refusing to let go. I need to feel her, to know she’s here, alive, safe.

We sit in silence for a while, the vibration of the ambulance filling the space as it bumps along the road. Honor leans into me, her head resting against my shoulder. I can feel the tension still clinging to her, though it’s easing now, replaced by exhaustion.

Then she breaks the quiet. “What did he say? Damon. When you saw him.”

I sigh, my jaw tightening at the memory. “Not much. He was unloading his ego like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.” I pause, then admit, “Damon tricked me. He wanted me out of the house so you’d be left alone.”

Her breath hitches slightly. “Did he… did he know about Laramie? That she’s a girl?”

I shake my head. “I don’t think so. He kept talking about ‘his sons.’ It’s like he assumed without even asking.” Now it’s clear, that Damon did expect that both Oakley and his newborn were here in the same roof.

Her voice drops. “Then why did he want to kill me?”

“I don’t think he did,” I say, rubbing her back gently. “The gas wasn’t deadly—it was meant to flush you out, force you to leave the house. You’d have been alive when you stepped out, but his men would’ve been waiting for you. That’s how he wanted it to go.”

“But they made it impossible to get out!” she says, her voice trembling with frustration.

“I know,” I admit, frowning. “Something doesn’t add up. Maybe his men botched the plan,” I trail off, the loose ends tangling in my mind. “I don’t know. But it didn’t go the way he wanted, that’s for sure.”

Honor shifts slightly, her eyes searching mine. “The lights flickered, like there was a power surge. It didn’t last long, but it was weird. And then Huxley showed up.”

“That could’ve been their attempt to override the security system,” I say, more to myself than her. “Whatever Damon planned, I’m sure he didn’t want to kill you or Laramie. He wants you back, and he’s delusional enough to think reclaiming his ‘sons’ will fix everything. Something went wrong when his men tried to deliver the gas. That’s why it ended the way it did.”

I rub slow circles on her back, trying to ease the tension I can feel in her. “Hey, don’t think about that now, okay? Laramie’s fine, and she’s going to need her mama to be strong for her. She’ll need some extra TLC, and you’re the only one who can give her that.”

Honor’s lips curve into a faint smile, her first real one since the chaos began.

“And,” I add, leaning closer, “mama will get some extra TLC from yours truly.”

She lets out a light laugh. “Stay with us, Chase.”

I cup her cheek, my thumb brushing lightly against her skin. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And then I kiss her, light and lingering, like a promise I’ll never break. She kisses me back, no hesitation, no fear. This isn’t just a moment borne of adrenaline or desperation. This is us—starting something real, something worth fighting for.