Page 39

THIRTY-NINE

Ember

The ride to the safe house is a blur of aching limbs and muffled voices. When we finally arrive, medics swarm, efficient and calm, patching up wounds and checking vitals.

Blaze fights to stay by my side, arguing with the doctor, who insists he needs more care. His eyes never leave me, even as they dress the bullet wound in his shoulder. My own injuries are tended to—bruises, cuts, signs of the torture Wolfe put me through—but nothing feels quite real until they tell me I’m free to go.

A hollow emptiness settles in my chest.

What now?

The thought circles heavy and relentless. I want to go home—to my tiny, dilapidated apartment where everything is familiar, where I can wrap myself in solitude and pretend. Still, the idea feels strange, disconnected from the chaos of the last few hours.

I don’t know what normal means anymore.

Then there’s the part of me afraid to say goodbye to Blaze. We’ve known each other only a matter of days, yet he already feels like a constant in my life.

“What are you thinking about, love?” Blaze looks at me, eyes filled with exhaustion. His voice is softer now, concern etched into his features. “I see trouble in your expression.”

I swallow, trying to push back the unease, but it lingers. It’s time to leave him behind. The thought sits heavily in my chest, feeling wrong somehow.

This can’t be it.

Can it?

I shrug, forcing a bit of nonchalance into my voice. “They said I could go, so… I guess I’m just gonna go—home.” My voice cracks at the end, and I hate how weak I sound.

“I’m coming with you.” He surges to his feet, and something within me breaks a little.

Doc Summers strides over, catching Blaze before he can take a step. “You’re not going anywhere,” she declares, her brow furrowed, arms crossed.

“I’m fine,” Blaze growls, wincing as he moves. “I’m going with Ember.”

“Fine? You’ve got cracked ribs, a concussion, a gash in your bicep, and a bullet wound that I just stitched closed.” Doc Summers shakes her head with frustration. “You take one wrong move and you’ll rip it all open again. You need rest—serious rest. If you split those stitches, you’ll have hell to pay.”

Blaze leans forward, ignoring the pain that flashes across his face, his jaw set in stubbornness. “I’m not leaving her. Not tonight.”

Doc Summers huffs, clearly annoyed, but her gaze softens when she looks at me. She mutters something under her breath about Guardians being thick-headed brutes, then throws up her hands.

“Fine. But if you rip open anything, don’t come crying to me.”

“You don’t have to come. I can—I can make it on my own.”

“You’re damn right about that, and that’s exactly why I’m coming.” Blaze grabs me by my shoulder and stoops to look me dead in the eyes. “You don’t have to do everything on your own anymore. I’m here, and I’m coming with you.”

A lump forms in my throat, my chest tightening at his words. I’ve never had someone stand beside me like this. It’s always been me, fighting my battles, facing the darkness alone.

His gaze, fierce and unwavering, is almost too much. I want to tell him I don’t need his help, that I’m fine on my own, but the words die before they reach my lips, replaced by something warmer, something terrifying.

For a moment, I stare at him, my heart pounding. A mix of fear and something close to hope rises in me. This idea of not bearing the weight alone is foreign to me.

My instinct is to push away, to protect myself, but looking into his eyes, I see the promise he’s making. He’s here—really here. And for once, maybe that’s enough.

We ride together, the vehicle jostling over every bump and pothole, Blaze beside me, his presence a steadying anchor in the storm of my thoughts. Despite the lingering pain, he doesn’t complain, doesn’t falter, just stays right there—solid, unwavering.

When we finally reach my building, a wave of something almost like shame washes over me. The brick is chipped, the paint is peeling, and the lobby door sticks if you don’t pull it just right. The lights flicker; the elevator’s been out for weeks, and I feel a pang of discomfort as I realize Blaze is about to see just how little I have.

How I’m barely scraping by.

There’s an ancient lock on the door that’s never worked. The doorknob screeches, the metal grinding before finally turning. Every muscle in my body screams as I push open the door to my apartment.

The building is barely a step above condemned, the hallways outside filled with peeling paint, cracked walls, and a musty dampness that clings to everything.

My apartment is no better. The walls are scuffed, and the single window rattles in its frame, allowing a cold draft to sneak through the gaps. The floors are uneven, and the boards creak beneath our feet as we step inside.

The familiar scent of lavender and beeswax wraps around me, mingling with the lingering tang of blood and gunpowder that clings to my clothes. The space is cramped, barely enough room for the essentials, though calling them that feels like a stretch.

There’s no real kitchen, just a hot plate atop a rickety table in the corner. It’s stained with wax drippings, bits of wicks, and drops of essential oils. I don’t use it for cooking.

It’s just another part of my candle-making setup, evidence of which spills across every available surface. Spare wax, jars, and wicks are scattered about, the sweet and herbal scents mingling with the lingering staleness of the place.

The sofa—if you could even call it that—sits in the middle of the room, threadbare and ratty, its cushions flattened and springs threatening to poke through the faded fabric. It’s where I sleep, the only place to lay my head, covered in a quilt that’s seen better days. There isn’t even a proper bed, just this sagging excuse for furniture that has to double as a resting place.

Afternoon light filters through the single window, highlighting the worn furniture and cluttered shelving. The shelves are crammed with half-used candle jars, mismatched mugs, and small bottles of essential oils, their labels faded. There’s a sense of chaos, but it’s my chaos.

Blaze follows, his broad frame making my tiny studio feel even smaller. Blood has seeped through his bandages again, dark patches staining the white gauze. His breath comes in controlled bursts, each inhale measured against broken ribs.

He looks around, his gaze sweeping over the space. He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel his eyes taking in every detail—the chipped plaster, the lack of basic amenities, the sofa that serves as a bed.

Shame bubbles up, hot and sharp. This is what I am. This is what I have to offer. Nothing more than four walls that barely stand and the remnants of a life I’ve tried to piece together.

“Home sweet home.” My voice cracks on the words, an attempt at levity that falls flat.

“It’s perfect.” His eyes meet mine, but there’s no judgment there, only a softness that tightens my chest.

I almost believe him.

He moves carefully, and the controlled effort of each breath is a reminder of his injuries. Despite everything, he doesn’t complain; he just follows me in, his eyes never leaving mine.

“It’s not much,” I murmur, a hint of apology in my voice. “But it’s home.”

Blaze steps closer, his gaze softening even more. “You’re here, and that’s what matters,” he says, his voice rough with exhaustion and something else, something that makes my heart skip a beat. “I’m not going anywhere.” The words rumble from his chest as his hand finds the small of my back, steadying me. His touch sends warmth spreading through my battered body.

My workbench catches his eye—dozens of half-finished candles lined up like soldiers, waiting for their marching orders. Jars of essential oils catch the light, their contents shimmering like liquid jewels.

“This is where the magic happens?” His fingers trail over a partially carved pillar candle, tracing the intricate patterns I etched into the wax. Despite his injuries, curiosity brightens his eyes.

The sofa creaks as I sink onto it, my legs finally giving out. “Not much magic. Just something that kept me sane.” A laugh bubbles up, quickly cut off by protesting ribs. “Keeps me warm, too, when the heat goes out.”

Blaze lowers beside me, the dilapidated sofa groaning under our combined weight. His arm wraps around my shoulders, pulling me against his side. His solid warmth anchors me to this moment, to this reality where I’m finally free.

“Show me?” The request is soft, almost hesitant. As if he understands what he’s asking—for me to share not just my craft, but the pieces of myself I’ve kept hidden for so long.

My fingers find his, intertwining. “You sure? We should probably rest…”

His lips brush my temple, gentle despite the split in his lower lip. “We’ve got time now. All the time in the world.”

The words sink in slowly, like wax absorbing fragrance.

Time.

Possibilities I never dared imagine before.

I lean into him, letting my walls crack just a little more.

“Okay. But first…” I gesture to his bloody bandage. “Let me take care of that. Can’t have you bleeding all over my supplies.”

“Ever the practical one.” His quiet laugh rumbles through both our bodies.

“Someone has to be.” I press a kiss to his jaw, careful of the bruising. “Besides, you’re not the only one who can patch people up.”

The first aid kit rattles as I retrieve it from under the sink. My hands shake slightly as I return, but his steady gaze gives me strength.

We survived hell.

Now comes the hard part—relearning how to live.

After redressing his wounds, Blaze settles into my only chair. The wooden legs scrape across worn floorboards as he pulls it closer to my workbench. His presence behind me radiates warmth, a shield against memories of darker times.

“First rule of candle making—patience.” My fingers drift over jars of essential oils, each a different possibility. “Rush it, and the whole thing falls apart.”

The clatter of metal against metal fills the small space as I arrange my supplies: double boiler, thermometer, and the tools of my trade laid out with practiced precision.

“Like tactical planning.” His breath tickles my neck as he leans forward. “Every step matters.”

Soy wax pellets cascade into the metal pitcher, the sound like gentle rain. “Exactly. Temperature control is crucial. Too hot, the scent burns off. Too cool, it won’t bind properly.”

His hand settles on my hip as I work, thumb tracing idle patterns. The touch grounds me and keeps the tremors at bay as memories of the past few days threaten to surface.

“This is lavender.” I uncap a small bottle, holding it over my shoulder. “My best seller when I could sell them.”

A sharp inhale, then his voice drops lower. “Smells like you.”

Heat crawls up my neck. The wax begins to melt, transforming from solid to liquid. Like me, it’s becoming something new under his touch.

“The trick is adding the fragrance at just the right moment.” Water bubbles gently beneath the double boiler. “Too soon or too late…”

“And it all falls apart.” His lips brush my shoulder. “You’ve got good instincts.”

“Survival instincts, maybe.”

“Hey.” His fingers catch my chin, turning my face toward him. Pain flashes across his features at the movement, but his eyes stay locked on mine. “You’re more than a survivor.”

The wax reaches temperature—perfect timing to avoid the building emotion in my chest. I measure the oil with shaking hands, watching it swirl into molten wax.

“Watch.” My voice steadies as I pour the mixture into a waiting mold. “This is the part that requires faith. Believing it’ll become something beautiful, even when you can’t see it yet.”

“Like us?” His arms wrap around my waist, careful of both our injuries.

“Maybe.” The word catches in my throat. “If you think we could be beautiful.”

“We already are.” His chin rests on my shoulder as we watch the wax begin to cool. “Everything else is just—setting.”

The candle takes shape slowly, transforming from liquid to solid. Each minute that passes brings it closer to its final form. Like us, it’s changing into something new.

Something stronger.

His phone buzzes, and Aria Holbrock’s name lights up the screen. Past and future collide in a single moment.

“Hello?” he answers, head tilting as he listens. “She is…” He holds his phone out to me. “Aria wants to talk to you.”

“Me?” I back away, holding my hands up. “What would she want with me?”

Blaze chuckles and hands me the phone. “You should ask her.”

The phone feels heavy in my hand. “What do I say?”

“How about ‘hello’ for starters?” His laugh turns into a grunt of pain. “Small steps, remember?”

Small steps.

Like making candles.

Healing.

Learning to trust in a future I never thought I’d have.

I reach for the phone, Blaze’s presence steady beside me. The candle continues to set, transforming into something new. Something beautiful.

“Hi.”

“Ember! Thank God.” Aria’s voice bursts through the speaker, breathless and urgent. “I’ve been trying to reach you for days. Don’t you have a phone?”

“No.” I’ve never owned a phone in my life. Too expensive. The phone trembles against my ear. “Been a little busy bleeding.” My attempt at humor falls flat.

“Not funny.” Paper rustles in the background. “I saw the news reports. A dozen children were rescued. That was you, wasn’t it? You and Blaze?”

“Him and his team.” The fresh candle catches the light, its surface smooth as glass. “I couldn’t leave them there. Not like…” The words stick in my throat.

“Not like before.” Her voice softens. “When you saved me. God, Ember, I never properly thanked you for that day on the street.”

“I didn’t do anything except get caught with you.”

“You sell yourself short. Not only did you try to help me, I heard what you did in the warehouse. You saved all the kids. You don’t get to be modest about that. You’re a hero.”

“If you say so.” I don’t feel like a hero.

Blaze’s hand settles on my lower back, steadying me as memories threaten to overwhelm me. His warmth anchors me to the present.

“Listen.” Excitement creeps back into Aria’s tone. “I’ve been talking to my father about your candles.”

“My what?” The world tilts slightly.

“Your candles. The ones you were selling that day. They’re amazing, and I… I want to invest.”

The room spins. Blaze’s arm tightens around my waist as my knees buckle.

“You want to, what?”

“Invest. Partner. Whatever you want to call it.” Keys click rapidly in the background. “I’ve already drafted a business plan. Proper workshop, distribution channels, and high-end boutiques. These aren’t just candles, Ember. They’re art.”

My free hand finds the workbench, gripping the edge. “Aria, I make them in a studio apartment with a hotplate and stolen supplies.”

“Not stolen. Resourcefully acquired.” Her laugh carries no judgment. “And that’s exactly my point. Look what you’ve created with nothing. Imagine what you could do with actual resources.”

Blaze guides me to sit, his body a solid wall of support behind me. His fingers trace patterns on my arm, grounding me in reality.

“I can’t accept?—”

“Yes, you can.” Steel enters her voice. “You saved my life. Let me help you build yours.”

Tears blur my vision. A sob catches in my chest.

“This isn’t charity,” she continues softly. “It’s business. Smart business. And maybe… Maybe it’s also about second chances. For both of us.”

Blaze’s lips brush my temple. “She’s right,” he murmurs. “You deserve this.”

“I don’t know the first thing about running a real business.” My voice cracks.

“That’s what partners are for.” Aria’s smile is audible. “Besides, I need something productive to do with my time. Therapy’s only three days a week.”

“You’re crazy, you know that?” I think she’s off her rocker. Who would want to invest in someone like me?

“Probably. Trauma does that to a person.” Papers shuffle again. “But I’m also right. Your candles… They’re more than just candles. They’re hope. Light in the darkness. God knows we could all use more of that. Oh, that would be a great slogan for our marketing.”

My eyes drift to the shelves lined with my creations. Each is a tiny beacon, a reminder that beauty can exist even in the darkest places.

“Guardian HRS has a facility in Northern California,” Blaze adds quietly. “Plenty of space for a workshop.”

“California?” The word feels foreign on my tongue.

“Perfect location,” Aria chimes in. “High-end market, eco-conscious consumers. Plus, you’d be near Blaze.”

Heat crawls up my neck. “You two planning my whole life now?”

“Just offering options.” Her voice softens. “You decide. For the first time in your life, you get to choose. Oh my God. I’m so excited. It’s going to be epic. Please tell me you’re on board.”

Choice. Such a simple word for such a monumental concept.

“I’ll think about it.” The words come out stronger than I intend.

“That’s all I ask.” Keys click again. “I’m sending you some preliminary numbers. Or at least, I’m sending them to a chick called Mitzy. She gave me Blaze’s number and said she could get stuff to you. Just—look them over? Dream a little?”

Blaze’s arms wrap around me from behind, mindful of our injuries. His chest rises and falls against my back, steady as a heartbeat.

“Okay.” I lean into his embrace. “I can do that.”

“Good.” A pause, then softly, “You deserve this. You risked your life to save others; now it’s time for you to live a little.”

The call ends, but her words linger in the air.

Survive versus live.

Such a simple distinction, yet it changes everything.

“She’s right, you know.” Blaze’s voice rumbles through both our bodies. “About all of it.”

I turn in his arms, pressing my face into his chest. His heartbeat drums against my cheek, solid and steady.

“I’m scared,” I whisper into his shirt. “I know nothing about running an actual business. Most days, I barely made enough to eat, and I was always late on rent.”

“Let’s be scared together.” His lips brush my hair. “Come with me to California.”

Together.

Another simple word that changes everything.