Page 25 of The Fire

“Be more specific,” I yelled over the wind. “What shit? Snowstorms? Car accidents?”

“You,” he said. “Beinghere.Now.”

“Physics, idiot. I hit a slick spot and slid.”

“Uh,yeah. Because you drive a fuckingsledwith no traction whatsoever. And why the hell did you wait until it startedsnowingbefore youleft?”

“It’s not a sled, it’s a Prius. Because global warming iseveryone’s concern.” I hugged my box to my chest. “It’s not my fault that—”

“Oh, Jesus. Of course it’s not your fault.” He rolled his eyes. “Please, tell me how someone else is to blame for this single-vehicle collision. Were you held at gunpoint?”

“What?”

“Did someone steal all your timekeeping devices? Lock you in a closet? Tie your shoes together? Grease your wheels?”

“What the hell are youtalkingabout?”

“Tell me.” His fingers opened and closed in agimmegesture. “How is it someone else’s fault that you’re out here wearing sneakers, with no gloves, in a Prius, during the storm they’ve been predicting all week? I’m waiting.”

There was snow dripping down my face and clinging to Jamie’s eyelashes, and we were arguing in the middle of the fucking road, while more snow fell around us. It was beyond ridiculous. And yet I felt some part of me—some mad, familiar little spark—flaring to life.

“I didn’t say it was anyone’s fault! I just said it wasn’tmine. I was heading for my flight to Arizona—”

“Family reunion? How touching.” His voice was saccharine sweet but sharp as steel. “Bea must be over the moon that her little boy is coming home at last. Is she baking cookies? Those cinnamon ones you love?”

I narrowed my eyes. Snickerdoodleshadbeen mentioned, which only made me more annoyed. It wasn’t like it was my idea, for God’s sake.

I straightened to my full height. “Jealousy is not a good look on you, Jameson,” I said primly. “If you want someone to bake you cookies, I’m sureBrianwould.”

Jamie’s mouth got impossibly tighter, like he didn’t appreciate me bringing his boyfriend into our argument.Too bad, so sad.

“Some of us are capable of making ourowngoddamn cookies, Parker. We don’tneedanyone else to do itforus.”

“Oh, right.Right. I bet that brave, lone wolf thing still brings all the boys running, doesn’t it? Does Brian—”

“Enough.” Jamie’s eyes went hot. “Brian’s a decent guy. You leave him out of this.”

“I’m just saying—”

“I’mjust saying, shut your fucking mouth for once and answer my goddamn question.”

“Shut my mouthandanswer your question? Through interpretive dance?”

He looked ready to throttle me, and it was some symptom of my madness that I kinda wished he’d try.

In the snow.

On the Camden Road.

Yeah, I was definitely going crazy.

Jamie, meanwhile, folded his arms over his chest like he was getting comfortable, as though the snow pellets weren’t whipping against his face and clinging to his eyelashes.

I started to wonder if maybe he was crazy too.

Maybe it was just something we brought out in each other. Jamie and I were like sodium and water—two perfectly ordinary, stable beings on our own that exploded into brilliant fire when we were together. It had always been that way, even when we were kids, and it used to scare me sometimes, the way we fed off one another. At this moment, I welcomed the heat of it. I think I was colder than I’d realized.

“Still waiting,” he said.