Page 54 of The Fire

Jamie’s eyes came to mine, a little scared and a little hopeful, before he shut them and turned away. “Yeah. No, it’s fine. I can take care of this.”

I didn’t miss theIinstead of thewe, but what the hell was I supposed to do? Insist that he let me help?

“I’m gonna take down the paintings,” I told him, reaching for a landscape that had always been one of my favorites—a sunset in deep purples and orange. “And the photos. So they don’t get damp or anything.”

Jamie ran a hand over his face. “Yeah. Good. And, uh, maybe some of the books?”

“HerHarry Potters?” I asked gently.

Jamie nodded. “Stick them in the closet in my parents’… uh. In the master bedroom, I mean… and I’ll grab a tarp. And I guess I’ll call the police, just in case. They can let me know when the roads might get cleared.” He walked out without another word.

I gathered up a stack of artwork and brought it down the hall to the room that had once belonged to Jamie’s parents. I braced myself mentally before I opened the door, but I needn’t have bothered. The room wasn’t another time capsule—it was nearly empty, like maybe his mom had taken all the furniture with her when she left. There was a bed in the center of the room—plain black iron—with what appeared to be a brand-new mattress on it. The rest of the room and the attached closet were empty.

Somehow, the emptiness here made my heart hurt just as much as the other rooms had.

I stacked the paintings on the floor in the little walk-in closet and made my way back down the hall to get another load.

Jamie had unearthed a bright blue tarp and a hammer from somewhere—maybe his truck—and he was standing on Molly’s desk chair, tacking it to the ceiling and the wall.

I couldn’t think of a single damn thing to say. Then I spotted Molly’s old yoga mat standing in the corner, and realized that when bad shit happened, allIwanted was to have someonebe there.To know I wasn’t alone.

How much shit had Jamie been dealing with—or not dealing with—alone?

“Did you know that Molly once tried to teach me to do yoga?” I said. Jamie’s only answer was a grunt, but I persevered. “It was awful. I failed. At yoga.”

“How does a person fail at yoga?” Jamie demanded. “Isn’t it an individual kind of thing?”

“I guess? I wasn’t bendy. Not in the right way, anyway. And she kept telling me to focus on my breathing, and I kept telling her I didn’t know how to do itright, and she kept saying there was noright. Frustrating as hell.” I laughed. “I was more stressed when we were done.”

“This surprises me not at all,” Jamie declared.

“That I’m not bendy?”

“That you got competitive about yoga.” I could hear the smirk in his voice.

“I’m notcompetitive,” I frowned, looking up from the stack of books I was collecting.

“You aresocompetitive.”

“What are you even talking about right now?” I demanded. “That’s bullshit.Youare competitive, what with your baseball and your…” I trailed off.

“Uh huh. My what? I was competitive in baseball because that’s part of the game. Otherwise?” Jamie paused to hammer in a nail, then continued, “No. Meanwhileyoudon’t like not being the best at things.”

I abandoned my books and stood straight, hands on my hips, staring at Jamie’s back as he worked. “That’s not funny.”

Jamie glanced over his shoulder. “Wasn’t meant to be, Parks.”

“I’m notcompetitive,”I insisted. “Name one time where I—”

“Chicken Wing Death Match?”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, besides that. That was just something I made up to pass the time.”

“But you were legit unhappy when you lost.”

“I… Yes, I admit that I was possibly a teensy bit peeved—”

Jamie snorted. “Uh huh.”