Singe (27 page)

Addie doesn’t reappear.

Just like that, Eli finds himself running. He doesn’t wait, doesn’t think, just drops the hose and sprints up the smoking porch steps. The heat hits him right away, the exposed lower half of his face. He’s raising his hands to tug the collar of his turnout jacket up when he realizes he still has no gloves.

“Grant!” That’s Brooks, on the radio. “Get back here right now.”

The front hallway hasn’t gone up yet, as far as Eli can see—which isn’t much, thanks to the smoke. One inhale sends him coughing, great hacking gasps. That’s something the average person doesn’t know about fire safety, generally—that it’s the smoke that kills you, that by the time you have occasion to use stop-drop-and-roll you’re already dead. The fire alarm was going off at some point, but it’s stopped now, probably melted.

“Addie!” Eli yells, both into the mic and out loud. The roar of the flame snatches his voice away. “Addie, fuck, answer me right now.”

The heat is insane. Eli balls his hands up inside his jacket sleeves, protecting them as best he can. The stairs are on fire. If she went up there—

“
Addie
!” Every breath Eli takes in here is dangerous. If he passes out, someone is going to have to come and drag his useless ass to safety. “Addie, please.” His heart is pounding. He remembers calling for his dad all of a sudden, screaming at the top of his lungs as the fire in the shed got out of control, flames leaping, heat like he’d never felt before up until that moment. It had been a big deal, how Will let Eli be the one to strike the match. They’d never burned anything that big before. They didn’t have a plan to put it out.

Now he stands in the hallway for another beat, stuck, flames roaring around him—it seems awful and fitting that none of his usual plans are working, that Addie’s foiled him here along with everywhere else. He’s about to head back out, grab a breath of fresh air and some gloves and some backup, when her voice crackles over the radio. “Eli? Eli, dammit, get out here, I’m clear. I’m clear.”

Eli feels the relief wash over him like a physical thing—the hiss of water dousing a flame, the steam rushing up like that. “Addie,” he says, and “I’m coming.” He turns around and walks through fire to get to the place where she is.

It was Bry who started the fires.

Addie repeats that to herself over and over on the ride back to the station, his name like a litany or a novena, the same words over and over for nine days.
Bryan
, she thinks, not believing, staring out the window of the engine. Brooks told her to sit up front.
Bryan, Bryan, Bryan.

It took her a moment to figure out what was happening when she ran back out of the burning house. She heard Eli’s all clear and ducked through the side door, swinging around to find the front lawn in chaos, hoses and men and Renee still screaming. Addie was horrified before she realized they were screams of joy—there was Bry, wrapped up in his mother’s arms. For a blissful second, Addie’s entire body went limp with relief.

Then Eli tumbled out the front door. And started talking.

After all was said and done, the police led Bryan away in handcuffs. He was crying, white-faced. When the arresting officer cupped his head to guide him into the squad car, it looked gigantic against his tiny dark scalp, an adult holding a baby. Jill Buono clucked her tongue.

“Seems like a bit much,” she said.

Eli, who was climbing back up onto the roof to man the pumps, swung around to look at her. “People
died
,” he hissed.

Addie had almost forgotten. The mother of two, the one who asphyxiated in her sleep.
 

Drew.

“Right,” Jill said. “I—right.”

Bryan killed two people, snuffed their lives out like birthday candles. Now, in the engine, Addie clenches both hands into fists and tries not to sob.

“You okay?” Eli mutters from the driver’s seat. He nearly wasn’t okay himself, the goddamn idiot. Brooks made three EMTs check him out for smoke inhalation, and as it is he has first degree burns on both hands. Addie can see them now, swollen and red on the wheel.

“Shut up,” she says, taking off her helmet. Her whole head is drenched in sweat, her braid sticking to her neck like a limp bundle of yarn. That’s the first time she’s ever had to use her air pack. She glances back at Eli, who’s still watching her out of the corner of his eye. “Sorry,” she mutters. “I just—sorry.”

“S’okay,” he tells her. Addie wonders if it is. If she’s remembering that article correctly, Bryan is just two years older than Eli’s brother was when he died.

Jill calls first shower back at the station so once Addie’s turnout gear is stowed she stumbles up to the bunks, not particularly caring how sweaty and smoky she is, that she’ll have to wash the sheets as soon as she touches them. She just wants to crash out for a minute, to shut her eyes and close herself off to the rest of the world. It’s too much, all of a sudden. This whole summer has just been too much. She’s so out of it she doesn’t realize Eli’s following until the door clicks shut behind him.

“I love you,” he says, when she looks.

Which, what the
fuck
?

“No, you don’t,” Addie counters automatically, her heart tripping over itself inside her chest at the look on his face, serious and patient and dark. He hasn’t showered either. Her voice sounds panicky even to her own ears. “I—what? No, you don’t.”

“Yeah, I do.” Eli takes a step toward her, then another. “Addie-girl. I love you.”

Addie takes a step back, instinctive. The backs of her knees hit a metal bedframe. “You definitely don’t.”

“I do,” Eli says calmly. “I love you. And I’m not gonna stop saying it, so you’re gonna have to shut me up some other way.”

“That’s not funny.” Addie shivers. The AC is on full blast in here, the sweat starting to dry all over her body. “We’re at work. You just got divorced.”

Eli blinks. “I’ve been divorced for over a year,” he says, nonplussed. He’s right in front of her now, close enough that Addie can see each line around his eyes when he frowns. “And besides, how much I love you has nothing to do—”

“It
does
though,” Addie insists. “You don’t love me, you love your wife. Come on.” She holds out her hands, palms up. One of them is going to see sense. “You haven’t moved on yet, Eli. You’re just saying it because of the fire.”

“I haven’t moved on yet?” Eli laughs, cupping her face. His hands feel hot, still bleeding heat and flame from the arson. Addie shivers again, like someone is walking over her grave. “You’re something else, princess,” Eli tells her, grinning. “You’re so fucking spoiled.” Addie opens her mouth in indignation, but he talks right over her. “No, shush. I
love
you. I’m the one who gets to say so.”

“You don’t,” Addie tries again.

Eli nods, calm and agreeable. She can smell him, sweat and salt and smoke. “I do,” he repeats, tipping his face down close to Addie’s. It occurs to her to wonder if the door to the bunks has a lock. “I do,” he murmurs quietly. His mouth, when it lands on Addie’s, is hot and familiar and dry.

Addie whimpers then, involuntary—she
missed
him, oh God, it’s been over a week and it’s like she didn’t let herself feel anything like wanting until right now. There’s a low stubborn ache in her hips. “You don’t,” she mumbles against his mouth, Eli coming after her to bite at the very edges of her tongue, stinging and insistent. She’s not sure if she sits down on the bed on her own or if he pushes her that way.

Either way, she brings him with her, both of them landing on the thin, cheap mattress in a tangle of limbs and dirty station gear, the flimsy springs screeching at their combined weight. “Shh,” Eli mutters into her neck. He’s sucking there at the pulse point, hard suction like possibly she’s not the only one who’s missed the contact these last few days. Addie’s hands scrabble through his thick curly hair, anxious. His scalp is damp with sweat.

“It was Bryan,” she says, voice cracking. The words slur into his jaw, like she’s murmuring endearments instead of horrible truths.

“I know,” Eli tells her. “Shh, I know.” His fingers are travelling, waist-boobs-neck, like he can’t get enough or decide where to settle. “When you went in there—God, Addie.”

His hands are under her shirt now, investigating the band of her sport bra. “It’s my job,” Addie tries to tell him, but he’s biting her tongue, sloppy, desperate kissing that’s more teeth than mouth. Addie whimpers. Both of them try to yank her station shirt over her head without unbuttoning and it gets caught inside-out at the neck, Addie’s cross pulling at her throat. They’re on the fourth lower bunk on the left, Addie’s favorite because it’s partly tucked into an alcove, not visible from the windowed door. Still, if anyone comes more than five steps into the room—

“Here.” Eli undoes the top three buttons and strips the whole mess up her arms, sport bra included, leaving it in a tangle around her wrists. Then he ducks his head back down to bite.

“Eli.” Addie tugs, but there’s too much fabric around her arms. They’re stuck up over her head, everything pulled tight and exposed. She glances toward the door nervously. “I can’t get—”

“Uh-huh,” Eli mumbles into her damp, sweaty skin—first one side and then the other, fingertips pulling roughly when his mouth’s otherwise engaged. Addie arches. “I know you can’t.” His free hand sneaks up, circles her cotton-covered wrists and holds even tighter. “Just for a sec.”

“I—okay. Yeah.” Addie tips her head back and lets him lick the salt all off her body, wrapping her leg behind his and yanking ’til he gives her some of his weight.
I love you
. Jesus Christ, he’s totally lost it. Adrenaline, maybe, the thrill of the fire and—

“Ohmy
God
, Eli.” Addie loses the rest of her thought in a gasp, his teeth sinking into the soft underside of her breast deep enough that she knows she’ll be able to see the mark in the mirror. He’s got one thigh between hers, insistent, pressing until she gets the message and grinds. He’s working himself against her that way too, how hard he is against her hip right through his thick work pants and hers. For a second she wonders if she could finish him this way, dumb high-school grinding like she never actually did when she was sixteen.

That is—yeah. That’s not how Addie wants to finish him.

“Help me,” she mumbles, bumping her trapped wrists against his arm insistently. When Eli doesn’t listen right away, she bites back, nipping at his ears and sooty neck. He only groans louder, moving his hips in stuttery thrusts. It occurs to Addie that maybe he thinks she wants him to stop.

“Come on,” Addie whines, yanking on his hair. She’s heavy between her legs, swollen and aching. Her breasts actually hurt. Then, “I swear to God, Eli, if you come before you fuck me, I will kill you.”

That works. “
Shit
, Addie-girl.” Eli practically rips himself away from her. For a second he holds very, very still. “Shit. Are you serious?”

Addie watches him. Soot is smeared across the lower half of his face like a streaky five o’clock shadow, darker and thicker than any facial hair. She wonders if her mouth is blackened. “Want you. To fuck me,” she instructs, enunciating clearly. She isn’t even embarrassed. If he’s going to say bullshit like
I love you
, then. “Want you to. Right here. Fast.”

“Jesus.” Eli lets go of her wrists then and reaches down between them with dirty hands, fumbling with the button on his pants. Addie squirms, yanking at the fly on her own. She’s just got them and her sticky underwear off when Eli groans again, differently this time, his forehead dropping down against her collarbone. “Addie-girl,” he mumbles, rolling his face back and forth across her sweaty skin. Addie cups his skull like a reflex, threading his fingers through his hair. “I don’t have a condom.”

“I don’t care.” The words are out before Addie even thinks about them, that’s how far gone she is right now, how it feels like if she doesn’t get him inside her right this second she’s gonna die. She locks her legs around him, urgent, in case he’s got any ideas about getting up. “I don’t care, I trust you, just pull out or something, I don’t—”

That makes him laugh a little, her language maybe, this huffing breathless sound. He lifts his face enough to slide a sloppy kiss off the side of her mouth. “You sure?” he asks, dark eyes serious. “We don’t have to, we can—”

“I’m sure.” He’s almost lined up, bumping against her. The muscles in Addie’s legs are starting to shake. “I am. Please.” Her voice breaks weirdly over the last word. She squeezes her eyes shut. “We have to hurry.”

“Addie—”

God, if they stop, she’s going to think, about Bryan and Jim and… “I’m sure,” she promises. “I am.” Her mouth tastes like ashes. Once she and Jenn dared each other to taste the stuff, scraping it off each other’s foreheads on Ash Wednesday. Addie remembers thick chalk and burnt on her tongue, washing it down with cola filched from Aunt Marianne’s pantry.
We’re extra holy now,
Jenn had said.

“Please,” she tells Eli.

Eli sinks into her on a sigh, a warm blow of breath that ruffles the hair at Addie’s crown. Right away, she notices the difference. He’s hotter and smoother, softer somehow, skin instead of latex. She’s never had sex without a condom before.

“How’s that?” Eli asks when he’s in. He hitches her up an inch, sliding his hands underneath to cup her ass. “Huh? Jesus, Addie. So warm.”