He went out on the back deck, leaving me alone with his parents. I wasn’t sure I was ready to be alone with them just yet.
I helped his mother put away all the sandwich fixings and then left Holt’s sandwich on a plate on the counter.
“Thank you,” his mother said, glancing at me.
“For what?”
“I haven’t seen him like this in a very long time.”
“Like what?” I asked, confused.
“Happy.” His dad cut in, eating half the sandwich in one giant bite. Now I knew where Holt got his appetite.
“I have a hard time picturing Holt as anything other than happy.” I scoffed.
“Usually that’s true. But Taylor, she really did a number on him.”
“I met her.”
“Then you know what we’re talking about,” his father said.
I nodded. There was no denying Holt’s ex-wife was a piece of work.
His mother placed her hand on my forearm, saying my name softly and causing me to look up. “Holt told us about everything you’ve been through lately. I just want you to know you are always welcome here, and if there is anything Ed and I can do for you, you just let us know.”
Ah, crap.
There came the emotion again.
I swear I was turning into a big fat baby.
“Thank you,” I said, my voice ridiculously watery.
His mother pulled me into her arms and hugged me. “Welcome to the family, honey.”
“Oh,” I said, pulling away. “Holt and I aren’t that serious.”
Ed just grunted and his mother patted me on the arm like I was confused. Now I saw where Holt got his stubbornness from as well.
Thankfully, the back door slid open and Holt stepped through, still holding his phone and frowning.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
“I need to go to the station for a while,” he said regretfully. Then he looked at me. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I told you to go to work this morning.”
He seemed torn. Torn between his job and me. I didn’t like that. I went to his side and grabbed his arm, ushering him farther into the room. “Just go, do what you need to do.”
“I’ll make it fast.”
I groaned. “I’ll be fine.”
“She can stay here with us until you’re done,” Pam said from behind me.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” I argued.
“I know. I want to.”
Holt seemed to like this idea and the clouds in his eyes evaporated. “Stay here. Then I won’t worry about you being alone.”
Three sets of eyes turned to me. Like I was going to argue. Geez, these people were tough!
Holt knew I was beat and he grinned and leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to my lips, right there in front of everyone.
“I’ll be back soon.”
He reached around me and snatched the sandwich. “Thanks, Mom!” he called and headed through the house toward the front door.
An uneasy feeling came over me when he disappeared from sight. Some kind of gut feeling that made panic claw at my throat and my heart start to race. When the front door closed behind him, images of that dark car driving slowly up the street a few minutes ago flashed behind my eyes.
“Holt!” I cried, rushing out of the room after him. I almost tripped, flying through the living room, but managed not to fall, calling his name again.
I heard his parents call my name and rush after me, but I didn’t stop. I had to get to Holt.
I flung open the front door and screamed his name just as he was opening the door to his truck.
“Holt, stop!” I cried, rushing down the steps and onto the sidewalk.
He looked up through the passenger-side window, surprise written on his face. The truck engine turned over as he twisted the key to start it and then he pulled back out to come around the hood and see what I was screeching about.
He never made it that far.
The explosion rocked the ground under my feet and was so loud I thought I might never hear again. I screamed his name and went rushing toward the mess, where pieces of metal and rubber rained from the sky.
I heard his dad and mother yelling, but I didn’t look back. I just kept running, right toward the truck that was now nothing but a massive ball of fire.
“Holt!” I shrieked as the heat from the explosion sucker-punched me in the gut. I doubled over, tears streaking my face and sobs rocking my body.
His truck exploded. He was standing next to his truck… Where is he?
Pushing up, I ran forward again, shaking off his dad’s hands as he tried to pull me back from the flames. I rushed around the side of the truck, still wailing his name.
That’s when I saw him.
He was lying across the street in the neighbor’s front yard. He wasn’t moving.
I took off running, pounding across the street and falling to my knees beside him. I could barely see because my vision was obscured by smoke and tears. I laid my head on his chest, trying to quiet the sobs ripping from my throat as I concentrated on hearing a heartbeat.
When I heard it, I collapsed across his chest with relieved weeping.
Wiping the tears from my eyes, I sat up, looking down at him, trying to see his injuries. His dad appeared on his other side, taking Holt by the face and asking him to wake up.
He had soot on his face and blood; there was a lot of blood. He had a cut above his eye, oozing red all down the one side of his face. I picked up his hand to plead with him to wake up and I noticed his knuckles were all skinned and raw.
“He’s breathing,” his dad said, placing his ear right next to his mouth. “Paramedics are on their way.”
I cried silently, rocking back and forth while holding his hand in my lap. In that moment I knew, I knew there was no denying my feelings for him anymore. I couldn’t pretend we weren’t serious. I couldn’t pretend what I felt was going to go away once my life calmed down.
He was it for me.
There would never be anyone else.
And I was putting him in danger.
You should have let her die. That note had been a warning to him. Not a threat to me. And I made it worse by going back to his house and getting him further involved. There wasn’t a single doubt in my mind that the explosion was meant to kill us both and keep me from claiming that money.
He was still bleeding, and I reached up, yanking off my loose tank I wore above a basic white one and then pressing it to the wound, trying to stop the worst of it. “Stay with us,” I told him, brushing a hand over his hair.
His dad was no longer staring at Holt but watching me. “He’s going to be okay,” I whispered. It sounded more like a prayer.