Fighting Love (Love to the Extreme, #2)
Abby Niles
Chapter 1
ATLANTA, GEORGIA
What the hell did he give a woman for Valentine’s Day when he no longer had connections?
Frustrated, Tommy “Lightning” Sparks increased the speed of his jog, his grip tightening on Warrior’s leash as his feet ate up the sidewalk, his even breathing visible as it puffed up into the February morning air. The frigid chill stung his cheeks as he glanced down at the chocolate Labradoodle to make sure his agitation wasn’t transferring over to his dog. Nope. As always, the animal trotted along beside him, happy as all hell.
He wished he could say the same.
What to get his best friend for Valentine’s Day had worried the piss out of him for the last three weeks, and he was no closer to an answer. The damn holiday was tomorrow.
He always did something special for Julie to show how much he appreciated their friendship.
Last year, he’d arranged for her to meet her favorite country singer backstage after a concert. Easy enough to do, since the singer had been a fan of his, but Tommy didn’t have that kind of influence anymore, did he?
Yeah, he was still Tommy “Lightning” Sparks. No one could take that from him, but the name was tainted now, didn’t have the same punch behind it that it once did. Or the same pride.
And that fucking sucked.
Especially since it looked like the one person on the planet who meant the most to him was going to be stuck with a heart-shaped box full of chocolates for V-Day.
To hell with that . He wouldn’t resort to such a lame present. Julie deserved more than some no-thought-or-effort-needed piece of cardboard with crap candy in it. He would just have to get creative.
He pounded on down the pavement, trying to come up with something. Suddenly, the acrid smell of burning hit his nose. Blinking out of his thoughts, he glanced around. Black smoke billowed high into the air, not too far in the distance.
What the—
The only things in the area were homes, and the amount of smoke he was seeing definitely did not come from a fireplace. He jogged around the corner. A group of people from neighboring houses had gathered in the middle of the street, some still in pajamas—in front of his house.
Breaking into a sprint, Tommy raced with Warrior down the sidewalk. The sounds of sirens blaring in the background let him know help was on the way. But the closer he got to the one-story vinyl-sided house, the more he had difficulty computing what he was seeing. Fire poured from the side windows, out the back of the house, up from the roof. What the fuck?
What. The. Fuck?
As he shoved his way through the crowd, he gaped wide-eyed at his house, dumbfounded.
Everything he owned was on fire. Everyt—
Shit!
My box.
Panic compressed his chest. No. He thrust Warrior’s leash at a lady standing next to him. “Take him.” When she just stared at his hand, he yelled, “Take him!” With a startled jerk, she snatched the nylon rope. “Don’t let him follow me,” Tommy ordered her.
Just as a fire truck careened around the curve, immediately followed by a second one, Tommy darted for the house. A hand latched onto his forearm. “Dude, you can’t go in there!”
The hell I can’t. Yanking free, Tommy tore up the front porch and heaved a shoulder into the door. The wood gave instantly, and he stumbled inside. Smoke enveloped him, making his eyes water and his throat burn. Coughing, he covered his nose and mouth in the crook of his arm and looked around, trying to get his bearings.
Searing heat came from the engulfed kitchen; flames spread across the ceiling of the living room and hallway that led to his bedroom. Debris rained down from above. A glowing ember landed on the sleeve of his black fitted running jacket. Knocking it off, he hurried across the living room, hunching over, low to the floor. Not that it helped. The thickening smoke filled every corner.
One end of the couch suddenly lit up in flames and ignited the curtains behind it. As the fire crept up the wall, the room brightened.
Get the box and get out.
He moved forward. The intense heat was unbearable. Sweat rolled down his face. Flames shot out from the hallway into the living room, driving him back. Fury made him bellow as he surged forward into the hall.
He couldn’t lose it. Everything that meant anything to him was in that box.
Two beams crashed to the ground a few feet from him. Orange embers swirled toward him.
Once again he was forced back. His lungs burned, his eyes watered, his throat felt scorched. He desperately needed air.
But he couldn’t give up. Not yet.
Just as he was about to push forward one last time, two arms locked around him and dragged him backward. Instinctively, he yanked against the hold. Then he saw the bedroom, and the fight left him in one defeated whoosh. The room was immersed in flames. The wall, the ceiling, the bed…and the closet…a fiery hell.