***
I feel the heat the moment I ascend the stairs of the subway. I'd rushed off the train, and ran across the platform before I bolted up the concrete steps two at a time. I'd tried calling both Tyler and Brendon while I waited for the train at the station by my apartment. There was no answer from either. None of the text messages I'd sent had been read.
Nova is a half-block from the subway station. I'd timed the trip twice before I started there, wanting to make certain that I gave myself enough time to get to work before my shift began.
I try to push through the gathered crowds to get to the restaurant, to get to Tyler. I think about his beautiful brown eyes as I brush past a woman pushing a stroller with a crying toddler inside. I imagine his lips as I step off the curb and onto the street in an effort to sidetrack the wall of people standing in place.
I hold my purse close to me, guarding the tablet he trusted me with last night before he made love to me, before he called me Chef.
I finally look up at the building even though I know what I'll see. I heard a woman talking about it when I exited the train. Other people's tragedy so easily becomes small talk between strangers.
A hand stops me as I try and cross the street. "You can't go there, Ma'am. You need to stay on this side."
I turn to look at the man touching me. He's dressed in a NYPD uniform, his expression stoic even though hell feels like it's broken loose on this street in the middle of Manhattan.
"I work there." I point at the restaurant. "I'm looking for someone."
"I'm sorry," he says with no compassion at all. "Stand here and wait."
I search for Tyler, scanning the faces of the people who are standing against the wooden barriers that are in place. Their eyes are locked on the restaurant as if it's the next blockbuster movie complete with stunning special effects.
There are no special effects. You can't turn this off with the flick of a switch.
"There's someone trapped inside." A deep voice bellows.
The words roar above the noise of the sirens, and the sounds of the people around me.
I look toward the voice. I see three men, each wearing heavy gear. Their names are spelled out in bold black letters on the back of their navy blue jackets.
TRUMAN. JOHNSON. BECKETT.
They rush toward the restaurant, toward Tyler's dream.
I watch as they tug masks over their faces before they run in the direction of Nova's entrance.
They don't make it.
The three fireman fall to the ground, their arms bolt up to shield their helmet-covered heads, when the windows of the restaurant shatter as a wall of fire blasts out.
I look up, tears clouding my eyes, as the building, engulfed in flames, collapses.