Singe (Guardian Protection #1)

Not that I could have helped them, either. Short of running into a burning building, on what would surely be a suicide mission, there was not one thing I could do. And didn’t that little reality feel like a wrecking ball to the chest.

“No!” she cried, a loud sob lodging in her throat. It turned into more coughing, her body shaking violently with every heave.

I fisted my hands at my sides as my anxiety spiraled higher.

“Please. Do something!” she begged.

I ground my teeth together and once again glanced around as if a water hose and a ladder were going to suddenly appear out of nowhere. “Hang tight, okay? Fire trucks are on their way.”

“I can’t hold on much longer!” she cried.

“Yes, you can,” I demanded.

“I…I think I need to jump,” she coughed out.

I assessed the massive fire below her. I’d never be able to reach her before it swallowed her. But there was no way I’d be able to stand by and watch her burn.

No. If she jumped off that ledge, she was going to get us both killed.

“Don’t you dare,” I barked. “Don’t even think about it. Two minutes. They’ll be here.”

“I…I can’t.”

“Two minutes,” I repeated. “Hold—”

Suddenly, a window to her left exploded, shooting glass and flames in all directions.

I covered my face as she screamed in a paralyzing mixture of fear and agony. It cut me so deep that I knew I’d bear the scars for the rest of my life, and that had nothing to do with the glass and everything to do with the heavy weight of my failure already lingering in the smoke-filled air.

When I opened my eyes again, I caught a glimpse of orange flickering in the window behind her. Panic built in my chest.

“You need to move!” I yelled.

She shook her head and continued to cough and cry.

But it wasn’t an option. I couldn’t help her. Though I damn sure refused to watch her die.

“Please. Just listen to me.” I swallowed hard. “You can’t stay there.” I looked to the roof.

Sending her higher seemed wrong and went against everything I’d learned in my limited fire training. But fuck, my options were having her jump into a conflagration or scale up the side of a building in hopes of buying us the precious minutes needed for the fire department to arrive.

Drawing in a smoke-filled breath, I made a decision that would haunt me for the rest of my life. “You need to climb up to the roof.”

“I can’t!” she shrieked.

My stomach twisted, but I gentled my voice. “Look, I know you’re scared. But I’m right here. I’ll help guide you up, but, sweetheart, it’s bearing down on you. You gotta move, and I mean now.”

She choked on a mouthful of smoke as she attempted to look over her shoulder.

“You’re going to be fine. I swear to you,” I lied. “But you have to move.”

“I’m not going to make it!” She had to have yelled it in order for me to hear her, but her defeat slither over my skin like a whispered goodbye.

I took a long step forward, too focused on her to feel the heat singeing my skin. “Yes, you are!” I declared. “Move your ass up to the roof and we’ll both be out of here in time for breakfast.”

Her gaze landed on mine, tears forging paths down her soot-covered cheeks, her disbelief obvious even from yards away. “Are you sure?”

It was a ridiculous question. It wasn’t like I could make any guarantees. It was fire, for God’s sake. But that didn’t stop me from covering my heart with my palm and vowing, “I swear on my life you’re going to make it through this.”

Her hesitation was evident, but with one last sob, she inched her small body farther out onto the narrow ledge, reaching the tips of her shaking fingers out for the windowsill above her.

“Good girl,” I praised, a fraction of relief washing over me.

And then I sucked in a sharp breath as one of her shaking legs slipped out from under her.

“No!” I yelled.

On instinct, I rushed toward the flames, my arms stretched out in the air as though I could catch her.

A scalding heat blistered my face and forced me to stop, but the real pain was in my chest. I watched in horror for what felt like a lifetime as she fought to right herself, her dainty arms flailing like a wounded butterfly frantically trying to catch the wind.

But there was none to be found.

My heart lurched into my throat, and my breath seized in my lungs.

And then a deep, guttural sound tore through me, shredding me from the inside out, as I watched her fall.



I woke up in a cold sweat. It wasn’t exactly something new. I’d been dreaming of Butterfly for over four years. She always flew directly into the flames, screaming as I stood helpless to save her.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I cradled my head in my hands and tried to pretend I was okay. That wasn’t exactly something new, either. I could still feel the heat on the back of my neck. My lungs were still thick with smoke. The pressure in my chest never left me.

The distance while I was living in LA had helped. But, in the week since I’d been back in Illinois, I’d woken up every morning at that blazing house. I didn’t even have to be asleep for the memories to assault me.

I should have gone back to sleep. It was my first day at my new job, and the last thing I needed was to show up haggard and sleep-deprived. But, as I’d learned over the years, another fiery butterfly awaited me on the other side of REM. No way I was volunteering for that.

I pushed myself off the bed and tugged a T-shirt on, preparing to head down to the hotel gym with hopes that I could outrun the mental fog that had been hovering over me since I’d returned. There was a reason I’d thrown all of my shit in my car and driven as far as I could all those years ago.

Yet, somehow, I’d come full circle.

But I’d come back a different man.

At least that’s what I’d told myself as the deafening roar of doubt had overwhelmed me the moment I’d driven across the state line.

Regardless, it had been time to go home.

I’d been gone too long.

Or, as I’d decided as I’d passed the exit to Park County, not nearly long enough.





I’d spent the morning pacing my apartment. With over four thousand square feet at my disposal, I’d definitely get my steps in for the day. But exercise wasn’t why I was wearing a path on the mahogany.

I was stuck and beginning to go stir-crazy.

I’d started another trip past my king-size bed when I abruptly stopped. “What the hell?” I breathed, leaning in close to the full-length mirror I’d finished antiquing a few weeks earlier. “No fucking way.”

Oh, but there was no way to deny it. There it was, in all of its wiry, gray glory, sticking straight up off the top of my head. The damn thing had to have been at least three inches long.

“Why!” I cried at my reflection.

I had another four years until I hit the dreaded milestone of thirty. That was when gray hairs were allowed to pop up. Not a minute sooner. Choosing to ignore the old wives’ tale, I plucked the bastard from my head. I definitely needed to call my stylist to come fix me up. On top of nature’s newest silver highlights, the teal on the tips of my long blond hair was growing dull.