Torch (Take It Off)

by Cambria Hebert

  Everything that came next happened in excruciating slow motion.

  I screamed, holding the giant book up above my head as if it would protect me, and turned back, trying to jump out of the way of the falling shelf. Books of all shapes and sizes began tumbling off the shelves, raining paper and hardbacks. I deflected them as best I could, lunging away and using the book like a baseball bat to fend off the biggest that fell.

  And then I tripped.

  The bookshelf plunged after me.

  11

  I lurched forward, pitching myself to the side, and as I hit the ground, so did the shelf. It landed mere centimeters from my head.

  Books piled on top of me, half covering my body. The silence that followed the crash was the quietest sound I ever heard.

  Seconds ticked by and I began to move, to test my arms and legs, to take stock of my body and see if I was injured. I didn’t think I was. My wrapped wrists were screaming in agony and I looked up, noting that one of the bandages was torn and my seared flesh was exposed.

  I knocked away the books that covered me, pushing up to my hands and knees.

  A pair of shoes stepped into my vision.

  They appeared to be brand new, or at least rarely worn. They were a common brand, a man’s shoe, but the feet were not nearly as large as the man’s feet I’d become accustomed to seeing.

  I lifted my head to look up, to see the face of the man trying to kill me, but before I could see anything, he kicked me.

  The toe of his sneaker slammed into my already aching wrist. It buckled instantly, and I fell onto the ground with a sharp cry.

  I cradled the injury to my chest as I rolled, nausea grabbing hold of my body and taking me for a spin. I shut my eyes tight, trying to swallow back the worst of the pain.

  Get up!

  Run!

  Fight!

  My brain demanded so much more than I wanted to give, but I knew I couldn’t just lie here and let him kill me. And there was still the fire…

  The man lifted his foot again and I prepared to fend off another blow, but then a shout from the front of the room caused us both to lose focus.

  “Katie!” Holt roared. Just the sound of his voice made my body sing with joy.

  “Back here!” I screamed as I rolled, picking up the giant book and throwing it at my stalker. He made a grunting sound as I jumped to my feet, and I turned to stare him in the face.

  But he was running away with an oversized black hoodie over his head as he retreated.

  “Stop!” I demanded, and to my own surprise I ran after him. He pushed through the emergency exit door and disappeared into a torrent of rain.

  “Katie,” Holt said, his voice much closer than before. I turned and saw him standing amongst the books and shelf, staring at me with gut-wrenching worry etched into the planes of his face.

  “The extinguisher!” I cried, pointing. “The fire!”

  He nodded swiftly, ripped the can off the wall, and then rushed out front. I ran after him, stopping to watch him release the white foamy spray. To my intense relief, the fire went out.

  The double glass doors were covered in heavy black soot, but otherwise, nothing seemed to be too damaged except for the floor where the trashcan was sitting.

  “What the hell happened?” he said, swinging around to face me.

  My body was trembling all over from the rush of adrenaline and fear. My teeth were chattering and my body was shaking uncontrollably.

  He was in front of me in two big steps and he opened his arms, pulling me against him and cradling me close. His hand rubbed vigorously up and down my arm as I pressed my face into his chest. With his free hand, he dialed his cell phone, speaking to someone and giving them information.

  My ears didn’t seem to be working. A weird kind of silence invaded my system, the kind of silence I didn’t want. I pulled back, looking up at Holt. His lips moved, he was speaking, but I couldn’t hear anything he was saying.

  My vision began to dim and grow fuzzy.

  Holt snapped his fingers directly in front of my face.

  My knees began to buckle. He swept me up and walked toward the door, kicking it, and it buckled under his foot and swung open. He strode outside just as my vision went completely dark…

  Icy pinpricks began to needle my skin. In seconds, I was completely drenched in water and a loud clap of thunder shook the sky above our heads.

  A particular mean drop of rain landed against my tender flesh, the flesh that should have been covered.

  I sprang awake. “Argh!” I yelled, tucking my wrists against Holt’s chest.

  He looked down at me, his short hair plastered to his head as water dripped off his nose and chin. “Stay with me, Freckles.”

  I nodded. “I’m okay now.”

  He eyed me skeptically.

  “What is it with you and water? First the pool and now the rain,” I cracked, trying to prove to him that I really was okay.

  “Works, doesn’t it?” He grinned and I couldn’t help but notice how the rainwater outlined his full lips.

  Yep, I was okay.

  “Can we go back inside now?” I asked, hating the way my clothes clung to my skin.

  “I don’t know. I kind of like the view,” he quipped, staring suggestively at my chest.

  My shirt was white.

  I was soaked.

  My nipples were hard.

  Any questions?

  Surprisingly, I didn’t move to cover myself. I let him look. Geez, in another couple months I’d be reading erotica if this kept up.

  When I didn’t protest to his stare, his eyes flashed to my face and then he turned around and went back inside. “Cops will be here in a few.”

  “I should probably call the branch manager.”

  Instead of standing me on the floor, he sat me down on top of the wooden desk and faced me. For once, I was eye level with him.

  Without thinking, I reached out and brushed away a drop of water that was about to escape his eyebrow and drip into his eye.

  His eyes darkened at my touch.

  That electricity I was thinking about earlier flared between us. Thank goodness it wasn’t a light because it would have blinded us both.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “He was here,” I said, hoarse. “He lit the can on fire and took the extinguisher nearby. I ran to the back to get the other and he pushed one of the shelves over on me.”

  The muscles in Holt’s jaw clenched and flexed beneath the stubble that lined his face.

  “Do you ever shave?” I wondered out loud.

  He smiled and rubbed at the gruffness. “I just trim it.”

  I nodded.

  “Do you like it?” he asked.

  Once again, I touched him, brazenly running my hand along his jaw. It was soft and rough at the same time—the perfect balance. “Yeah, I do.”

  “Good to know,” he said, taking my hand, linking our fingers together, and then his face grew serious again.

  “Obviously, I avoided the shelf.”

  “Did you get a look at his face?” I cringed at the hopefulness in his voice.

  “No,” I admitted. “I tried, but he kicked me.”

  His eyes went murderous. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.

  “He. Kicked. You,” he ground out, making each word into a pointed sentence.

  This time I kept my mouth shut.

  “Where?” he demanded.

  I wasn’t going to reply, but his eyes narrowed and I knew he would eventually make me tell him. I was going to have to tell the cops anyway. Weariness floated over me at the thought of enduring yet another one of their hours-long interrogations.

  I lifted my wrist, the bandage just dangling from the area now, not covering or protecting a thing.

  The waves of hatred that rolled off him made me sincerely glad that all that emotion wasn’t directed at me. He stared at my delicately injured skin (some of it had gotten torn in the struggle and was slick with some sort of puss
… Eww, gross), and I kind of thought the top of his head might explode.

  I was going to reassure him that I was okay, but the police rushed inside, followed closely behind by a medic with a first aid kit.

  “She needs medical attention,” Holt barked, authority ringing through his tone. The medic hurried to comply, slamming down his kit and springing it open. Holt dropped his hand onto the man’s shoulder and squeezed. “Bryant, I don’t even want to see a flick of pain cross her face when you touch her.”

  Bryant looked at me and swallowed thickly. “Yes, Chief.”

  “Chief?” I said, looking up at Holt.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said to me in a much gentler tone and then moved away.

  Bryant was fumbling with his supplies, Holt’s words clearly making him nervous. “Relax.” I tried to soothe him. “He’s just on edge about what happened. I’m fine. I promise to smile the whole time you fix me up.”

  “But it’s going to hurt,” he blurted apologetically.

  “Yeah, I know. Just do it. I’ll be fine.”

  That seemed to calm him a little, and he got to work. It did hurt. Incredibly. I felt Holt’s stare and I glanced up, giving him a fake smile. He rolled his eyes and turned back to one of the officers.

  “Hey,” I said to the medic. “Why did you call him chief?”

  He gave me a quizzical look. “Arkain’s the Wilmington Fire Chief.”

  My eyes jerked back to Holt where he stood talking to the police force and the firefighters that responded to the call. His firefighters. “I didn’t realize,” I murmured.

  Bryant nodded. “I guess I can understand that. He’s a humble guy. Doesn’t like to throw his position around.”

  I made a sound of agreement as he applied something to my wrist that made my entire body jerk. I bit down on my lip to keep from crying out.

  “I’m sorry!” he said a little too loudly. Holt stiffened and he turned, looking at me over his shoulder.

  I blinked back the tears that flooded my eyes and waved at him with my free hand.

  He said a few more words to the men standing around him and then he left them, coming to stand over poor Bryant.

  I never realized how intimidating he was when he wanted to be.

  “As soon as you’re done, we’re going home.”

  “But the police will want to talk to me,” I protested.

  “Not tonight. You’ve been through enough. They’re going to come by the house tomorrow morning.”

  “You’re acting very bossy right now,” I warned, not really caring to be bossed.

  “So are you saying you want to stay here and answer questions?”

  “No.”

  He looked smug.

  “I need to call the library director,” I said, ignoring it.

  He handed over his cell phone and watched as I dialed the number.

  “So,” Bryant said carefully, “you two live together?”

  “No,” I said at the exact same time Holt said, “Yes.”

  Well, this was awkward.

  The director answered and saved me from more of the conversation. After that, I completely ignored Holt, Bryant, and the pain as I explained to my boss exactly what happened all the while hoping I still had a job.

  12

  I still had a job. However, I was put on a leave of absence so the library and its patrons would not be “subjected” to my stalker’s murderous tendencies any longer. It was a paid leave of absence, thank goodness, because I truly needed the money and didn’t relish trying to find another job and telling any potential employers that I may or may not be bait for trouble.

  Most people might be happy about a forced paid vacation.

  I wasn’t one of them.

  It left me feeling more like a kite merely drifting wherever the wind blew. Right now, in my eyes, I not only lost my home, all my material possessions, but my job as well. My entire life had blown up in my face. There was barely anything I recognized about myself anymore.

  Here I was, living with a man I barely knew and wracked with all these feelings I didn’t really understand. Everything I seemed to work toward for so long was snatched away and there was no safety net beneath me. I was freefalling through life, and it scared the living crap out of me.

  What was I going to do all day now that I didn’t have work to fill my time?

  It was times like this a girl like me could use her mother. Someone to talk to who loved me unconditionally, someone who never judged me, someone who was merely there all the time—a never-ending constant.

  But my mother wasn’t here.

  She never would be again.

  I would have to get through this on my own.

  And I would. Because I was tough.

  By the time Holt pulled his truck into the driveway, the sun had set. We were at the library a lot longer than he wanted to be, but we ended up having to wait for my manager to get there so I could explain to her exactly what was going on. And after that, we stayed to reshelf the books and help clean up some of the mess.

  Not that I was very helpful. I was literally exhausted and the pain in my wrists was terrible. I wanted nothing more than a shower and a bed. Holt finally dragged me out of there, ignoring my protests and stuffing me in the truck. Silently, I was glad he did.

  When he turned off the engine, he didn’t climb out. He leaned forward, using the steering wheel as a prop, and looked at me through the shadows inside the cab. “You’re a lot stronger than you look.”

  I felt my lips curve. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

  “You know it is. You’ve been handling everything better than most of the men I know would.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were the fire chief?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “No.” And it truly didn’t. His job didn’t make him who he was. I had no doubt the reason Holt had that job was because of who he was.

  He climbed out of the truck then, coming around to my side and yanking open the door. I moved to get out, but he reached in and lifted me down, his touch once more so achingly gentle.

  “All I’m saying,” he said softly, “is if you need to cry, I have shoulder.”

  His words were exactly what I needed to hear. It made me feel like I wasn’t as alone as I thought. “You’re a good man, Holt Arkain.” I reached up and touched his cheek. He grasped my hand and pulled it down to his mouth, pressing a few feather-light kisses to the inside of my palm.

  It made me feel like all the strings that held me together inside had been untied and now everything was languid and free flowing.

  “Come on,” he whispered, keeping hold of my hand and leading me to the front door.

  Once inside, I slipped off my flip-flops and just stared off into space. I was so tired and emotional. I just wanted to be alone. I heard the door lock behind us and it seemed to be the sign my body was waiting for—the sign that told my brain it was okay to fall apart.

  “I’m really tired. I think I’m just going to go to bed.”

  I didn’t wait for him to protest, which I knew he probably would. Instead, I just went quietly back to his room and closed the door. I didn’t bother with the light. I liked the dark just fine. I didn’t even bother taking off my top and skirt. I just climbed up into the bed and sank down in the center, grabbing a pillow and hugging it tight.

  Then I buried my face in another pillow and began to cry.

  I hated to cry. But in that moment, it seemed if I didn’t release some of the things going on inside me, I might stop functioning.

  I cried harder than I had in a very long time—only stopping when I had to let my face out of the pillow to suck in some much-needed air. Only the tears wouldn’t stop, so I would end up burying my face all over again and repeating the process.

  I don’t know how long I lay there, but eventually I heard the door open. My entire body stiffened and my grip on the pillow increased to the point I thought the feathers filling it might come out the seam.


  He didn’t say anything as he crawled onto the bed behind me. His hand slid over my hip and he gently pulled me around so I was lying on my back and he was staring down at me through the darkness. “I can’t stand to hear you cry anymore.”