Page 61 of Fire Away


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“Hmm,” Blythe stops to think and holds her fist to her chin. Even with her brow furrowed in concentration, her eyes arekind. I think if I ever needed anything, I could call her and she would come without question, not unlike her brother.

“I have to get going,” Warren says from behind me. I hadn’t realized that he walked over to me, but his arm stretches around my body and he places a hot plate full of breakfast right in front of me and then braces his hand on the counter. Bending down, his lips graze the hair on the side of my head. “Eat. Then lay down. I’ll be back soon,” he says in a lowered voice.

I cross my legs, ignoring the chills making their way up my spine, while he moves toward the door to slip his feet into his boots. A second later, he’s out the door and Blythe tilts her chin down and quirks an eyebrow up at me.

“What?” I squeak.

“What?!” she throws her head back and laughs. “I thought you were going to melt into the damn floor just now.”

“It’s nothing,” I lie. Trying to brush it off was pointless though, because if Warren calling his sister to check on me while he cooked and served me food wasn’t enough, my inability to rein in my reactions to him practically whispering in my ear like that is a dead giveaway that things between us don’t seem as fake as they once were.

“Oh, come on,” she draws out dramatically. “He’s so whipped over you. And you’re eating it right up.”

“He is not,” I giggle. But as I search for evidence to prove her wrong, I come up short. I tilt my head in thought and turn to face Blythe for this topic of conversation. “Is he?”

“You already know the answer, you’re just not ready to admit it yet,” she says in a snappy tone while taking another sip out of her mug.

“You’re so sure, huh?”

“Definitely. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t be on his way to cleaning up, replacing the flowers, and putting up security cameras at the house you’re staying at right now. That’s crazywhat happened last night by the way. Are you okay?” Her gentle hand lands on my shoulder. “Besides how sick you’ve been feeling, I mean. I’m so glad you weren’t there when it happened.”

“I’m fine,” I mutter, but I’m still stuck on the first thing that she said. “That’s where Warren was off to? To do . . . all of that? How do you know about what happened?” The questions spill out fast and unfiltered. Unable to hold it back, tiny pools of water gather in the corners of my eyes.

“He sent it in the guy’s group chat last night and asked them all to show up this morning to help fix it. Gage told me, of course. He knows I’ll kick his ass and enjoy it if he doesn’t tell me everything,” she laughs. “He left our house before dawn to go pick up the cameras, but he said they’d be done with it by lunch.”

My knee-jerk reaction is to be surprised. Because who have I ever had in my life that would stop everything that they’re doing to help fix up a mess that I’m in? But that emotion doesn’t last long because if I’m being honest with myself, it’s not unexpected anymore that Warren would do that.

“My brother is a pretty straightforward guy,” Blythe interrupts my thoughts. “You don’t have to overanalyze it, girl. He likes you. A lot.”

“Yeah. I think he does,” I admit in a whisper. It’s a conscious effort toletmyself believe what has already been in front of my eyes the whole time.

Blythe smiles while I take a bite of my food. It does little to help the still lingering headache, but at least it’s not making it worse.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” I sigh. “When I’ve made friends or had relationships in the past, I always ruined them somehow. I was afraid to get hurt that I’d put an end to it before that had the chance to happen, you know?”

She nods and tilts her head while she listens to my embarrassing confession. Why I decided to vent to Warren’ssisterof all people is a mystery, but I trust Blythe and it feels good to get it out.

“I feel like I’m always the broken one who also cares too much, so I get out to protect myself. I don’t know if that even makes sense,” I mumble and shake my head.

Self-reflection is just another way to invite shame in my experience. But with the way Blythe is looking back at me, more understanding and less judging, a side of me feels relieved instead.

“It does make sense and I completely understand what you’re saying. But Savvy, you don’t care too much. You care deeply and it shows that your heart is good. Look at me,” she demands, and I turn to stop avoiding her gaze. “You are good.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, narrowly escaping the urge to argue. She has nothing to gain by lying to me, and I force myself to accept her kind words instead of leaning into the delusion that there’s something wrong with me.

I am good, I repeat to myself inside my head.

As if she sensed what I was doing, she smiles and nods several times.

“Will you text me if you don’t feel better in the morning?”

“Okay,” I nod.

“Good,” she beams and then stands to put her empty mug in the sink, “because we’re going to the river tomorrow if you’re up for it.”

“I probably won’t be much fun, but sure I’ll go.”

She shuffles toward me and after feeling my forehead one last time, wraps me in a warm hug.