I scramble toward the door, my hand searching blindly for my purse. Finding it by some miracle, I sling it over my shoulder and fumble with the lock.
The moment the door swings open, a wall of smoke rushes in from the stairwell. I throw my arm over my mouth, holding my breath as best I can and sprint barefoot down the stairs. My feet slap against the cold, rough steps as I try to ignore how the smoke stings my skin and eyes.
My heart pounds so loudly I can hear it over the fire alarm.
When I burst outside, the cool night air hits me sharp, but clean. I gulp it in as my eyes focus on theflames—bright and angry, licking at the windows of the bakery below.
No.No, no, no.
Tears blur my vision as I clutch Igor and my purse tighter, stumbling farther down the sidewalk until I’m safely away from the heat.
With trembling fingers, I fumble to unlock my phone.
Call 911,my brain screams, though my hands can barely work. I finally press the button and hold the phone to my ear, trying to catch my breath.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
My voice is hoarse and shaky as I force out, “There’s a fire… Bakery on Main Street.”
“Fire has already been dispatched,” the operator tells me calmly. “The fire alarm alerted us. Units are in route now. They should arrive in minutes. Are you safe? Are you hurt?”
I shake my head even though she can’t see me. My throat tightens as tears spill over. “I’m okay,” I whisper, “but I need to call my… ex-husband. I need to call him.”
I turn away from the sight of the bakery, flames crackling, windows glowing, and press a hand to my chest, trying to steady my frantic heart.
Because right now, all I can think about is Corbin.
And Tate.
I need him.
I need them both.
“If you need anything,” the operator says gently, a calm against the chaos, “please don’t hesitate to call us back.”
“I will,” I reply hoarsely, my throat raw from the smoke, as I fumble to hang up.
My hands are trembling so badly I almost drop my phone as I pull up Corbin’s name. My thumb hovers for only a second before I press it, tears falling fast and hot down my cheeks.
The line rings—once, twice, three times—each ring pounding in my head like a drumbeat of panic.
“Come on, Corbin,” I whisper through a sob, gripping Igor tighter to my chest as the icy wind stings my damp cheeks. “Please pick up. Please.”
I hit redial with shaking fingers, my whole body shivering now, as another gust of cold wind cuts straight through Corbin’s flannel shirt—his shirt—that I’m still wearing.
The phone rings again, but this time, on the second ring, I hear his voice, “Jules?”
A sob rips from my throat. I try to say his name, but it’s strangled, broken.
“What’s wrong?” His voice sharpens, laced with panic. I can hear him moving, hear keys rattling, the distant wail of sirens echoes. “Jules! Talk to me!”
I press a hand over my eyes as more tears slip out. “There,” I gasp, trying to breathe through the tears and smoke still clawing at my lungs. “There was a fire… the bakery… Corbin, it’s on fire.”
For a split second, there’s stunned silence. Then I hear, “I’m on my way.”
The line goes dead. Or maybe I hang up. I don’t know. Everything feels like it’s spinning.
Red and white lights flash against the night sky, reflecting off the street’s wet pavement. Sirens wail louder now, piercing the cold air as firetrucks screech to a stop in front of the bakery.
