Burning Ember (Ember Lake Book 1)

  Burning Ember

  Ember Lake 1

  Sara Arden

  Copyright © 2017 by Sara Arden

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek at Rekindled Ember

  1

  Hayden Cole had always wanted to be a firefighter. It was in his blood. His grandfather, his father, even his mother and brother had served in the Lucky Seven. He’d always thought it heroic, and he’d wanted that. He wanted to be a hero.

  Until the time came to be one.

  He’d hesitated, afraid of the roaring beast that devoured everything in its path and because of his failure, because he wanted the glory more than he wanted to serve, a young girl paid the price.

  It had been eight years since that terrible July night. Eight years and Sophie Benedict was never far from his thoughts. He thought about her whenever that alarm clanged to furious life, he thought about her whenever they ran training drills, he thought about her on warm, sultry nights like this one when the crickets and June bugs sang their songs long into the dark.

  He thought about her especially when someone called him a hero.

  The man in front of him now who shook his hand, slapped his back and brought him a chilly glass of the nice imported beer Ben’s Place kept on tap kept calling him that. For Hayden, it was like being forced to stand and stare at himself in some warped funhouse mirror.

  He knew that Eddie didn’t mean anything bad by it. He also knew that Eddie wouldn’t understand why he hated it. To Eddie Bales, Hayden was a hero. He’d saved the man’s son from a terrible death. Their generator overheated after an ice storm, and the boy had been playing in a secret passageway that had once been used for the Underground Railroad to get people to the river.

  When Hayden realized that’s where the boy was trapped, all he could think about was Sophie. When the flames howled and tore at him, it was the sound of her voice that pushed him forward, and the way he felt when he’d finally gotten to her. Seeing the puckered burns on her tender skin and knowing they were his fault.

  No matter what it cost him, he could never let that happen again.

  So he smiled. He nodded. He accepted the beer, and wished Eddie and his family the best and escaped outside as soon as he was able.

  He couldn’t breathe. Praise for something that any human being should be willing to do for another, especially a child, was suffocating. It made him feel like a fraud. It was funny that he’d wanted this, but it had taken a tragedy to show him that heroism wasn’t something to aspire to. That kind of bravery, recognition, it could only be birthed from trauma and loss. Other people’s… not his own.

  Hayden sucked down big lungfuls of the night air and tried not to think about Sophie, and failed miserably. It was this time of year he always went to see her, check on her just to see how she was doing. He felt like every storm in her life could be traced back to that one night—those few moments he’d hesitated to do his job.

  A hand clamped on his shoulder and he saw it was his brother, Royce. “You know, man, she doesn’t hate you the way you hate yourself. You’re just the guy who saved her life.”

  His brother knew him well. Too well. He could never hide his feelings from Royce. “That’s because she doesn’t know any better.”

  “Maybe you should tell her.” Royce shrugged. “I think you need her forgiveness before you’ll forgive yourself.”

  Hayden didn’t like anyone poking at his soft places with a stick. Including his brother. “When are you going to tell Livie Dodd that you’re in love with her?”

  Royce’s expression darkened. “I’m not.”

  “Then why are we here every Friday night?”

  “The same reason everyone else from the Lucky Seven is here every Friday. We’re helping Ben Dodd’s widow make a living.” Royce took Hayden’s beer and downed the last half in one swallow. “She was my best friend’s wife. Of course, I want to look after her. He’d have wanted me to.”

  “He’d have wanted you both to be happy, too.” Hayden said.

  “Don’t turn this around on me. It’s almost eight years to the day, Hayden. Have you been to see her yet?”

  “No.” He looked up at wide open expanse of sky above them. “I get the feeling she doesn’t like it when I visit.”

  “Then say what you need to say this time and let it go.” Royce took the empty beer glass back inside the bar and grill and the strains of some old honky tonk playing on the jukebox echoed out through the door.

  He leaned back against the faux log-cabin veneer of the building, still looking up. Could he do that? Could he go see Sophie one last time and spill his guts, beg her for the forgiveness he didn’t think he deserved?

  Not a chance in hell.

  But he could go see her, make his yearly pilgrimage.

  Sophie lived in a cute little cottage right on the river. At one time, it had been a ferryman’s house—a man who made his living shuttling people back and forth across the river. It had sat empty for years until Sophie purchased it with the insurance money that had been in trust for her after her parents’ deaths.

  He felt responsible for that too, even though by the time the truck arrived at the house, it was already an inferno.

  Hayden decided to walk the two miles. Maybe he’d get his head straight by the time he knocked on her door. Get all the venom out, or at least pushed down far enough that he wouldn’t spill it all over her.

  He checked his watch. It was still early. Maybe he could take her to dinner. It was the least he could do.

  Sophie didn’t get out much, especially not during the day. Her skin was sensitive to exposure to sunlight. Another thing she could thank him for. Part of him had wanted to avoid her that first year when she was still going through surgeries—skin grafts, and the things they’d had to do to keep the skin pliable—it had been right out of a horror movie.

  But he forced himself to go and Sophie, for her part, had always been glad to see him. Which made him feel even worse. He kept going though. If she could stand it, so could he. The habit had stayed with him after she’d healed. Even when she went to Park University. It was only about an hour away, but he’d made the trip nonetheless.

  He would’ve made it if it had been on Mars.

  Hayden used his yearly visits to remind himself who he was, his purpose, and what happened if he failed.

  As he neared the house, he saw that there was a single candle burning in the window.

  He knew somehow it was for him.

  Hayden wondered how she thought of him now. If she’d dissected him and his motivations for her sharp analysis. He supposed he could ask her, but there was part of him that didn’t really want the answer.

  He watched that flickering flame for a long moment before he descended the wood stairs in the grassy embankment down to her porch. His boots were loud on the wooden planks and he was suddenly very aware of his every movement, the way he filled the space. He felt out of place, awkward.
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  But that didn’t stop him from raising his knuckles to rap on her door.

  The sound echoed like the report from a riffle, loud and exaggerated.

  The heavy door creaked open slowly, the interior of the house lit only by candlelight. It was faint, but welcoming and warm. The scents of tomato, basil and oregano greeted him.

  “I knew you’d come. I made extra.” Sophie held the door wide.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I guess this has gotten to be a thing, huh?” He shrugged. “Maybe next year I’ll call first.”

  She smiled. “No need. I’ll be here. I’m always here.”

  When he stepped inside, he noticed that she’d cut her hair. She’d been self-conscious about the scars on her neck. They were barely noticeable now, just a slight discoloration from the grafts. Her blond hair was shorn to her jawline, the locks falling forward to frame her face.

  It made her blue eyes look that much bigger, guileless.

  “Your hair,” he began.

  She put a hand to her hair and looked away. “It’s awful. I shouldn’t have done it.”

  “I was just going to say it’s pretty.” Her hair was like corn silk, so blond it was almost white. It was lovely long, but he knew what it had taken for her to cut it. To show her skin, her scars, to expose herself. And it was pretty. He’d always thought Sophie was beautiful. As a teen, she’d been large-eyed, somewhat coltish and held the innocent promise of the beautiful woman she’d become. Now that she’d grown into her features, she was stunning. It was something he tried not to notice. The last thing she needed was him perving on her.

  He’d already screwed up once. He wasn’t going to screw up again. She needed a knight in shining armor. She needed that hero he’d thought he wanted to be. So he’d damn well be that for her. Protect her. Take care of her. Support her. He’d be whatever she needed. He owed her.

  He owed her for his failure. For his hesitation. For the pain she suffered because of it.

  Sophie looked back up at him, sheepish. “You’re supposed to say that.”

  “Maybe.” He couldn’t deny that, but he wanted he wanted her to know he was sincere. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

  She exhaled heavily. “Look, I’m glad you came. I am. I’ll admit I like seeing you. But you only come on this day. You don’t really call or text, so I know you come out of duty. Or worse, pity.” When Sophie said this last, she looked away again. Almost like she was hiding. “That’s the last thing I’d ever want from you, Hayden.”

  “What do you want from me?” He wanted to make amends. He didn’t know how, didn’t know what she needed. What she wanted. Maybe if she told him, he could finally have some peace.

  Or absolution.

  Not that he thought he deserved it.

  Sophie didn’t look at him and it was as if time had stopped. The moment hung frozen in time, like a snowflake—unique and delicate.

  “Tell me what you want, Sophie. I’ll give it to you,” he pleaded.

  Tell me what you want. I’ll give it to you.

  Sophie Benedict studied the man who’d saved her life. The man who made his sad pilgrimage to visit her every anniversary of the night he’d given her a future.

  Not just a future, but a chance. That was really what he’d given her.

  She felt wholly unworthy.

  There was so much she wished she could say to him.

  More than that, she wished she could take his shadows, but any confession from her would only make them darker. Sophie knew she didn’t deserve his sacrifice. She crossed her arms over her chest and her fingers wrapped around the bicep of her scarred arm. It was a small price she’d paid for her crime—her sin.

  Sophie had been orphaned in that fire.

  She didn’t blame Hayden for that, he wasn’t the one who lit the flame. It wasn’t his fault.

  It was hers.

  She lit the trio of candles that night that were on her dresser and turned on the radio. Sophie had wanted to hide in her room away from her fighting parents, away from the misery in the rest of the house and think about prom. Sophie wondered if she wished hard enough, if Bradley Henricksen would ask her. She’d focused on her wishing candles, daydreamed and imagined a happier world.

  When her father had come into her room screaming at her, the stench of liquor on his breath and his arm raised, she decided she’d make her world a better place. She wouldn’t let him hit her again.

  He’d tried and she threw the closest thing within reach.

  The biggest of the wishing candles.

  The glass jar shattered when it made contact with his head and it knocked him down, dazed him.

  She froze. She couldn’t do anything but stand there while the world around her went up in flames.

  Her mother screamed and screamed. Sometimes, in the dark, she could still hear her. Yelling at Sophie to help her, but Sophie stood rooted to the spot. Part of her hoped against hope that the flames would slay the monster. That he’d die, because if he was dead, he could never hit her again.

  Then he did.

  She got exactly what she wanted. There wasn’t a day that went by that she didn’t wish she’d helped her mother. That she hadn’t thrown that candle.

  So the fire, their deaths, it was all her fault.

  And this man who put himself in danger every day he breathed, this man who sacrificed so much for others, he tried to bear her burden. He wore her guilt.

  If she was a good person, if she was the person she wanted to be, she’d have told him. Tried to give him some relief from the demons that dogged his every step, that made him come back to her every year.

  But she couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t bear to part with his company, this one piece of him that belonged to her.

  Something dark gnawed at him from the inside—she could see it in his eyes, shadows that loomed long and terrible. He was so haunted.

  He’d become her hero that night. The man who set the bar against which she’d measure all others.

  She exhaled heavily. Afraid of the words on her tongue, but even more afraid of the ones etched in her bones. Sophie had kept him to herself long enough. She wasn’t brave enough to confess her sins, but she could let him go.

  “Stop doing this to yourself. That’s what I want. If you want to be my friend, be here.” Sophie shrugged as if the outcome of this didn’t matter to her, when really, it was all that mattered. “Really be my friend. But if this is some screwed up…” She shook her head. “I don’t even know what to call it.”

  Sophie turned away from him, and exhaled another shaking breath. “I can’t believe I finally said that. But there it is.” When he didn’t respond, her mouth kept running and she wished to hell it hadn’t. “I knew that when I did say it, you’d stop coming. But if you’re not here because this is where you want to be...” She sighed. “Do you need me to say what happened to me isn’t your fault? That I’m a grown up and can take care of myself? Those things are both true.”

  She’d meant for her words to be a balm, to soothe him. To ease him in some way, but they didn’t. If anything, he looked even more haunted.

  His mouth thinned to a hard line. “No, this is where I want to be.”

  “Are you sure? Last year it seemed more like a miserable duty than something you wanted to do.” If only she could close her mouth and stop talking. He said this was where he wanted to be. Why couldn’t she leave it at that?

  She knew why. The truth was trying to claw its way out of her and if she didn’t manage to keep her mouth shut, she’d be spilling all her sins into his lap.

  “It is misery.”

  His words hit her like a hammer.

  “But it’s not you. It’s me. You didn’t deserve this.” He sounded so ashamed.

  She swallowed hard. “Maybe I did.” The expression on his face, it tore through her. Sophie had to look away.

  It was past time these things saw the light. How long did she really expect him to keep coming to her every y
ear, like this was some special, sacred day?

  How long would she let him pay for her crimes?

  “No, little Sophie. There’s nothing you could’ve done that earned you all that pain.” He shook his head. “It kills me to see it.”

  Her confession burned on her tongue, but she just couldn’t speak the words.

  “But don’t ever think it’s pity. If anything, I admire you.”

  If a lightning bolt could strike her dead and that exact moment, it was better than she deserved.

  “Don’t say that,” she shook her head. “Look, I—the lasagna is ready. Do you want some?” As if eating lasagna could negate all the old wounds they’d both torn open.

  “Yeah.” The hard expression on his face bloomed into a smile.

  For Sophie, it was akin to turning on a light. She’d never seen him smile before. Not really, not like this. This wasn’t self-deprecation, or an attempt to humor her, to make her believe everything would be okay. This was all him. Genuine, real.

  She wanted to make him smile all the time. Sophie knew Hayden was a handsome man, but his smile was nothing short of beautiful. This was what he looked like when he was happy.

  But it was too brilliant, almost like the sun. She had to look away. “Why don’t you open that bottle of red while I set the table?”

  Sophie needed something to do with her hands to keep from reaching out to him and crossing a line that she knew he didn’t want to cross.

  He didn’t think of her that way. She was his burden, his responsibility.

  Perhaps now, they could really be friends.

  Sophie placed the flatware and handed him glasses. She didn’t watch the way his strong fingers cradled the delicate glass. The expert way he poured the wine, or the heat of him behind her as he moved to place the glasses on the table.