“You don’t need to do that. Molly is driving me home.” She presses her palms to my chest, gently urging me back, then steps out from between me and the wall. “She’s probably wondering where I am.”

Tell Molly your plans have changed. Fuck the consequences, and go home with me.

I swallow the words. I recognize regret when I see it, and right now, it’s all over her face. That’s not what I want to be to her—a regret or a mistake. This isn’t about her plans, and I’m not the guy who gets pushy when the end of a night doesn’t go his way.

“I’m sorry.” Even her voice sounds shaky. “The booze and that dancing . . . I got carried away.”

I should let her go, but I cup her face in my hand and stroke my thumb along her jaw. “Promise me you won’t go home and freak out about this?”

She nods, but we both know she already is.

I force a smile, for her benefit or mine, I’m not sure. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” she says, the word as broken as I fear our friendship just became.

Carter

Something’s not right. It’s too hot. I thought this was contained.

There’s static on my portable, then Gordak’s voice. “New activity in the southwest quadrant. Pull out, boys.”

I gesture to Max and wave toward the door. He’s on the line only a couple of feet in front of me, but the smoke is so damn thick that I can barely make out his silhouette. “Come on!”

In together. Out together.

“There are kids on the second floor,” Max says.

“I said, pull the fuck out,” Gordak growls. “You can’t see what I can see, boys.”

I tug on Max’s arm. We’re all guilty of pushing the rules of engagement when kids are involved, but if Gordak says to pull out, we’ve gotta do it.

“Fine,” Max mutters, turning. He nudges me forward, urging me to lead the way, and I follow the rope line we’ve strung up and follow it to the exit. When I glance behind me to make sure he’s close, Max isn’t there. The heat is suffocating. I take a step back into the depths of the warehouse, but the rafters groan in protest. A warning.

“Mayday!” I shout into my portable.

I know what comes next. I lift my eyes to the ceiling and watch as it comes down on me. Suddenly, I’m in the navy-blue suit I wore to my father’s funeral, and my mother is clinging to my arm.

“He was so proud of you, Carter,” she says, right before the ceiling collapses and everything around me goes up in smoke.

I wake up with aching lungs and the taste of ash in my mouth. My throat is raw, and my heart is racing. Across the room, my alarm clock screeches from beside my bed. I’m in the middle of my bedroom floor, and my blankets are scattered around the room, as if I tore apart the bed in my sleep. I’m guessing I did. This isn’t the first time.