I’ve had an uneasy relationship with God since I can remember. He took my mother first. Then my father. How could someone all knowing, all seeing, allow what happened in my bedroom in my first foster home? It would be so much easier if I didn’t believe in him. Then I would not have to blame him. Now I pray to a God that forsook me long ago to hold on. To let Beau live another ten seconds, twenty seconds. The thirty seconds it takes me to run the kitten outside and push her into Paige’s waiting arms, her hoarse cry of relief echoing across the cliff.

Then I’m running back toward the house.

Fog and incessant drizzle have made the ground wet. My foot goes out from under me as if I’m tripping on a banana in a cartoon. I land hard on my face. That’s the irony of the rain here. It’s not enough to put out the fire. Only enough to make it hard to escape.

Debris blocks the entrance, but I climb my way over, wincing at splinters and burns. I’m not going to let Paige grow up without family, but if I’m honest, it’s about more than her. It’s about me. Somewhere along the past few months, I fell for Mr. Rochester.

It would break my heart to love him. It’s already broken.

I reach the living room. His face contorts in fury when he sees me. No explanation needed. I know he’s pissed at me for coming back inside the house. I couldn’t wait for the firefighters. Even ten minutes could be the difference between life and death.

With both hands I pull on the edge of the beam. It barely groans in answer.

I search the room for something to use as a lever, but there are only charred remains and a lovely gold-crusted lamp that I never even noticed before which has somehow remained upright. When I get close, Beau snatches me to his chest. He presses kisses over my forehead and cheeks. “Get the fuck out,” he growls, even as he kisses me more. It’s messy and elemental. We’re facing our mortality together. It’s more intimate than sex.

“Get out,” he says again, his fist in my hair, giving a little shake to punctuate his words.

“I can’t go without you,” I tell him, panting against his lips.

“You’ll die.”

“Maybe—” I don’t bother to explain with words. I only show him, pushing my legs beside his under the beam. Maybe if we can both push up at the same time, it will dislodge it.

It doesn’t move. I have even less impact than I did before.

It feels like trying to lean against a wall and knock it down. Useless.