I’m not dreaming. I roll off the couch, hitting the floor hard and pulling my blanket over my head to try to protect my breathing. My phone. It was in my hand. I feel around for it and touch the screen. It lights up, but I can’t see anything. I press where the phone is, hoping I get it right.

It rings and rings, at least I’ll get a hold of someone.

“Jessica . . .”

Of course it’s him. I called Grayson. As much as I want to cry, I know I’m in trouble. “Grayson, there’s a fire.”

“What?” His voice changes. “Where are you?”

“I’m . . . it’s everywhere.” I cough harder. “I can’t breathe.”

“Jessica!” he yells into the receiver. “Where are you?”

“Beach,” I say before another coughing fit takes over. I need to get out of here. I pull the blanket off from over my head, staying low and covering my mouth. “I’m at the beach house.”

His voice changes to being almost eerily calm. “Okay, where are you in the house?”

“The living room. Under a blanket.”

“All right. I need you to try not to breathe too much. Just take a deep breath now, and then I want you to orient yourself to find a door or a window.”

I nod, even though he can’t see me. As much as I wish I had called my sister or Delia, there’s a strange relief that it’s him. If something happens, his voice will be the last one I hear. Grayson is also a firefighter and can tell me what to do. He’ll figure this out. I can’t . . . I can’t think about it.

“Lift the blanket and look where you are.”

I do as he says, but the smoke is so thick that it’s hard to see. I go back under. “Gray, I can’t see.”

“Okay. Stay low, and we’re going to crawl to where the door is. I’m on the phone with 9-1-1 now, just stay on the phone. Help is coming. I’m coming.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know, love. God, I’m . . . listen, if you’re on the couch, the door will be to the left. Can you feel along the side of the other couch?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, keep under the blanket, but crawl and feel the way around. You know this house, Jess. Hold your breath. Try not to breathe unless you absolutely have to.”

I do as he says, staying as low as I can, praying that I can get to the door. I feel my way across the living room, hugging the couch. I’m so dizzy. Everything around me is hazy, and my eyes just want to close.

I hear him talking, and my lungs are screaming for air. It’s so hard to move, and I’m fighting for strength.

“Gray,” I say his name, but it’s quiet. “Hurts.”