The system was also supposed to activate the sprinklers. He hoped they’d come on, and that was what accounted for all the smoke, sending up a prayer that perhaps the fire had already been contained or, even better, put out. However, given the incredible, unbearable heat coming up from the floor beneath him, he didn’t hold on to that hope for long.
The moon shifted, peeking out from behind some clouds just as Oliver reached the window. He glanced over his shoulder—and his stomach sank.
“Ollie. Come on!” Gavin shouted to be heard over the alarm. He had one foot over the window ledge—half in, half out. Oliver could see Erin standing just behind Gavin on the landing. They were waiting for him.
Oliver shook his head at his best friend when he caught sight of the Christmas tree.
“Start down without me,” he muttered, quickly changing direction. He couldn’t leave Grandma Sunday’s ornaments here to burn.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Gavin asked, coughing in the thick smoke. “We don’t have time.”
Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Gavin point toward the stairs that led down to the pub. Oliver followed that direction and saw the first hint of orange light, indicating the fire was making its way upstairs.
“The ornaments,” he yelled back, choking on the smoke as well. “Go! Go!”
Gavin shook his head, but Oliver wasn’t leaving this pub without the ornaments.
He stared hard at his foster brother. “Go now! Take Erin.”
Gavin must have seen the determination written on his face. Unfortunately, he didn’t react the way Oliver wanted.
“No!” Oliver yelled when Gavin waved for Erin to start down without them before climbing back over the ledge and into the apartment.
“Gavin, Ollie!” Erin cried from the window as Gavin ran over to Oliver, the two of them frantically trying to find the ornaments in the dim lighting.
“Where the fuck are they?” Gavin said.
They were both coughing hard now, the air a thick cloud of smoke. Seeing was hard, breathing harder.
“Here!” Gavin said, holding up two ornaments he’d found.
Oliver’s eyes watered and burned, his chest tight from lack of oxygen.
Fuck yeah—he had the other two. “Let’s go!”
He and Gavin raced to the fire escape. Erin was halfway down, only starting her descent when she saw them heading toward her. He’d give her hell later for not getting to safety immediately, but that would have to wait until he could breathe again. Right now, he was coughing so hard, he was afraid he’d drop the damn ornaments he could now admit he’d stupidly risked his life and Gavin’s to save.
They rounded the side of the building as a police car took the corner way too fucking fast, squealing its tires, the siren piercing the night. Slamming on the brakes and throwing the car in park, Aaron emerged from the cruiser, clearly ready to race into the burning building.
“Aaron!” Oliver yelled, drawing his uncle’s attention as they ran across the street to him.
“Call came through dispatch. I wasn’t far away,” Aaron said. “Thank God you three got out! No one else—”
“No. No one,” Oliver said, his voice tight, throat inflamed from the smoke. Speaking was painful. “Pub’s been closed for hours.”
A fire truck pulled up in front of the pub, the firefighters jumping down and rushing around to unroll the hoses.
Glass shattered, and Oliver turned at the sound. He saw flames shooting out the front of the pub through the hole where the large plate glass window proudly bearing the name Pat’s Irish Pub used to be.
“Fuck,” Gavin said, coughing hard. “Jesus. Fuck!”
Aaron put a comforting hand on Gavin’s shoulder, and then Oliver’s, as the two of them continued to gasp for air, their struggles for deep breaths broken up by hard, rib-rattling coughs.
Oliver’s gaze took in the entire building, and while the flames weren’t visible on the top two floors yet, he knew there would be no saving them if the firefighters didn’t get the hoses hooked up to the hydrant, the water pumping, and the blaze under control quickly.
As it was, the pub and Sunday’s Side were already engulfed in fire, and there was no doubt they couldn’t be saved.
He glanced to his side as Gavin continued to cough deeply. They’d both taken in too much smoke. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, unsure if his foster brother even heard him as more fire trucks and police cars arrived, Landon and Miguel climbing out of one of the cars and racing over to them.
“Thank God!” Miguel said, enveloping Erin in a big hug. “When we heard…all I could think…”
“We’re okay,” Erin said, her voice muffled against Miguel’s uniform.
“Layla already called me,” Miguel said. “The alarm sent an alert to Finn’s phone. They’re on their way here. Let me call, tell her you’re…” Miguel, still frazzled and upset, released Erin and pulled out his phone, calling his girlfriend. Oliver overheard him telling Layla that they’d all gotten out.
It was just as he thought. Most of his family would be here soon. Finn’s alarm system included an app, and after a long afternoon—which had been painful at the time but funny afterwards when they retold the story—they’d managed to teach the older generation how to download and use it.
Gavin succumbed to another coughing fit.
“Ambulance on the way,” Landon said.
“Don’t need one,” Gavin rasped.
Oliver wanted to argue with his foster brother. Then he started coughing as well. But there was no way in hell he was going to the hospital. No way he was leaving until the fire was out.
Landon ignored Gavin. “EMTs will check you both out. Smoke inhalation is no joke and it sounds like you two sucked in a lot.” Then he walked to the end of the street to stand next to Miguel, who was directing traffic—not that there was much at this time of night. Mainly just the rescue vehicles.
Actually, Oliver wasn’t even sure this classified as night anymore. It was after four a.m. Morning.
Oliver looked at the two ornaments still clasped in his hands, then glanced at Gavin, overwhelmed by guilt.
“Gavin—” he started.
Gavin cut him off. “You were right to save them.”
“You shouldn’t have come—”
“Stop.” Gavin’s face was streaked with lines of black soot caused by the combination of smoke and watering eyes. “I go where you go, brother. Always.”
Oliver didn’t know how to reply to that. He probably couldn’t if he tried. His throat was no longer tight, it was closed. Completely blocked by tears he couldn’t shed.
Or shock. Maybe this was shock.
More cars pulled up, and Oliver saw Layla emerge from a passenger seat. Erin cried out and left his side, running to her cousin, the two of them hugging tightly. Finn stood next to them, his gaze glued to the pub.
Padraig, who had an apartment a few blocks away, sprinted down the sidewalk. His hair was a mess, his shoes untied. He hadn’t even bothered to dress or put on a coat, racing to the pub in his pajamas.
“Jesus,” he said as he came to a halt next to Oliver. He pulled Oliver into his arms, then reached over to include Gavin in the bear hug. “Jesus,” he said again as he released them. “I thought. I…fuck…”