Then he, like Finn, turned to look at the building, his expression one of total devastation. “Oh fuck.”
Oliver swallowed hard, the act causing him to cough once more.
“No no no nooooo! God, no!”
Oliver turned at the sound of Riley’s voice, and the tears he’d managed to keep at bay so far started to fall when he saw her and Pop Pop walking down the sidewalk toward them. Riley raced up to them, tears streaming down her face. “Ollie!” she said, kissing him on the cheek. “Gavin.” She gave Gavin the same kiss, then dashed over to Aaron, who’d seen her arrive. She ran straight into her husband’s arms, trembling, crying.
“You shouldn’t be here, Pop Pop,” Padraig said as their grandfather stopped next to them.
“This is exactly where I should be.” Like Padraig before him, Pop Pop gripped Oliver’s upper arm and Gavin’s, twisting both so he could look at them.
“You’re both okay?” Pop Pop asked, his eyes filled with concern.
He and Gavin both nodded, and it occurred to Oliver that he wasn’t the only one fighting off some pretty strong emotions. Gavin looked just as distraught, the seriousness of what they’d just escaped only now dawning on them.
“You’re sure? Not lying to me?” Pop Pop continued to look them up and down as if unwilling to take them at their word, then he reached up, cupping Oliver’s cheek.
“I’m sure,” Oliver croaked.
Pop Pop pierced Gavin with a look.
“I’m fine,” Gavin reassured Pop Pop.
“Erin?” Pop Pop asked.
Gavin pointed farther down the block. “There with Layla. She’s fine too.”
“I was so afraid. When Riley woke me up, when she said…” Pop Pop stopped and, for the first time, his grandfather turned to look at the pub, the flames reflected in his misty eyes.
Pop Pop had spent the majority of his life within the walls of that building, immigrating from Ireland when he was in his twenties with his bride, Sunday. He’d raised his family, run the pub and the restaurant, sat by his wife’s side as cancer consumed her, and celebrated countless birthdays, holidays, graduations, weddings, and the birth of babies here.
An entire life—contained within four walls. Four walls now scorched by flames and smoke, gutted by the fire still raging within.
Oliver squeezed his eyes closed tightly, trying to block out the broken expression on Pop Pop’s face. It had been a brief look; his grandfather—one of the strongest men he’d ever known—had schooled his features quickly. Oliver suspected he was probably the only one who’d seen that split second of raw emotion, of unspeakable pain.
When Oliver opened his eyes again, he had to look away from Pop Pop before he fell completely apart, but there was no escape. Aunt Keira and Uncle Ewan had arrived. The two of them managed Sunday’s Side, the restaurant where Riley was the cook. The three siblings had worked together for decades, practically their whole lives.
Ewan watched the blaze, his eyes lined with pain, his arms wrapped tightly around Keira and Riley. He tucked them close as his sisters both quietly cried against his chest. “It’s okay,” Ewan murmured to them over and over. “It’s okay.”
The image shattered Oliver’s heart into a million pieces.
Tris, who ran the pub side with his son, Padraig, arrived next. He stopped beside Padraig, and the two of them wrapped their arms around each other’s shoulders, neither looking away from their beloved pub, watching as the flames reduced everything inside to ash.
“I called Colm on the way here,” Tris said to Padraig. “He’s on his way, son.”
Oliver was glad to hear that. Padraig had suffered so much loss in the last few years. He was only just now starting to move on after Mia’s death. Oliver was afraid to consider what this might do to his beloved cousin. Padraig would need the support of his twin brother, Colm, if the outright desolation on his face was anything to go by.
The firefighters continued to fight the blaze for what felt like hours, though realistically, Oliver doubted much more than an hour had passed since they’d escaped the pub.
The EMTs looked over him and Gavin briefly, but both of them refused to go to the hospital, despite his mother’s insistence. Lauren and his two dads had arrived later than the others. Because they didn’t work at the pub, they didn’t have the alarm system app on their phones. Instead, they’d found out about the fire after a call from Aaron.
The EMTs offered them blankets, reminding Oliver that he, Gavin, and Erin were decidedly underdressed for the winter weather. Hell, they were all barefoot. Seemed weird to him that he couldn’t even feel the cold.
More and more of the family began to arrive, all of them in various states of dress as they’d been pulled from their beds, called by loved ones. Shoulder to shoulder, they stood across the street, watching, until at last, the water was shut off and the firefighters began to stow their equipment.
“It’s out,” Aaron said, crossing the street to them after a brief chat with the fire chief. “Most of the fire was contained to the first floor. There was…a substantial amount of damage.” Aaron stumbled to explain, and it was clear he didn’t want to say that the pub and the restaurant had been completely destroyed. “There’s water and smoke damage to the upper floors. Most everything up there is…a total loss as well.”
“How did it start?” Ewan asked.
Aaron shrugged. “All they can tell right now is it started in the kitchen. The fire inspector will come by in the morning.” Aaron seemed to realize it was already morning, dawn breaking, and corrected himself. “In a few hours to take a look.”
Riley gasped. “The kitchen. Pop—” Riley’s voice broke as she wrapped her arm around her father’s waist. “It’s my fault.”
“What?” Pop Pop asked.
Riley and Padraig exchanged a glance, and Gavin cursed beside Oliver.
“Shit. The outlet?” Gavin said.
“What outlet?” Oliver asked.
“One of the outlets in the kitchen stopped working this week. I kept breaking the circuit, overloading the other outlets.” Riley looked at Gavin. “I wish I’d…”
“No. Don’t. I should have insisted on looking at it Tuesday night,” Gavin said quietly.
Riley shook her head. “My fault. I told you it could wait until the weekend.”
“It’s no one’s fault,” Pop Pop said.
Riley refused to believe that. “You’re wrong. God. I can’t believe this! Can’t believe I fucked up so—”
“Language, Riley,” Pop Pop said, cupping Riley’s face and giving her a gentle smile. His grandfather had said that word to all of them more times than any of them could count, not that it had done a damn bit of good when it came to curbing their love of curse words.
“But, Pop—” Riley started, the joke missing its mark.
“I won’t hear another word from you, young lady,” Pop Pop said in a stern tone Oliver had only heard a handful of times in his life.
Riley nodded, though it was clear she wouldn’t stop blaming herself. Oliver hated seeing the pain, the guilt in her eyes.
Apparently, Aaron didn’t like it either. He put his arm around his wife and kissed the top of her head. “It’s not your fault, Riley. Let it go, sweetheart. It’s going to be okay.”