Chapter 5
The bonfire was Patrice's idea. A Maplecreek tradition, she said, the kind of wholesome community event that made the town what it was. I stood at the edge of the gathering, watching the flames paint the night in gold and shadow, and I thought about the last bonfire I'd been to. It had been with him, junior year, when we'd driven to the lake and talked until the embers went cold.
Fletcher materialized beside me with a wool blanket draped over his arm, his expression carefully neutral. 'You look cold,' he said, not looking at me.
'The fire is literally thirty feet away,' I said.
He unfolded the blanket and held it out. 'It's a town tradition. Apparently, we're supposed to share.'
I wanted to argue, but the wind had picked up, and my coat was not as warm as I'd pretended it was. I took one edge of the blanket, and he took the other, and suddenly we were standing close enough that I could smell his cologne — the same one he'd worn three years ago, before everything fell apart.
'You used to laugh at my jokes,' he said quietly. The words were so unexpected that I turned to look at him. The firelight caught the edge of his profile, and for a moment he looked like the Fletcher from before — the one who'd made dark comments about the food at mixers and waited for me to get them.
'I still have a sense of humor,' I said.
'No.' He shook his head. 'You have a defense mechanism.'
The blanket shifted between us. His hand was six inches from mine, and I could feel the heat radiating from his skin. 'I miss her,' he said.
'Fletcher—'
His phone rang.
The moment shattered. He pulled it out, and I watched his expression go cold as he read the caller ID. 'I need to take this.' He stepped away, the blanket slipping from his shoulders.
I watched him walk into the darkness, his phone pressed to his ear, and I wondered what his father could possibly have to say that was worth breaking whatever had just started to mend between us.
The drive back to the city was different. The rain started small — a mist that blurred the headlights — but by the time we hit the mountain pass, it had become a proper storm. The wipers fought a losing battle against the downpour, and the road ahead was a gray haze.
'You're taking the long way,' I said, watching the familiar curves of the scenic route unfold through the windshield. It was the road we used to take on weekends, the one that wound through the valley and made the drive feel like an adventure.
'I thought you might want to see it,' Fletcher said, his hands tight on the wheel. 'Before it's gone.'
Something in his tone made me turn. 'Gone?'
'They're developing the land next year. Progress.' The bitterness in his voice was sharp enough to cut.
The car hit a rough patch of road, and I grabbed the door handle. 'Maybe we should turn around. This isn't safe.'
'You always did hate this part of the drive,' he said, but he slowed down. 'Hold on.'
The rockfall appeared out of nowhere — a small avalanche of stones and mud that spilled across the road ahead. Fletcher stopped the car and leaned forward, studying the damage.
'I need to check it,' he said. 'Stay here.'
He stepped out into the rain, and I watched him walk toward the edge of the road. The wind was howling now, driving the rain in sheets, and I could barely see him through the storm.
Then I saw it.
A crack in the cliff face. A tremor in the ground. The first few stones falling faster than they should.
'Fletcher!' I screamed.
He turned, and I saw the moment he understood. But he was too far from the car, and the landslide was coming too fast.
I threw myself out of the passenger seat and ran. The rain was ice-cold against my skin, but I barely felt it. I ran toward him, toward the wall of mud and rock that was roaring down the cliff, and I tackled him to the ground.
My body hit his. I wrapped myself around him, shielding his back with mine. He tried to turn, to push me away, but I held on.
'Vivienne, no—'
The debris hit.
Pain exploded across my shoulder and back. I heard Fletcher scream my name, and then everything went dark.
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