Then he heard men shouting, and before he could process that, someone tackled him and sent him to the ground.
Wet leaves were in his mouth; red lights flashed through the trees above him. Hands were hitting him everywhere. He smelled wet wool. His arms were trapped somehow; he couldn’t even find his hands to fight them off.
What. The. Fuck.
He spat leaves, but didn’t get them all. “Stop!” he yelled. He didn’t even know who he was talking to. “Stop it!”
“Medic!” A woman’s voice, right close to him. “He’s conscious!”
People crouched over him. Firemen, with hats and gear and everything. Gabriel couldn’t even tell which was the woman. Sirens and radios and diesel engines created a racket behind them.
“I’m okay,” he croaked around the crap in his mouth. “I’m okay. I don’t need a medic.”
He needed to get off this ground. He needed to make sure the fire hadn’t made it back to the house.
They were pulling a blanket away from him. His clothes had to be ruined; he could smell the singed fabric, feel the rough edges against his skin.
He coughed, and then someone was pressing an oxygen mask to his face.
God, he didn’t need a damn mask. He needed to get to the house. His brothers would be trapped. He needed to stop the fire. He needed—
Cold steel touched his wrists. What were they doing?
Cutting his clothes off.
Gabriel fought. Hard.
Then hands were pinning him down, men yelling that “whoa, whoa, whoa” they did when someone was absolutely out of control.
“Take it easy.” A fireman was kneeling over him, adjusting the oxygen mask now that he was pinned to the ground. The woman’s voice again, but he couldn’t see anything but her eyes. “We’re trying to help you. Is anyone else out there?”
He shook his head fiercely. “Let me up. Let me up. I need to get my brothers.”
She glanced up at the woods, where fire still raged. “In there?”
“No. Home.” He fought again, but there must have been a lot of guys holding him down. He couldn’t get purchase. “Please. The fire . . . spreading—”
“We’ve got it,” she said. She put a hand against his face. He could smell smoke on her palm, but it felt nice and reminded him of his mother for half an instant. “Just settle down and let us see how bad the burns are.”
“They’re not,” said a guy near his feet.
“What?” She turned her head.
“They’re not,” the guy said. “Hannah, this kid doesn’t have a mark on him.”
“Please,” said Gabriel. He sounded pathetic, his voice croaking like an old smoker. “Please let me up. I’m okay.”
She was staring down at him with something like disbelief.
“Sit him in the back of the bus,” said another guy. “Let him get some more oxygen in there and we’ll reassess.”
“The bus” turned out to be an ambulance. Gabriel sat, wrapped in a blanket, breathing oxygen he probably didn’t need, watching his flames turn to smoke, flashing lights from the fire trucks bouncing off the billowing darkness.
They’d taken his name and address, and then left him alone so they could deal with more important things.
But then that girl firefighter was back, her helmet off, a spill of blond hair tucked into her reflective coat. She was younger than he’d thought, early twenties maybe. Her expression was all business, no compassion now that he wasn’t dying.
“What happened?” she said.
I started a fire. Gabriel shook his head, looking at anything but her face.
“They found a lighter in your pocket,” she said. “Were you smoking out there?”
He coughed. “No.”
“Did you start a fire on purpose?”
He shook his head again and felt his throat tighten. His eyes burned. He had to swallow twice. No way he could lie right now; she’d see right through it. He couldn’t even think straight to come up with a story. “I was just walking.”
“Did you see anyone?”
He shook his head. At least that was the truth. “The leaves were on fire.” He coughed again, and it hurt. Maybe he did need the oxygen. “It spread fast.”
She took the mask out of his hands and pressed it to his face again. That compassion was back. “No kidding.”
“Gabriel.”
He jerked his head up. Michael stood a few feet behind her, the emergency lights flickering off his hair and clothes, turning his eyes red and his expression frightening. It was an intense look, a fierce look. A grown-up look.
Gabriel couldn’t cut through the guilt to snap at him. He wanted to wilt like that stupid kid had when Gabriel pulled him away from Layne.
He could already hear Michael’s voice. We’re supposed to be lying low. You could have burned down the house. You’re such a disappointment.
Or maybe that was his own voice.
Gabriel swiped at his eyes. “I’m sorry, Michael. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please—”
But then his brother grabbed him by the back of the neck.
And just when Gabriel thought Michael was going to haul off and take a swing at him, he pulled Gabriel forward and wrapped him up in a hug.
Michael held him for a long time, and Gabriel let him.
Finally, Michael pushed him back by the shoulders and looked at him. “Are you all right?”
Gabriel nodded.
Michael ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I swear to god, you guys are going to give me gray hair before I hit twenty-five.”
He wasn’t mad. Gabriel stared at him.
“Just some smoke inhalation,” said Hannah. “We can run him to the hospital to be sure.”
Gabriel shook his head. “No way.”
“You’re one lucky kid,” she said.
Gabriel snorted and looked at the woods, the smoke pouring into the night sky. Lucky.
“Are Chris and Nick all right?” he said.
Michael nodded. “They aren’t even home. They left right after you did.”
So they’d never been in danger at all. That loosened something in Gabriel’s chest.
Michael was looking at Hannah. “Is he all right to go home?”
She looked doubtful. Gabriel stepped closer to his brother, putting some distance between himself and the ambulance, suddenly worried they were going to make him go to the hospital, anyway. “Michael, I’m fine.”
“Just chill out and let her be the judge, okay?”
Hannah was staring now. “Michael,” she said. “Mike Merrick.”
“Yeah?”
Her cheeks looked pink, but it might have been the strobe lights from the fire truck. “Hannah Faulkner.” She paused. “We went to school together.”
Michael was staring back at her blankly. “Hey.”
His brother, the master of conversation.
“You don’t remember me.” Her expression evened out. “I was a year behind you.”
“Oh.” Now Michael looked flustered. “Yeah. Sorry. It’s been a while.”
Then they just stood there looking at each other.
Gabriel cleared his throat. “So can I go home or what?”
She blinked and looked back at him. “Yes. Let me get one of the EMTs so your brother can sign for you to go.”
It took twenty minutes, but eventually he was sitting beside Michael in the front seat of the work truck. Now that they were alone, Gabriel wondered if his brother’s relief would morph into that anger Michael always carried around. Normally Gabriel would poke at him, provoke him into a fight.
Right now he just wanted Michael to yell, to slice into some of this guilt that had Gabriel in a choke hold.
But his brother didn’t say anything.
After they’d pulled into the driveway, Gabriel moved to slide out of the cab, but Michael caught his arm.