Page 148 of At First Spark
There it is. The assumption. The dismissal. The same conversation we’ve been having in different forms for years.
“I’m not on my own,” I say, before I can stop myself.
“And who exactly are you relying on?” she asks, voice colder.
I don’t answer right away. My eyes meet Holt’s across the room.
“I’m exactly where I need to be,” I say.
For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I’m trying to convince her.
“We’ll discuss this later, sweet girl,” she says.
The call ends. I lower the phone slowly. Holt hasn’t moved, but something in his expression has changed.
“You don’t have to fight everyone at once,” he says quietly.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“I know.”
But I also know something else. Something I haven’t fully admitted yet. The fight isn’t just out there anymore. It’s here, between what I’ve always been and what this is turning into.
And for the first time since I got to Coral Bell Cove—I don’t know which one I’m going to choose.
Chapter Twenty-eight – Holt
Sleep doesn’t come. It never really does after a night like that.
The storm moves on sometime before dawn, but the tension it leaves behind lingers in the bones of the house, in the creak of the floorboards, in the way every small sound pulls my attention faster than it should. I lie in bed for an hour staring at the ceiling, tracking the faint shift of light as morning starts to bleed in through the blinds, but rest never settles. My body stays keyed up, alert in a way that feels more like waiting than recovery.
By the time I give up, the sky has gone that washed-out gray that comes after heavy rain, when everything feels scrubbed clean on the surface but heavier underneath.
The first thing I do is check the locks. Not because I think they’ve been touched, but because I need to know they haven’t.
The front door. Back door. Windows. The latch I fixed yesterday holds firm under my hand, solid where it had been loose before. I test it twice anyway, then step back and scan the yard through the glass. The grass is flattened in patches from the storm, puddles catching pale light near the fence line, the world looking deceptively calm.
Nothing moves, but that doesn’t mean anything anymore. Behind me, the house is eerie. Too quiet.
I turn. Lark is still on the couch, wrapped in the blanket from last night, one arm tucked beneath her head, the other resting loosely over Rook’s back where he’s curled into her like he’s guarding her in his sleep. My lungs forget how to work properly for half a second. She doesn’t look like someone inthe middle of a mess. She looks like she belongs here. It makes everything else feel sharper by comparison.
I move quietly through the kitchen, starting coffee more out of habit than need. The sound of it fills the silence in a steady, familiar way, grounding enough to keep my thoughts from drifting too far ahead of me. Outside, a bird calls somewhere near the fence, testing the air after the storm. It should feel like a reset.
It doesn’t. Not when I can still see her standing in the rain. Not when I can still smell smoke in the back of my throat. Not when I know this isn’t over.
The back door creaks open before I fully register the movement, and I’m already turning, already stepping forward before my brain catches up.
Lark stands there, one hand braced against the frame, hair loose and tangled from sleep, eyes not quite focused yet but aware enough to track my movement instantly.
“Hey,” she says, voice rough from sleep.
The tension in my shoulders eases just a fraction.
“Morning.”
She steps inside, pulling the door closed behind her, and leans back against it like she needs a second to fully wake up. Rook follows her in, tail low but steady, sticking close to her leg in a way he didn’t before last night.
“How long have you been up?” she asks.
