22. Chapter Twenty-Two Nathan

Chapter Twenty-Two: Nathan

G rant Avenue Floral—my shop, my haven—was burning.

Fear for Mr. Lao tangled with the adrenaline pumping through my veins as I mashed the accelerator to the floor. The old man had been more than just an employee; he was a friend, a confidant, and I had promised him safety under my watch.

The streets of the city blurred past, every red light a glaring obstacle in my race against time. Mr. Lao was supposed to be locking up tonight, his stoic presence a fixture among the fragrant blooms and greenery. Now, all I could think about was that he might be trapped inside, the flames a merciless thief coming to steal him away.

As I skidded around the corner onto Grant Avenue, the acrid stench of smoke clawed at my throat before the scene even came into full view. Fire trucks barricaded the street, their sirens piercing the night with a desperate urgency. My heart sank as I saw it—my shop, once a haven of natural beauty, now devoured by an inferno.

I slammed the car to a stop, not bothering to park properly. The vibrant flowers that used to dress the storefront were reduced to cinders, the windows blown out, spitting orange embers into the dark sky. The whole structure was engulfed, a living beast of fire roaring in triumph over its conquest.

The heat hit me like a physical force, and the stench of burning wood and flowers filled my lungs as I bolted from the car. There was no time to think, just act. I spotted a familiar face in blue—a cop, one of ours—amidst the chaos. Slipping a wad of cash into his waiting hand, our eyes locked in silent understanding.

"Keep them back," I growled low, nodding toward the gathering crowd of onlookers.

"Understood, boss," he replied under his breath, pocketing the bribe while redirecting the bystanders with authoritative ease.

I strode toward the inferno, my shop a skeleton of flames. The heat pressed against my skin, but it was nothing compared to the urgency that fueled my steps. Mr. Lao's safety was a weight in my chest, heavier than the smoke that tried to choke me.

"Hey!" A fireman intercepted me, his expression hidden behind his mask. "Who the hell are you? You can't be here!"

"I'm the owner," I shot back, my voice rough with smoke and barely contained rage. "Is everyone out?"

He hesitated, sizing me up with a critical eye before motioning me away from the blaze. "You need to step back, sir. Let us do our job."

"Was the shopkeeper...did anyone get him out?" The urgency clawed at my throat, making my voice sound foreign even to me.

For a moment, he said nothing, but then his eyes flickered over to where an ambulance sat ominously still. Its back doors were open, and there, framed against the harsh lights inside the vehicle, a body bag was being zipped closed, obscuring what remained of a life from the world.

"Mr. Lao..." My words trailed off, the name catching in my throat like ash. Guilt swelled within me, fast and suffocating. I should have been here; I could have prevented this.

Memories flooded in unbidden—afternoons spent in the backroom of the floral shop, with Mr. Lao's stories from back in China filling the air as fragrant as the blooms that surrounded us. His laughter was gentle, his wisdom profound, shared over countless pots of steaming tea. He had treated me with a kindness that few had ever offered, without asking for anything in return.

And now, all that remained of those moments were echoes in the flames, disappearing into the night sky like the wisps of smoke above us.

The wail of sirens sliced through the evening air, a harsh soundtrack to the chaos unfolding. I barely registered the sleek black car that skidded to a stop behind mine until the driver's door swung open and Abby emerged like a force of nature.

"Abby," I said, my voice hoarse from the smoke, as she sprinted toward me. Her eyes were wide with concern—mirroring the fear that clawed at my insides—but when her hand slipped into mine, it was like an anchor in the turbulent sea of my thoughts.

"Tell me what happened," Abby implored, her grip tightening.

"Looks like another arson case," I replied, the words tasting bitter. "Almost definitely."

Her gaze swept over the fiery spectacle, the flickering flames reflecting in her eyes. "Was anyone...?"

"Mr. Lao, the shopkeeper," I choked out the name, my throat constricting around the guilt that surged anew. "He didn't make it."

"God, Nathan, I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice a soft caress against the roar of destruction.

I nodded, unable to speak past the lump forming in my throat, grateful for her presence despite the maelstrom of emotions that threatened to consume me. Abby's sorrow was genuine—a small comfort in the face of such senseless loss.

Abby's fingers tightened around mine as her gaze darted down the street. I followed her line of sight, my stomach sinking. The Red Lantern, its iconic sign flickering erratically, was being devoured by flames, the fire a cruel beast claiming another victim.

"Someone's in there!" Abby cried out, her voice sharp with fear. It cut through the roar of the fire and the cacophony of sirens. I strained my ears and heard it too, the muffled cries for help that pierced the night.

"Sounds like Lou," she said, recognition lacing her tone. Her body tensed, ready to sprint towards the inferno. She moved and I just barely managed to catch her.

"Abby, wait!" I snapped, my hand closing firmly around her arm to hold her back. My heart hammered against my ribs, every instinct screaming that I couldn't let her go. "It isn't safe."

She stared at me, her eyes blazing with a determination that matched the fire's fury. "Lou needs us, Nathan. We have to do something!"

I knew she was right, but damn if I didn't feel the urge to drag her away from this madness instead. Abby and I locked eyes, an unspoken agreement forming between us.

We had to act—and fast.

So I shoved her backwards and ran.

I bolted toward the cafe, the heat intensifying with each stride. My heart pounded in rhythm with my footsteps, and I could almost taste the smoke on my tongue. This wasn't just another building; it was part of Abby's world, and I'd walk through hell before letting that crumble to ashes.

"Stay back!" I shouted over my shoulder, not daring to look at Abby. If I did, I might see the fear that would make me hesitate, and hesitation was a luxury I couldn't afford—not now when every second counted.

Yanking the door open, I plunged into the seething darkness of the Red Lantern, the familiar space now an alien landscape of destruction. Smoke swirled around me, a thick gray fog that stung my eyes and clawed at my throat. Instinctively, I pulled my sleeve up to cover my mouth, filtering the worst of the poison from the air.

"Lou!" I called out, my voice rough, barely audible above the crackling flames. I stumbled forward, navigating by memory and the eerie glow of the fire that cast long, dancing shadows across the walls. Each breath was a battle, the hot air fighting its way into my lungs.

The kitchen door loomed ahead, a beacon amidst the chaos. Lou's cries grew louder, more desperate, guiding me forward. I shouldered the door open and stepped inside, squinting through the haze.

"Where are you, Lou?" I pressed on, coughing as the smoke tried to smother me. The kitchen was a nightmare, all-consuming and relentless, but somehow less hot than the dining room. It gave me hope—hope that I could reach him in time, hope that this wouldn't be another loss to weigh on my soul.

"Over here!" he rasped, his voice a beacon in the hellish landscape.

"Stay down, try to breathe." My own voice sounded foreign, muffled by the sleeve over my mouth. The fire wasn't as bad here, a small mercy amidst the calamity. Crawling on hands and knees, I followed the sound, past charred tables and melting plastic chairs until I found him.

Lou, the old boss who'd always slip extra dumplings into takeout orders, looked up from where he huddled against the industrial fridge, eyes wide at the sight of me—Nathan, the florist, an unlikely savior in this blazing nightmare.

"No time for shock, we need to move," I said, reaching out to him. My fingers grasped his arm, pulling him up with urgency. He nodded, the fight reigniting in his eyes, mirroring the flames around us.

I scanned the room for an escape; the front was a death trap, but there, just beyond the pantry, a window—a chance. With Lou shuffling behind me, I grabbed a chair and hurled it against the glass, breaking it open to the night outside.

"Out there, quick!" I shouted over the roar of the fire. Lou hesitated, the window small, doubt etching his features.

"Can't fit," he gasped, breaths coming in short, panicked bursts.

"Like hell you can't," I snarled. I yanked off my jacket and used it to cushion the shards of glass. It would hurt, but it was better than burning to death. "Now go!"

With a grunt, Lou squeezed through the jagged opening, the sounds of sirens and crackling flames punctuating our desperate escape. Once he was clear, I hoisted myself up and followed, ignoring the sharp sting as the broken glass kissed my skin.

We hit the alley running, the cool air a relief after the scorching heat we left behind. Lou stumbled beside me, his coughs echoing off the walls, each one a stark reminder of how close we'd come to a different ending.

"Never thought I'd owe my life to the flower guy," Lou panted as we slowed, safe for the moment in the darkened alley.

"Let's not make it a habit," I replied, trying to steady my own breathing. In the distance, Abby's silhouette was visible against the flickering light of the fire, waiting, watching—my anchor in this storm of ash and embers.

Emerging from the alley, the night air hit me, still warm with the distant rage of fire. The world before us was chaos incarnate—flares of orange and red danced across the ruined facade of Grant Avenue Floral, the scent of destruction thick in my lungs.

"Hey!" a voice pierced through the cacophony, edged with panic.

I turned to see Abby sprinting towards me. Her eyes, wide with fear, only found relief when they landed on me, unharmed. She crashed into me, her arms locking around my neck in a grip that said she'd never let go again.

"Never," she breathed out, her voice a hushed urgency against my ear. "Never do that again, Nathan."

I held her close, her heartbeat pounding against mine—a reminder that this was real, we were alive. That she still cared this much…I was constantly in awe over it.

"Promise me," she whispered.

She pulled back just enough to look into my eyes, and I saw the fear that lingered there, the fear of losing me. Without thinking, my lips found hers, capturing them in a kiss that meant more than any we had shared before. It spoke of gratitude, of relief, of an emotion that ran too deep for words.

"Okay," I murmured against her lips, the taste of her promise lingering between us. "Okay, Abby. Never again."