PLAY WITH FIRE

CHAPTER 43

HOLDEN KINCAIDE

PRESENT TIME

The second the fire was out I was rushing into the apartment building, Eros, Dean and Schmidt yelling as they ran after me. Because of the fire, the elevator wasn't working so I had to fucking run up every possible flight of stairs just to get to my apartment. It was moments like these that I regretted buying a penthouse. 

I was a fit guy, but no one is fit enough to run 20 + floors of stairs and not break a sweat once they reach the top. The guys were right on my tail, the four of us panting by the time we got to my apartment. 

There wasn't a door to open. Catching my breath I slowly walked into my now charcoal apartment, my shoulders heavy as I took in the damage. It wasn't even replaceable. Everything was black, the furniture so burnt you couldn't tell the different between a couch and a table. 

"I thought you said you didn't have anything valuable?" Schmidt spoke up first, his voice slightly muffled by his shirt he was using to cover his mouth and nose. 

"There's one thing I forgot" I mumbled, struggling to even tell the difference between rooms. 

"Holden, we should get out of here, it's not safe. The smoke-" I showed Eros my lack of caring for his words as I walked ahead, picturing the layout of my apartment in my head and slowly walking it through, picturing where a wall was, where a door was, until I ended up in what I assumed was my bedroom. 

My metal bed frame was the only thing standing. I walked over, bending down on the ground and sticking my hand under, trying to feel around for it. Just when I felt something, a slither of hope entering my body as I pulled it out, my heart shrunk at the pile of ashes. 

"No." The guys didn't say a word for a moment, just let me soak in this moment and the fact that the most valuable thing I'd owned, was gone. 

"What was it?" Dean asked as I picked up all the bigger ashy bits, them crumpling in my palm. I couldn't salvage any of it. Not a page. 

"A diary. Scarlett gave it to me after she'd helped me through a panic attack years ago. Said she wouldn't always be there to help me, so hopefully writing down my thoughts in something permanent would help" Permanent my ass. 

"And did it?" Schmidt asked as I shook my head in response. 

"I didn't use it to for the purpose she'd given it to me for" I replied, looking at my charcoal black finger tips. Somewhere on my fingers laid the marks I'd drawn on those pages. 

"What'd you put in it then?"

"Tallies" The silence told me the guys were confused by my actions. I bet if I turned around they'd all be looking at each other, silently asking who the fuck I was. 

"Why?" I sat on the question for a moment. I knew the answer, fuck, the tallies were the answer, it's just I hadn't told anyone. I didn't even get to tell her the words my tally strokes represented. 

"A stroke represented a day I lived, loving Scarlett" I know it sounded pathetic and overly sentimental, hell I knew behind me stood three guys silently judging me and how head over heels in love with a girl I was and have been for the last 10 years, but I didn't care. 

The guys didn't respond, and I could feel in this time they were remembering the video sent to them not too long ago. Any time I thought back to that day my throat clogged up and my eyes burnt. It was self explanatory that Scarlett had been the one to set fire to my apartment, I knew it, the guys knew it. 

"He was supposed to slip an envelope under the door" I started, sensing the confusion behind me. 

"Scarlett's parents kept pushing for her, and my Mum didn't like that. She wanted to scare them, and I said I'd only take Wyatt if they left me alone from then on" My eyes burnt from unshed tears mixed with the toxicity of the smoke.