Three: I'm Here

SUSAN 

I couldn't hear anything.

Just ringing. High and thin and endless, like a needle stuck in my ear. The world had gone sideways — I was on the floor, or maybe the floor was on me. I couldn't tell. Smoke everywhere. Gray and thick and tasting like metal.

Something wet ran down my cheek. I didn't know if it was water or blood.

Move, I told myself. Move.

My arms wouldn't listen.

"Susan—"

The sound came from far away. Underwater.

"Susan."

Hands. Hands on me. Big and warm and shaking — no, I was shaking. He was pulling me up, pulling me into his chest, and I could feel his heart slamming against my back, or maybe that was mine, I couldn't tell anymore.

"I'm here." His voice cracked. "I'm here, I'm here, I've got you."

I tried to talk. Nothing came out but a sound.

"Don't move. Don't move, okay? Just breathe."

His arms were so tight around me it almost hurt. His hand cradled the back of my head, pressing my face into his shoulder. I could smell smoke in his skin. Smoke and his soap and him.

"You're okay," he kept saying. "You're okay, you're okay—"

The ceiling hissed.

Then the sprinklers went off.

Water hit us like a wall. Ice cold, pouring down from every head in the kitchen, drenching us both in a second. The fire alarm started screaming. Somewhere in the apartment, something crashed.

Noah didn't move. Didn't loosen his grip. Just curled around me tighter, one hand shielding my head, water streaming down his face and into my hair.

"I've got you," he said again, right against my ear. "I've got you. I'm not going anywhere."

I grabbed his arm. Held on. My fingers dug in so hard they'd leave bruises.

And I started to cry.

Not loud. Not dramatic. Just quiet, shaking sobs that came out of nowhere, water and smoke and tears all mixed together on my face while the sprinklers poured and the alarm screamed and Noah held me on the kitchen floor like the world was ending.

Because it was.

I just didn't know yet how much.

---

SUSAN 

The towel was scratchy and too small. I had it wrapped around my shoulders, another one over my legs, a blanket Noah had yanked off the bed draped over everything else. I was still shivering.

The living room smelled like smoke. It had followed us in, worked its way into the couch, the curtains, my hair. I could taste it every time I swallowed.

Noah paced in front of the window. Phone pressed to his ear. Water still dripping from his hair down the back of his neck.

"You were supposed to check it yesterday." His voice was low. Controlled. "That's what I paid you for. That's what I paid you for."

I pulled the blanket tighter.

"Three weeks. Three weeks I've been calling. My wife almost—"

His voice broke.

Just for a second. A crack in the middle of the word. He caught it, swallowed it, kept going — but I heard it.

"No. No, you listen to me. If I find out someone cut corners on that line, I'll own your company by Friday. Do you understand me?"

Silence. Whatever the guy on the other end said, it made Noah's knuckles go white around the phone.

"I could have lost her."

Quieter now. Almost to himself.

"Do you get that? I could have lost her."

Something in my chest cracked open.

I'd heard him angry before. At the TV. At traffic. At his brother on the phone, that one time, over something stupid. I'd heard him yell loud enough to make the neighbors knock.

I'd never heard him sound scared.

He hung up without saying goodbye. Stood there with his back to me, shoulders rising and falling, hand pressed flat against the window like he needed something solid.

"Noah."

He turned.

His face. God, his face. There was soot smeared across his cheek and a cut above his eyebrow I hadn't noticed, and his eyes were red — from the smoke, I told myself. Just the smoke.

"Come here," I said.

He crossed the room in three steps. Dropped onto the couch, pulled me against his side, buried his face in my wet hair.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"For what?"

"I don't know. Everything. I should've—"

"You held me." My voice came out thin. "You didn't let go."

"I never will."

I closed my eyes.

And then my phone rang.

We both froze.

It was on the coffee table, screen lit up, face-up. I reached for it without thinking.

"Who is it?" Noah asked.

"No idea. No number."

He sat up. "Don't answer it."

I answered it.

Silence on the line. Then a breath. Soft. Almost amused.

"Hehehe."

My blood turned to ice.

"You survived."

I couldn't move. Couldn't speak. My hand went numb around the phone. Noah was saying my name, asking who it was, reaching for it—

"The game has just begun, sweetheart."

The line went dead.

Noah took the phone from my hand. Held it to his ear. Nothing. He pulled it away, stared at the screen, then back at me.

"Susan. Who was that?"

I opened my mouth.

Nothing came out.

---

To be continued…