Indestructible by Angela Graham
“Natasha!” I screamed, taking in a mouthful of smoke through the cotton fabric. I choked on it, coughing, but continued. “Oliver! OLIVER!”
Tears rolled down my cheeks in defeated cascades. I couldn’t get to the stairs. A loud crash sounded behind me. I jerked back, whipping around to find the ceiling was caving in.
The hardest thing I ever did was move myself farther away from that hall. My entire body shook, the fire nothing compared to the pain ripping through my heart. I couldn’t save him—it was up to Natasha now, and Oliver was trapped and alone. Was he even still conscious?
I ran out, unable to face the dire emotions but not willing to give up. Bumping against walls and stumbling over debris, I pushed hard and moved faster.
After I reached the porch, I flew out into the yard. I suddenly noticed my right pant leg was covered in flames; I hadn’t even felt it.
I dropped down and rolled, putting the flames out in the snow before bolting back up and running to the side of the house, where there was an attic window.
There, staring back at me, was the frightened face of Oliver, who was clutching Scout in his arms. I could see his tears glistening in the sunlight, even through the substantial smoke surrounding him.
He beat his little fists on the window, his mouth open. His words screamed out, unheard.
I raced to the tree line leading into the forest, found a handful of rocks, and sprinted back.
“Move aside!” I shouted, my throat scorching. He couldn’t hear me. I held up the rock and made a throwing motion then waved my other hand, directing him to step out of the way. He understood and vanished from view.
Using all my strength, I hurled the first rock, howling when it beat against the bricks. I threw another, which hit but wasn’t strong enough to puncture the glass. With fierce tears and exhausted limbs, I continued chucking rocks over and over until one finally blasted through.
My relief never had a chance as wild flames shot out from the open space.
“NO!” I screamed, my hands gripping my head. “Oliver! OLIVER!”
The fire receded, and smoke billowed out of the window.
“OLIVER!” I screamed more loudly. “ANSWER ME!”
Then I saw it: something large and dark surrounding the window. I waited, but there was nothing.
“Oliver!” I cried, sobbing. “Please!”
Natasha’s head suddenly poked out. “Catch him!” she yelled down.
I sobered instantly, my head nodding frantically. She threw a blanket over the edge of the window, and I watched her help Oliver crawl out.
His little body hung down the side of the house, his hands wrapped around his mother’s. She was speaking to him, tears raging down her blackened face, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying.
“I’m right here, Oliver!” I shouted up in a way I hoped was reassuring. I stood under him, and when Natasha’s eyes moved from her son’s to mine, I prepared my stance.
She let go, and Oliver cried out. He fell until he was on me, knocking me down to the ground, breaking his fall.
He rolled over, cradling his arm and rolling into a ball. I didn’t need to be a doctor to see that the bone wasn’t in the right spot. He’d definitely broken it.
I dropped down beside him, wiping the soot from his face. “It’s okay now. It’s over.” I hugged him tightly, my emotions unhinged.
“It hurts,” he wailed.
“I know, honey. I need you to stay strong while I help your mom get out, and then we’ll get you to a doctor. Just stay right here, okay?” My words were rushed. I was desperate to get Natasha out.
He nodded, his eyes hooded. “My mommy and Scout.”
“They’re coming.” I stood, looking back up for Natasha.
She was there with Scout in her arms, surprising me when she held him out and dropped him. I caught him with ease and set him beside Oliver quickly.
Another loud commotion filled the air. I watched in horror as the roof began to pop and one side collapsed in.
“Natasha!” I cupped my mouth, shouting as loudly as I could.
“I won’t fit!” she hollered, attempting to squeeze her shoulders through.
The window wasn’t exactly the largest, but she had to make it work. There was no other option.
“Yes, you will!”
In the distance, I heard the faint sound of sirens. Help was coming.
“I can’t!” she screeched, eyes locking down on mine. “Take care of my baby! Please!”
“No! You will not do this to him!” Anger fueled my roars. “You don’t get to give up today—not in front of your son, and not in my house! Try harder—for him, damn it!”
I saw the resolve the instant it flashed across her quivering face. She was in pain, and an agonized scream ripped from her as I saw fire beat against her back. But for the first time, I also saw in her a mother fighting for what needed to be done.
She stepped out of sight for only a second before her legs shot out, her hips tearing over the jagged glass.
Blood streamed down and her cries grew louder, echoing around us. I dropped down beside Oliver and cradled his head in my lap, covering his exposed ear and shielding his eyes as Natasha squeezed herself out before falling to the ground in a motionless heap.
I lifted Oliver’s head and cupped his cheek, forcing him to understand the gravity of my words. “Stay here, and keep your eyes closed. Promise me.”
He nodded and snapped his eyes shut.
I ran to Natasha and rolled her unconscious form over in the snow, putting out the flames that clung to her skin. She had burns over most of her body. I couldn’t see how bad they were, but from what I could gather, it was gruesome. Her hips were shredded from the glass; deep, jagged tears in her flesh bled profusely.
The sirens were directly behind me now. When I turned to look, an entire crew of firefighters was rushing my way, rattling off commands to battle the flames.
Paramedics surrounded Natasha while I lifted Oliver, careful of his arm, and carried him away toward the next ambulance that arrived. Scout was at our side, lethargic and covered in ash but seemingly generally okay otherwise. That poor dog had been through so much lately.
Paramedics opened the back of the ambulance, guiding me inside to set Oliver down on the gurney.
His eyes were still closed. I rested my forehead against his. We’d made it—all of us.
“Can I open my eyes now?” he asked, his voice raw and barely a whisper. A paramedic placed an oxygen mask over his mouth.
“Yeah, buddy.” I inhaled through my nose, tension dissipating from my muscles. “Open your eyes.”
“My mommy?” he croaked, looking up at me.
I squeezed his tiny hand. “They’re helping her right now. How’s your arm feel?” It was a ridiculous question, as the sight alone answered my question. Not only was it broken, with small abrasions, but I could see burns. They were nothing compared to Natasha’s, but definitely still in need of care.
He shook his head, then tugged at the mask to speak. “Heroes don’t complain.”
Hero? That’s what he thought he was?
I adjusted the mask back over his face and gave him a stern look.
“You’re the bravest boy I know, Oliver. I don’t even understand how you made it back up those stairs for Scout, but what you did wasn’t heroic. You could have been killed in there.” I fought through demanding tears. “I love you so much, and I need you to promise me right now that you will never again do something so dangerous.”
My tears flowed out with the adrenaline in a heavy stream of anguish.
“Promise,” he said, his voice tiny.
I cast my gaze to his, so bright and innocent. Then he added, “I crawled.”
“What?” I sniffled, rubbing my hands across my eyes.
He moved the mask once more. “Fireman at school said to crawl. It was scary and dark, and Scout was barking so I could find him. He needed me.”
Those pesky tears began their ass
“You won’t tell Daddy, right?” His brows creased with worry. “He’ll be mad at me.”
Sitting back up, I smiled. “Keep this mask on. And your daddy’s not the only one upset with you. He’s just going to be the loudest.”
“Cassandra!”
That voice comforted parts of me that were still traumatized by the day’s events.
“Logan.” I pulled off my oxygen mask to speak. Where was he?
“You need to keep this on, miss,” the paramedic instructed, but the only thing I needed was out there, looking for me.
“No, I need him.” I choked on the words, coughing harder. “Logan!”
“Miss, please.”
As the mask was forced back over my face, I saw him. He rushed around the ambulance, stopping short when he spotted me.
As if in slow motion, he stared at me for a long moment, then moved his gaze to Oliver. I saw the tension disappear from his shoulders, and then he was coming toward me. I was up and throwing the mask aside instantly, desperate for his arms around me.
Logan’s entire body cocooned me in the safety and warmth only it could provide. He held me tightly, his fear shrouding his hard features.
“I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have left. I knew something was wrong when I got to Julia’s and she wasn’t there. I found her at Luke’s; her phone was missing. Fuck, I just saw Natasha. She’s all…Christ.” He shoved back, placing his hands on my face and looking me over. “This is my fault. I should—”
I lunged forward, pressing my lips to his. The kiss was slow and gentle. Tears glistened in his eyes.
When I broke the kiss, I said, “Natasha…is she…”
I couldn’t say it aloud. The image of her body burned and mangled flashed in my mind.
He slowed his breathing, inhaling deeply before answering. “She’ll survive. I went mad trying to find you. And then I saw them load her into the ambulance…I thought…I thought it was you.” His first tear slipped out. “I felt my entire body shut down. I couldn’t find Oliver, and the thought of him trapped in that house and you…”
On my tip toes, I kissed both his cheeks, collecting saltwater on my lips. Logan wasn’t one to cry, which was a shame given how beautiful he looked in that moment—so open and vulnerable, with no walls separating us.
He continued, inhaling deeply again as his tears ceased. “When I got close enough, I saw one of her wrists handcuffed to the gurney. I knew then it wasn’t you…that I still had a chance. They told me Oliver was in this ambulance and I took off, pleading with the universe that you were with him. I couldn’t lose—”
“Shhh,” I murmured. “It’s over. We’re safe.”
Logan’s forehead rested against mine. “Marry me.”
The most awkward bubble of a laugh burst from me, despite the scene surrounding us. He did not just ask me that right now.
With a heavy-hearted sigh, I closed my eyes and answered, “Call me crazy, but is it too much to ask for a little romance?”
“Romance, huh?”
My tired eyes opened to find his glittering with a love deeper than I’d ever thought possible.
I lifted my head, a smile on my lips. “You need the definition?” I raised a brow.
He gripped my arms and drew me back in, kissing me harder. “No, I think I got it covered,” he murmured against my lips before releasing me, his hand scrubbing across his jaw.
“Thank you.”
My brows pinched together. “For what?”
“Saving my son’s life,” he replied, staring over at Oliver lying just behind us.
Swallowing hard, I said, “You need to thank Natasha too. If she hadn’t gone in first…” I shook the thought away. “She saved his life.”
“She was also the one who put his life in danger to begin with,” Logan rebuffed as quickly as the words had flown from my mouth. Anger colored his tight voice. “She’ll spend the rest of her pitiful life locked away for what she’s done today. I’ll make sure of it.”
Slowly, I nodded. The woman was dangerous, and the farther away from Oliver she was, the better.
“Good,” was all I had to say.
Logan placed one more lingering kiss to the top of my head, then moved around me to climb inside the ambulance with his son.
I watched as Logan hugged Oliver close, speaking quietly to him. Logan peeked up at me and waved his hand for me to climb in as well. When I did, he slid the oxygen mask over my face and held my hand in his while his other held Oliver’s.
We made it—all of us. A family.
Oliver lifted his mask just enough to whisper a single sentence to Logan.
“She’s my angel too, Daddy.”
Epilogue
“How much longer?” I pouted. A shiver surged through me, my body unable to resist shuddering. “It’s getting chilly in here.”
“I can tell.” Logan’s eyes landed on my pert nipples, his lips curling up into a wicked smirk. “Just stay still a while longer, sweetheart. “
A while longer? It’d been over three hours, and as sexy as the first two were, I was ready to climb either under some blankets or him. Either would work, though I preferred the latter.
“Come on, you have to be close to finished by now,” I sulked after a few more minutes.
Logan stared at the canvas before him, entranced by his work, each brush stroke deliberate and thoughtful. It was one of the most gorgeous sights I’d ever witnessed.
I lay sprawled on the couch in his studio. The silk nightie I’d worn in his pool months ago was bunched around my hips, my legs spread just enough to barely reveal what was already his. The strap on one shoulder was down, and my breast peeked out just the slightest. Logan had taken great care to pose me exactly as his vision entailed.
The moment Oliver was out the door and in Julia’s car, heading to Blythe’s, Logan had been there with something behind his back and smugness in his grin. The last thing I’d expected him to surprise me with was the nightie I’d worn in his pool all those months ago. How he’d come into possession of it when the rest of my house was ash, I didn’t know. But that was the thing about Logan: He always kept me guessing.
Since I was waiting for construction to start on my house rebuild, I was staying with Logan for the time being. And when he led me up the stairs and opened the door to his studio, I knew exactly what he had in mind for our weekend alone.
Logan couldn’t be happier, but the longer I sat, the stiffer my neck became. Even my legs were weak from my stationary position.
Unable to hold the pose for much longer, I was relieved when Logan set his brush down and slipped out from around his canvas.
“We done?” I asked, reluctant to move until I knew for sure. Recreating the pose wasn’t exactly easy the last time I’d gotten up for a bathroom break.
His head shook with one slow movement.
“Oh.” I frowned, my composure dwindling.
He moved toward me with easy grace, his face as classically handsome as the first day I’d seen it. Paint streaked his hands, his chest bare and smooth with only a tiny bit of hair.
“Need to reposition me?” I asked, my voice weak as I caught the predatory spark in his bright eyes.
Logan shook his head again, his lips parting in a dazzling smile.
My stomach lit up with only the greediest, most ravenous butterflies that had been dormant with anticipation until that moment.
My tongue skimmed my lips. I peered up at those powerful shoulders I spent every night clinging to, then down to the massive bulge restrained beneath soft white cotton lounge pants.
He stopped at the edge of the couch, his strong thighs inches from my face.
“Thought you could use a break,” he said. His voice was low and gravelly, filled with countless innuendos.
I reached my hand out, stroking his length through the fabric. “I could
“You can sleep later.” His fingers traced my cheek. “Right now, I’m going to show you every last fantasy that has played through my mind over the past couple hours.”
I sat up on my elbows, untying the drawstring at his waist.
“Is that so?” I murmured, freeing his granite cock and caressing him in my hand.
“You lying here like this, allowing me to celebrate every part of you? I don’t think it gets much better.”
I cupped my hands under the warm weight of him. “I’d beg to differ,” I said, sliding my tongue down the length of him.
His mouth fell open with a low growl, hands cradling my head as I bobbed my mouth up and down. My joy at the groans he released was short-lived when Logan grasped my arms abruptly and pulled me up against his chest.
He kissed me hard, his hands weaving through my hair that was down, loose, and wavy—just how he preferred it.
“I’m gonna make love to you over and over again tonight, but first, I want you to see.” There was a hint of vulnerability in his words; he didn’t sound as confident as I was used to, but he was quick to add, with an assertive tone, “This will be the first of many portraits.”
I didn’t complain, excited at the thought of posing again for him.
Logan released my hand, still feet away from his work, allowing me to finish the walk toward it on my own. Before I stepped around for the view, I looked back at him.
“I know I’m going to love it,” I said, feeling the need to reassure him.
He looked suddenly worried, and almost shy—an expression I rarely saw on Logan. His head tilted to the side, eyes hooded. “I hope so,” he said softly.
Unexpectedly nervous, I moved closer. As I stood in front of the masterpiece, a gasp caught in my throat. My hand rose to my lips, and tears welled up in my eyes.
The painting wasn’t finished, but what he’d captured thus far was magnificent.
I saw a confident, beautiful woman—nothing like the girl I saw myself as when Logan had first entered my life. Her body was lean and fit, with a subtle curve to the thighs. Her breasts were small but full, matching her proportions.