Bloom by A.P. Kensey Read Free Book Online Page A

guy almost killed us!”
    Haven was barely listening. She stared at the fire ahead and swallowed hard as her throat slowly tightened.
    Through the car’s windshield, Haven watched her house burn.
    Bright red flames licked up the sides of her two-story home and crawled onto the roof. One of the front windows shattered into a thousand shards of glass as fire burst out of the family room. Wood groaned and popped as beams split from the heat. Neighbors walked out of their own houses in pajamas and bathrobes, squinting bleary-eyed at the bright light.
    “No!” screamed Haven. She kicked open the car door and ran into the yard. Tears streamed down her face as she stared up into the dancing flames. Even standing thirty feet away, the heat made her sweat. Her eyes wanted to close against the smoke but Haven forced them to stay open as she watched the raging fire.
    “Haven!” shouted Kayla. She got out of the car and ran over to her. Haven started toward the house but Kayla grabbed her arms and held her back. “You’ll die!”
    A burning support beam snapped on one corner of the house and the roof sagged down with a slow crunch.
    Haven tried to push Kayla away so she could run inside, but she wasn’t strong enough. She pulled as hard as she could but grew weaker as the flames spread across the entire surface of her home. Kayla guided Haven to the ground so she could sit down.
    The front door to the house fell off its hinges and broke against the porch. Parts of the second story collapsed into the first, crashing down and sending a flurry of burning embers into the air. Haven screamed and sobbed as the roof caved in and half of the house crumbled to the ground.
    “Noooo,” she said softly, her voice tapering to a whimper. She sat with her knees tucked up to her chest and her arms wrapped around her legs while she rocked back and forth. Her tears glinted with the refection of red flame.
    Kayla sat next to her and placed a hand on her back. In the distance, the piercing wail of police sirens grew louder.
     

 
     
     
    6
     
    C olton stood in one corner of the holding cell and crossed his arms. He tried to look tougher than he felt in the company of the other men who had been tossed into jail that night. There was only one long bench lining the wall opposite the cell door, and it was fully occupied by a row of mean-looking, tattooed brutes. Smaller men sat around the edge of the large cell and leaned their heads back against the concrete walls.
    After being pushed into the room a couple of hours earlier, Colton had taken the only open spot on the bench. A little while later, three more criminals arrived, each one bigger than the last. The largest of the three walked over and stood before the bench, looking down over his enormous gut. Colton needed no further motivation; he got up and walked over to the corner, where he could see everything going on in the cell.
    Most of the men kept to themselves, but a couple of them seemed to know each other and talked at length about what was going on in their lives. Colton was surprised that they never mentioned the crimes for which they had just been arrested, and instead spoke of family life and other things he would not usually expect career criminals to discuss.
    Colton had never been in as much trouble as he was at that moment. There was no need to worry about the police calling his father; even if they were lucky enough to catch him awake and not in one of his alcohol-induced stupors, he would probably laugh and say that his son was getting what he deserved.
    Colton made a strong point of not thinking about his father as much as possible—there were too many emotions that flooded his mind. Love mixed with hate; regret at the happy childhood he was denied; sadness and loneliness rolled into one. It was easier just to push it all far away where the confusing mass of feelings became fuzzy and blended into the background of everyday life.
    It was simple enough for him to blame his