Burning Up: The Prescotts

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Books by Tara Wyatt

  About the Author

  Burning Up © 2022 by Tara Wyatt

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Design by Croco Designs

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes only.

  * * *

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  * * *

  ISBN 978-1-7777458-6-8

  For Libby.

  This book wouldn’t exist without you because Noah and Felicity wouldn’t exist without you.

  “True friends are always together in spirit.” – L.M. Montgomery

  1

  Felicity Hawthorne walked down the dark, cavernous hallway, her arms laden with binders and books. To her right, a thick, heavy red velvet curtain hung from the high ceiling, pooling gently on the polished wood floor. To her left, half-finished pieces of scenery sat in the shadows, lined up against the walls. Felicity grinned at how much progress they’d made over the past week. Mr. Boddy’s mansion was really coming together, and she had a feeling that the senior class’s year-end production of Clue was going to be a memorable one. It was one of her favorite plays, and she loved sharing the things she loved with her students.

  She stepped over a neat coil of wires, her heels clicking against the floor. She could hear a few students talking on the other side of the curtain, discussing weekend plans and some band they were going to go see, if they could get in. Given that they didn’t know she was there, and that they were high school seniors on the brink of graduation, she decided to turn a deaf ear to their talk of fake ID’s and/or sneaking in.

  “Not my circus,” she mouthed to herself, shaking her head. It wasn’t that long ago that she’d been young and carefree like that, even though sometimes it felt like it might as well have been a century ago.

  “Hey, is it true that Ms. Hawthorne used to be Mrs. Moore?” asked one of the students, and Felicity’s steps faltered. Her cheeks flamed, and she adjusted her grip on the binders and books weighing her arms down. It sounded like Aiden, who’d only started at the school that year after his family had moved to New York from Dublin, Ireland. He’d spent the entire school year charming all the girls—and some of the boys—with his Irish accent and head of messy black curls.

  “Yeah,” said another student. Emily. One of Felicity’s favorites, even though she didn’t officially have favorites. Of course not. That would be unprofessional. “She got divorced like a year ago or something.”

  “That’s so sad,” came a third voice. Hailey, Emily’s constant sidekick. “She’s so pretty and sweet. She’s like my favorite teacher.”

  Felicity smiled softly, the words soothing some of the sting out of her students gossiping about her marital status. And it was true—until about a year ago, she’d been Mrs. Moore. But in an effort to reclaim her identity and move past the way her marriage had crashed and burned, she’d resumed using her maiden name.

  “God, I would never get divorced,” said Riley, one of Felicity’s least favorite students. Again, not that she officially had favorites. Because, you know. Professionalism and all that. “It’s so tacky.”

  “Tacky?” Emily shot back. “I think it’s probably a lot more complicated than tacky.”

  “My parents are divorced,” said Aiden quietly. “That’s why we moved. Mum has family here. Dad’s back in Ireland.”

  An awkward silence fell over the group and Felicity decided that that was her cue to leave. She had more important stuff to do than sit around listening to her students talk about her, anyway. There were tests to grade, a lesson to plan, and then she was meeting up with her group of friends for dinner. The students were responsible for cleaning up the art supplies they’d been using to work on the scenery. If they didn’t, they’d be hearing about it.

  Stepping as quietly as she could, she moved toward the freight elevator at the end of the hallway. She didn’t want to haul these heavy books and binders all the way up the stairs to her classroom on the fifth floor. The auditorium where rehearsal and set construction for the play had taken place was on the main floor of the sprawling, seven-story school, and she needed to get back to her desk in order to get her work done so she could meet her friends.

  The Tribeca High School for the Arts was an arts magnet school that had been established over fifty years ago, and it was one of the top ranked high schools in not just the state, but the country. Felicity had been teaching English there for a few years now, and it was far and away the best teaching job she’d ever had. The students were interested and dedicated, and it fed something in her soul to be surrounded by art, literature, music, and theater on a daily basis.

  She reached the end of the hallway and pressed the large button to call the freight elevator, knowing it would emerge into a storage area on the fifth floor only a few doors down from her classroom. While it was tempting to simply go to the teacher’s lounge instead, she knew she’d end up socializing instead of getting her work done, and then she’d feel guilty about it throughout her dinner.

  Work first, play second. It was a balance she still sometimes struggled with, given the way she’d launched herself into her work to escape the painful aftermath of her divorce. But now, almost eighteen months later, she felt as though she were finally emerging from that fog of heartbreak and workaholism, ready to actually enjoy life again. The past year had been a series of lessons, both about life and herself, and although the divorce had been brutal, she was starting to really love the person she’d become on the other side. She hadn’t realized just how miserable she’d been while married to Peter until she’d had the time and space to just be. To listen to her heart, for the first time in a long time.

  She stepped inside the elevator car when the grate-like metal doors rattled open and then hit the button for the fifth floor. The doors closed, and with a familiar lurch, the elevator started its slow rise, clanking and vibrating. She watched through the door as the elevator climbed slowly, thick concrete walls gliding past her.

  She shifted the items in her arms and her brick-sized copy of The Complete Works of Jane Austen fell to the ground with a papery thwak. Sighing, bent down and tried to retrieve the fallen book. The elevator juddered and everything fell out of her arms, landing around her feet in a heap of fluttering papers.

  “Well, fuck me,” she muttered, crouching down to pick up the scattered items. Just then, the elevator let out an extra loud groan and jerked violently, sending her sprawling to the ground. She let out a little shriek as the elevator shuddered and then stopped completely. Peering up, she could see the edge of the floor above at the very top of the elevator doors. Maybe an inch or two of light, and then nothing but gray concrete and the flickering bulb above her.

  “Well, fuck me again,” she said, scowling and brushing her hands on her now dusty skirt. Rising to her feet, she called out, trying to project her voice into the bit of open space. “Hello! Hello! Anyone? The elevator’s stuck!” Nothing but silence and the distant whir of a floor buffer came back to her, so with a sigh, she
hit the red alarm button. Immediately, a loud clanging filled her ears, making her jump, even though she’d pressed the button. After what felt like an eternity—but was probably only about thirty seconds—the alarm shut off, leaving her ears ringing, and a voice crackled through the ancient intercom.

  “Everything okay in there?”

  Felicity moved forward and pressed the button on the intercom. “No, it’s not. This is Ms. Hawthorne, and I’m currently stuck in the freight elevator.”

  “Can you get out?”

  She rolled her eyes. “No. As I said, I’m stuck.” She bit her tongue, holding back her sarcastic reply. If she could get out, she wouldn’t be stuck, would she? Sigh.

  “Okay, just hang on. We’ll have to get the FDNY down here to get you out. What were you doing in that thing, anyway?”

  Felicity pressed a finger to her temple. “Going up to my classroom.” What on earth did he think she was doing in an elevator? Taking a joyride?

  “Right, right. Okay. Sit tight.”

  With a fizz of static, the intercom shut off, and she sank down to the dusty floor, nestling herself into the corner and kicking her legs out in front of her. She’d locked her phone in a drawer in her desk, so she didn’t have that to keep her busy. Instead, she started slowly gathering up everything she’d dropped, organizing it as neatly as possible. Then, deciding she might as well make the best of the situation, she pulled her red pen out of her bun, letting her auburn hair fall loose around her shoulders, and started grading that morning’s quiz on T.S. Eliot. She didn’t have her answer key with her, but she didn’t need it. For a bonus point at the end of the quiz, she’d asked them to make up a nonsense word, inspired by their reading of “Jabberwocky,” and she found herself chuckling at some of the submissions.

  This was why she loved teaching. There was something magical about watching young, keen minds blossom and grow as they learned to interpret the world around them. She saw her role as one of guidance more than simple instruction or didacticism. She wanted to give them the confidence to pursue their curiosity, to challenge themselves, to discover new things and learn new ways of seeing the world.

  Once the quizzes were all graded, she set them aside in a neat stack and blew out a breath. Thank goodness she wasn’t claustrophobic, otherwise spending over twenty minutes trapped in the rickety freight elevator might really freak her out. Glancing at her watch, she picked up the Jane Austen book and started thumbing through it, smiling as she came across underlined passages and penciled in notes in the margins. She’d had the book since college and re-read it regularly. Yes, it was a pain to carry around such an enormous book, and yes, the print was too small, but she didn’t care. She loved it, just as it was.

  She’d just finished re-reading one of her favorite passages in Sense and Sensibility—she was stronger alone indeed, an idea she’d spent a lot of time thinking over with her divorce—when she heard several male voices and heavy footsteps.

  “Where’s the mechanical room? We’ll need to shut off the power.”

  “It’s right through here,” came another voice, one she recognized as belonging to Duff, the head custodian. There was a rattle of keys, followed by more footsteps.

  “This is hydraulic, yeah?” Another male voice, this one deep and gruff.

  “It is.”

  “You have the service key?”

  “Yeah, got it.”

  “Good.”

  Some of the footsteps moved farther away, while others moved closer.

  “Hey, are you okay in there?” came another male voice, this one deliciously deep and smooth. Even though she couldn’t see him, something about that voice sent flutters rippling through her stomach.

  She brushed her hands on her skirt and stood up, craning her neck to see a firefighter crouched at the top of the elevator, leaning in to the few visible inches of the floor above.

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “It’s just you in there?” he asked. She nodded, then remembered that he probably couldn’t see her very well.

  “Just me.”

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Felicity Hawthorne.”

  “Nice to meet you, Felicity. My name’s Noah Prescott and I’m with the FDNY. Hang tight and we’ll get you out of there as soon as we can, okay?”

  She nodded, even though he couldn’t possibly see her very well. “Okay.”

  Firefighter Noah moved away, and she heard the low rumbling of male voices discussing the best approach to getting her out of the elevator. Heavy footsteps approached again, and Noah returned.

  “We may need your help with a couple of things, depending on what we decide to do and how the elevator responds when we try to open it up. Are you up for that?”

  “I don’t know. I’m a little busy staring at the walls, so I’ll have to check my schedule.”

  He chuckled, the sound moving over her like sunshine. “I’ll have my people call your people.”

  She laughed, stacking her papers and binders into a neat pile. “Perfect.”

  Noah moved away for a moment and she heard him talking to one of the other firefighters.

  “One female occupant, and she’s okay.”

  “Good. Brandon just located the shut-off switch, so we can cut the power. The articulating dropped key should work to force the hoistway doors.”

  “We’re going to have to pull it up manually once the power’s cut,” said Noah. “We don’t have enough clearance to get a ladder in there so she can climb out.”

  “How much more do we need?” asked another male voice.

  “Probably three feet.”

  “Okay, so we’ll haul it up, use the key to open the doors and then I’ll put the chock in to hold them while she climbs out,” said the man with the gruff voice.

  Footsteps came closer again. “Felicity, are you physically capable of climbing up a ladder to get out of there?”

  “Yep, no problem,” she called back. “I have some things in here with me, too.”

  “You can pass them up to me and then climb out once we’re ready,” he said. “We’re going to cut the power, so the light’s going to go off. It’s probably best if you sit down, if you’re not already.”

  “Got it.” She sank back down to the floor, nestling herself into the corner. A few moments later, the power cut off, leaving her in almost complete darkness save for the sliver of light slanting in through the top of the elevator. There was a jerking motion, and then she felt the elevator being lifted, a few inches at a time. More light came into view, and after several minutes, she had a clear view of the fifth floor.

  “You got the key? I think we’re ready to force the doors.”

  “Ready.”

  There was a metallic grinding noise, and then the doors slowly peeled back. One of the firefighters inserted some kind of tool to keep them open and then a portable ladder was lowered into the car.

  One of the firefighters lay down on the floor on his belly, holding the top of the ladder steady. Felicity gathered her things and passed them up into someone’s waiting hands and waited for further instruction, ready to get the hell out of there. She knew her life could use a little more excitement, but this wasn’t what she’d had in mind.

  “Hey, Felicity. Noah again. We’re ready for you to climb up now. Just take your time, okay?”

  “Okay,” she said, peering up at the light and the freedom it promised. She stepped onto the bottom rung and began to climb. She’d taken several more steps when she came face to face with the firefighter holding the ladder steady.

  Oh. Holy. Hell.

  She tightened her grip on the ladder as a pair of deep brown eyes fanned with thick lashes slammed into hers. She swallowed thickly as she stared helplessly at the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen in person. He had thick, wavy brown hair that she wanted to run her fingers through, full lips, chiseled features. Straight, perfect nose, and a jawline most models would kill for. He was impossibly sexy. The stuff of fantasies. Thei
r faces were only inches apart, and everything inside her went still. Frozen in shock at being this close to someone so beautiful.

  “Oh, wow,” she whispered, and then immediately clamped her mouth shut as embarrassment churned through her. Her face flamed, and she sucked in a breath.

  He grinned at her, showcasing a devastating pair of dimples. “Happy to be free?”

  She swallowed thickly and nodded. “Uh huh.” Her pulse raced in her temples, and sweat slicked her palms. It felt as though time were slowing down, swallowing her up, freezing her in this moment as she stared into Noah’s eyes.

  Just then, the elevator car jerked, and she let out a shriek as she nearly slipped off of the ladder.

  “It’s not stable!” called Noah as he grabbed for her hands. Solid warmth encased her wrists, and she swallowed, her pulse racing frantically.

  “Shit, get her out of there!” came another voice, and her vision narrowed, panic starting to take over everything else.

  She forced her legs to move, taking another shaky step up the ladder and then the elevator shook again, letting out a loud, ominous creak.

  Noah lunged forward and grabbed her, sliding his hands around her waist and throwing himself backward onto the floor of the hallway. Felicity landed directly on top of him, her body splayed over his. Oh God, he was big. So strong and solid and long. She sucked in a shuddering breath, her lips parted slightly as she tried to process what had just happened.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, her eyes once again magnetized to his.

  His grip tightened on her waist, his handsome features tight with concern. “Are you okay?”

  She managed to nod. “I am. Just a little shaken up.”