Wild Dreams: A Friends to Lovers romance (Wilder Irish Book 12)

to them.
“Thank God!” Miguel said, enveloping Erin in a big hug. “When we heard…all I could think…”
“We’re okay,” Erin said, her voice muffled against Miguel’s uniform.
“Layla already called me,” Miguel said. “The alarm sent an alert to Finn’s phone. They’re on their way here. Let me call, tell her you’re…” Miguel, still frazzled and upset, released Erin and pulled out his phone, calling his girlfriend. Oliver overheard him telling Layla that they’d all gotten out.
It was just as he thought. Most of his family would be here soon. Finn’s alarm system included an app, and after a long afternoon—which had been painful at the time but funny afterwards when they retold the story—they’d managed to teach the older generation how to download and use it.
Gavin succumbed to another coughing fit.
“Ambulance on the way,” Landon said.
“Don’t need one,” Gavin rasped.
Oliver wanted to argue with his foster brother. Then he started coughing as well. But there was no way in hell he was going to the hospital. No way he was leaving until the fire was out.
Landon ignored Gavin. “EMTs will check you both out. Smoke inhalation is no joke and it sounds like you two sucked in a lot.” Then he walked to the end of the street to stand next to Miguel, who was directing traffic—not that there was much at this time of night. Mainly just the rescue vehicles.
Actually, Oliver wasn’t even sure this classified as night anymore. It was after four a.m. Morning.
Oliver looked at the two ornaments still clasped in his hands, then glanced at Gavin, overwhelmed by guilt.
“Gavin—” he started.
Gavin cut him off. “You were right to save them.”
“You shouldn’t have come—”
“Stop.” Gavin’s face was streaked with lines of black soot caused by the combination of smoke and watering eyes. “I go where you go, brother. Always.”
Oliver didn’t know how to reply to that. He probably couldn’t if he tried. His throat was no longer tight, it was closed. Completely blocked by tears he couldn’t shed.
Or shock. Maybe this was shock.
More cars pulled up, and Oliver saw Layla emerge from a passenger seat. Erin cried out and left his side, running to her cousin, the two of them hugging tightly. Finn stood next to them, his gaze glued to the pub.
Padraig, who had an apartment a few blocks away, sprinted down the sidewalk. His hair was a mess, his shoes untied. He hadn’t even bothered to dress or put on a coat, racing to the pub in his pajamas.
“Jesus,” he said as he came to a halt next to Oliver. He pulled Oliver into his arms, then reached over to include Gavin in the bear hug. “Jesus,” he said again as he released them. “I thought. I…fuck…”
Then he, like Finn, turned to look at the building, his expression one of total devastation. “Oh fuck.”
Oliver swallowed hard, the act causing him to cough once more.
“No no no nooooo! God, no!”
Oliver turned at the sound of Riley’s voice, and the tears he’d managed to keep at bay so far started to fall when he saw her and Pop Pop walking down the sidewalk toward them. Riley raced up to them, tears streaming down her face. “Ollie!” she said, kissing him on the cheek. “Gavin.” She gave Gavin the same kiss, then dashed over to Aaron, who’d seen her arrive. She ran straight into her husband’s arms, trembling, crying.
“You shouldn’t be here, Pop Pop,” Padraig said as their grandfather stopped next to them.
“This is exactly where I should be.” Like Padraig before him, Pop Pop gripped Oliver’s upper arm and Gavin’s, twisting both so he could look at them.
“You’re both okay?” Pop Pop asked, his eyes filled with concern.
He and Gavin both nodded, and it occurred to Oliver that he wasn’t the only one fighting off some pretty strong emotions. Gavin looked just as distraught, the seriousness of what they’d just escaped only now dawning on them.
“You’re sure? Not lying to me?” Pop Pop continued to look them up and down as if unwilling to take them at their word, then he reached up, cupping Oliver’s cheek.
“I’m sure,” Oliver croaked.
Pop Pop pierced Gavin with a look.
“I’m fine,” Gavin reassured Pop Pop.
“Erin?” Pop Pop asked.
Gavin pointed farther down the block. “There with Layla. She’s fine too.”
“I was so afraid. When Riley woke me up, when she said…” Pop Pop stopped and, for the first time, his grandfather turned to look at the pub, the flames reflected in his misty eyes.
Pop Pop had spent the majority of his life within the walls of that building, immigrating from Ireland when he was in his twenties with his bride, Sunday. He’d raised his family, run the pub and the restaurant, sat by his wife’s side as cancer consumed her, and celebrated countless birthdays, holidays, graduations, weddings, and the birth of babies here.
An entire life—contained within four walls. Four walls now scorched by flames and smoke, gutted by the fire still raging within.
Oliver squeezed his eyes closed tightly, trying to block out the broken expression on Pop Pop’s face. It had been a brief look; his grandfather—one of the strongest men he’d ever known—had schooled his features quickly. Oliver suspected he was probably the only one who’d seen that split second of raw emotion, of unspeakable pain.
When Oliver opened his eyes again, he had to look away from Pop Pop before he fell completely apart, but there was no escape. Aunt Keira and Uncle Ewan had arrived. The two of them managed Sunday’s Side, the restaurant where Riley was the cook. The three siblings had worked together for decades, practically their whole lives.
Ewan watched the blaze, his eyes lined with pain, his arms wrapped tightly around Keira and Riley. He tucked them close as his sisters both quietly cried against his chest. “It’s okay,” Ewan murmured to them over and over. “It’s okay.”
The image shattered Oliver’s heart into a million pieces.
Tris, who ran the pub side with his son, Padraig, arrived next. He stopped beside Padraig, and the two of them wrapped their arms