Chapter 1

The smell hit me first, thick, choking smoke, then Lila' s scream ripped through the noise of the crowd and the band.

Jax, my Jax, was a blur beside me, his face tight.

"Lila! I gotta get her!"

He started towards The Swamp Shack, towards the flames already licking up the old wooden walls.

My body wanted to lunge, to grab his arm, to scream, "No, Jax, don't!"

Because I remembered.

The searing pain as burning wood crashed down, crushing my left hand, my music, my life.

I remembered Jax' s face, twisted not with concern for me, but with fury, later, when Lila was dead and my hand was a useless, mangled thing.

"It's your fault, Scarlett! You should have saved her, not me!"

His words, a brand on my soul.

His family' s money, a weapon that bled me dry, blackballing me from every gig, every chance.

The suffocating silence of his plantation, the cold dismissal in his eyes every day of our sham marriage.

And the smokehouse. Oh God, the smokehouse.

Locked in, the Louisiana summer sun beating down, the air growing hotter, thicker, until I couldn't breathe, couldn't scream, couldn't...

I gasped, the memory so real I could taste the ash.

This time, Jax was yelling Lila' s name, ready to be the hero.

This time, I stepped aside.

I just watched him charge into the inferno.

My hand, my precious hand, was safe. My music was still mine.

A roar, then a sickening crunch as part of the porch roof gave way right where Jax had plunged in.

Seconds later, he stumbled out, dragging a screaming, smoking Lila.

He collapsed, and she lay beside him, her pageant dress in tatters, her perfect skin blistered.

Then the sirens, the shouting, the blur of the small rural hospital.

I sat on a cold plastic chair, watching.

Jax' s parents, Jackson Beaumont Jr. and his wife, rushed in, faces pale.

A doctor, his expression grim, spoke to them in low tones.

"...severe burns... his left leg... amputation is unavoidable... the right one, extensive damage... permanent disability..."

Mrs. Beaumont crumpled, a small, broken sound escaping her.

Mr. Beaumont, his face like stone, turned his fury on me.

"You! You were with him! Why didn't you stop him? You just let him run in there?"

His voice was a low growl, full of menace.

I met his gaze, my own cool, steady.

"I tried, Mr. Beaumont. He wouldn't listen. He was... obsessed with saving Lila. I'm not his keeper."

I let a beat pass.

"He made his choice."