Page 68 of My Soul for Sale

"Miss Bucklee took in a lot of smoke,” he begins. “She has some damage to her throat and lungs from the inhalation. No burns miraculously. The firefighter said he found her behind the bar with a wet rag over her face. But it smelled like bleach. He’s assuming she dipped it in the cleaning water in desperation. She had no irritation on her skin, but just in case, watch her. If she ingested any, she needs to drink plenty of fluids and she might have some diarrhea and stomach pains. To heal her lungs, she'll need plenty of fluids as well, along with rest and no smoking, vaping, or being in a smoky atmosphere.”

Relief floods through me. “She's alive? She's going to be okay?”

The doctor nods, confirming what I desperately needed to hear. "Very much alive. They lost her in the ambulance briefly but got her back. She'll be sore and a little out of it, but she's going to be okay."

"Thank you," my dad tells him. We shake hands, and the doctor leaves us alone in the small room.

A few seconds later, a nurse enters with a smile. “Would you like to see her? She’s asleep, but you can sit with her.”

She escorts us to the room and the minute I lay eyes on my woman, tears of relief blur my vision as I sink into a chair beside the bed, clutching her hand like a lifeline. Dad takes the seat opposite me, his expression a mix of relief and concern.

"She's okay, Atlas," he murmurs, his voice soft with emotion.

"I was so scared, Dad," I confess, my voice trembling. "She's everything to me. I don't care about fast or slow or ex-wives or anything. She is my endgame."

"I know, son," he replies, squeezing Sloane's hand gently.

"And you? You seemed so together and not worried,” I ask.

“I was scared shitless,” he admits. “But she made me promise to help you and as your dad, that's my job. No matter how I was feeling. Yeah, Atlas, somehow I've fallen in love with my son's girl and I wanna say I’m sorry, but I’m not. She's an amazing woman. I'm not letting her go either."

I smile. "Then we don’t. She’s ours."

He nods in understanding, and together, we settle into a vigil by Sloane's bedside, watching over her as she sleeps, grateful for every precious breath she takes. She's not just my girl—she's ours. And we're not going to let her go without a fight.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Sloane

The world swims into focus through a haze of discomfort. My throat and lungs feel scorched. My chest burns with each breath. It's as though I've just run a marathon, but lord knows I haven't. My head throbs with every heartbeat, pulsing behind my eyes.

Slowly, I blink them open, the dim hospital room coming into view. Atlas is beside me and he looks like hell. I can't smell anything but ash and smoke. If I had to guess, he probably smells just as bad.

"Atlas," I manage to croak out, and his eyes lock onto mine, relief swimming in them.

"Thank fucking god," he breathes, his voice trembling. "You've been out for days. I thought I lost you. I was so worried."

"Water?" I ask, licking my lips.

Atlas wastes no time reaching for the plastic mug beside the bed and holding the straw to my lips. The cool liquid soothes my raw throat, but the sensation is like trying to swallow sandpaper.

"Thank you," I whisper, the words barely audible.

Memories flood back in a rush, the fire, the chaos. I can't believe I'm alive, can't comprehend how close I came to losing everything.

"The bar," I rasp, my heart sinking at the thought of what's been lost.

"It's gone, babe," Atlas says softly, his voice heavy with regret. "But you're here, and that's all that matters.”

Tears prick at my eyes, and my dreams for the bar are reduced to ashes. I had such grand plans for the bar. I finally had a hysterical new name I couldn't wait to tell the regulars about. I bought a fucking pizza oven and didn't even get to make one pizza.

"Did they catch her?" I ask, my voice shaking in anger.

"Catch who baby?"

"Trina. She did this. She came in while I was mopping and hit me with a bottle, then ranted about Kevin before knocking me out again. And when I woke, the bar was on fire."

"Not yet," Atlas replies, his jaw clenched. "But the cops came by wanting to take your statement."

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