Page 127 of Sparking Sara

I laugh. “Oh, my God, you’re incorrigible.”

He lies down, still naked, and laces his hands behind his head. “I’ll be right here whenever you need more inspiration.”

I roll my eyes at him and then throw on some old clothes and walk down to the basement. I look around at all my creations. Denver doesn’t know how true his words were. Hedoesinspire me. Everything I’ve painted since the accident is because of him. Thinking about him. Wanting him. Loving him.

I pick up my brush and get started.

Chapter Thirty-three

The past few weeks have been the best I’ve ever known. Lydia and I are like two peas in a pod, just as we were in high school, only better, because we’re acting like mature adults this time—well, most of the time, anyway. She came for a sleepover one night when Denver was working and her husband was out of town. We spent the entire night laughing and reminiscing.

Denver introduced me to his sister, Aspen, on a video chat, and she and I are becoming fast friends. She’s coming to town tomorrow with her husband’s baseball team. I’ve made sure the townhouse is spotless. I am still a guest here, after all.

I finished the painting for Baylor. She tried to pay me what she said she commissioned me for, but I wouldn’t allow it. We’ve become friends and I don’t take money from friends. At least not anymore. She argued, but I didn’t let up, telling her I’d rip up any check she gave me. Then, a few days ago, I got a notification that a rather large donation—in the sum of what the painting was worth—was made in my name to The Brain Trauma Foundation.

Something I’ve found myself dreading more and more is looking at new apartments while I try to sell the old one. To be honest, I’m not in any hurry to leave the townhouse. I love it here. And I’m beginning to understand that what I love about it isn’t necessarily the townhouse, it’s who’s in it.

Denver and I have only been a couple for a few weeks. Moving in together isn’t an option—is it? Then again, we’re basically living together now. We share a kitchen, a bathroom, a bed.Oh, the bed. My body tingles just thinking about how well we share the bed.

My phone rings and I put down my paintbrush, annoyed with the phone for the interruption. Then I see it’s Ivy calling, and I smile.

“Hey, girlfriend. What’s up?”

“Sara,” she says, followed by a long pause. “Something’s happened.”

The tone of her voice is utterly morose, and it makes my heart sink. Denver is at work today. I step over to the couch and sit down. “Is he okay? Is he …” I can’t even bring myself to say it. I’ve thought a lot about this over the past few months. I worry about him every time he goes to work. I’ve prayed I never get a phone call like this. I just never imagined it would happen so soon.

“He’s in the hospital. An apartment building collapsed during a fire.”

My hand covers my mouth as a sob bellows out of me. “Oh, my God. Is he badly hurt?”

“They haven’t fully assessed him yet. He just arrived at the hospital a few minutes ago. Bass called me from the scene and told me to call you and Aspen.”

“She’s arriving tomorrow,” I say. “Have you called her yet?”

“She’s my next call.”

“Did Bass give you any more information? Is he burned? Conscious?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know. But he sounded scared, Sara. I think you should get there right away.”

My stomach turns and I try to hold back the bile rising in my throat. Could it be that I’ve just found him, only to have him taken away?

“Where is he?” I ask, gathering myself together as I run up the stairs. I trip along the way, my left leg not able to keep up with my right. I yell out in pain when I hit my knee on the edge of a step.

“Sara, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m leaving now.”

Ivy gives me the directions as I grab my purse and head out to hail a cab. I look down at my paint-spattered clothes, knowing I should change, but that would take precious minutes. And what if all I have left with him is minutes?

“I’ll call Aspen and then meet you there,” she says.

“Thank you,” I say through my tears.

She doesn’t tell me he’ll be okay. She doesn’t tell me things will be alright. I wonder if she knows more than she’s letting on.

It takes twenty minutes to reach the hospital. Twenty excruciating, heart-pounding minutes.

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