Page 130 of Sparking Sara

“How long have I been here?” he asks.

“About two hours,” the nurse says. “You had us scared for a while. The doctor will be in to see you shortly.”

I sit down in the chair next to the bed and close my eyes, saying a silent prayer of thanks.

Denver reaches over and grabs my hand. “I didn’t mean to scare you, sweetheart.”

I smile through my tears. But I can’t get any words past the lump in my throat.

“Sara, it’s okay. I’m okay.”

I nod over and over. I want to tell him he’s okaythistime, but what aboutnexttime? I want to ask him how I’m supposed to deal with him going back to work when I know this could happen again. I want to tell him he can’t go back to work—that I forbid it.

But I don’t say a word. I can’t.

Denver would never tell me I couldn’t paint again. Because he knows that’s what I love. Being a firefighter is who he is, and according to his friends, he’s quickly becoming one of the best ones in the city. What kind of person would I be if I asked him to give that up? Or if I gave him an ultimatum?

No, I can’t say anything. We’re together because he’s a firefighter. And there is a little boy who’s alive because of him. If Denver hadn’t been there, that boy might have died. How many other people will die if Denver isn’t around to save them?

“Sara, sweetheart, are you okay?”

I crawl up on the bed and lie next to him. “I’m okay. As long as you’re with me, I’m okay.”

He wipes my tears away. “I love you.”

I pull my phone out of my pocket and hit record. “I’m going to need you to say that again.”

Chapter Thirty-four

“As you know, Mr. Andrews, you have a concussion,” the doctor says. “I’m benching you for four weeks minimum. After two weeks’ rest, you’re free to do desk duty, but you’ll have to be cleared by me or another physician before you can go back on the truck.”

“Got it,” Denver says, shaking the doctor’s hand.

The doctor looks at him strangely. “What? No argument? Usually, I’m met with tons of flak when I bench firefighters.”

Denver looks at me and then back at the doctor. “You won’t get any arguments here,” he says. “I know things could have been a lot worse. Plus, you’ve just told me I need to spend the next two weeks in bed.” He winks at me.

“Resting,” the doctor says, laughing. “The nurse will be in to discharge you shortly.”

“Thank you,” Denver says.

After the doctor leaves, I help Denver get dressed in the fresh clothes I brought him this morning when I went home to take a quick shower.

“You look exhausted,” he says. “I wish you would have gone home last night.”

“Denver, you are in the hospital with a head injury. Staying one night with you was the least I could do after everything you did for me.”

“Were you able to find out more information on the boy?”

I nod sadly. “His name is Joseph Malone, but his parents called him Joey.”

Denver looks surprised. “How do you know that? Isn’t he a bit young to tell you?”

“He’s fifteen months old,” I say. “Bass told me that a family from a neighboring unit came to check on him last night. They knew the parents, but not well enough to know any other relatives. The police are trying to track them down.”

“So where is he now?”

“They said they were keeping him overnight for observation, and also to allow time for a relative to come forth.”

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