Page 44 of Burn

Lex.

I haven’t had time to think about her. Her wild eyes when she collided with me in that hall. The blue hue to her lips as her body lay limp on the pavement. She wasn’t breathing, she wasn’t moving.

Did I feel a pulse?

Fuck. Did I?

My heart races as I try to remember if I found a pulse before medics took over, but things before going back for McCoy are foggy and I can’t fucking remember. Is she dead? If she’s alive, this cat means more than anything to her and if it ended up in a fucking city kill shelter it will devastate her. If she’s dead, canIhandle bearing responsibility for sending it to a shelter? My chest aches, a deep and awful pain in the space above my heart that has me reaching up to rub at it. Harrington’s eyebrowsshoot up, and he steps into the ambulance and rushes out, “Adrian? Are you okay?”

“Don’t send it to a shelter,” I wheeze through the pain of not knowing. “She loves that cat. She’d be devastated if… and if she’s…” I can’t bring myself to say the words.

Harrington nods and tightens his grip on the cat carrier. “No worries, man. We’ll take it back to the station.” He looks at the cat again, laughs, and adds, “Plus, we can scare the guys coming in this morning. Call me when you’re out, and I’ll get it back to you. You owe me, though.” With that, he closes the door and slams his hand on the side, letting the medics know they’re good to go.

A few minutes later, we arrive at Torhaven Mercy, and the doors swing open. I’m already standing, barely, and clamber out. When the female medic rolls a wheelchair out, I glare at her, and in return, she rolls her eyes and comments to the other medic, “Fuck, he’s a bear.”

The emergency area is packed with people brought in from the fire. I search the room for Lex but quickly determine she’s not here. Of course, she’s not. Based on the severity of her exposure, she would have been triaged immediately. A young-looking doctor walks the room with a clipboard, stopping at each person to assess their needs. When she reaches me, she scans my uniform before her light-blue eyes land on mine, and a cheeky smile spreads across her lips.

“You’re gonna be a fun one, huh?” she laughs. “Name?”

I can’t help the sarcastic response, “I’m always a fun one, ma’am. Adrian Liberty.”

She laughs and nods, then turns and beckons me to follow her. I do so without arguing, if only to distance myself from the male medic I am growing eager to punch. The doctor leads medown a corridor, stopping only to push a curtain aside, and instructs me to “Sit.”

I do what I’m told, partly because my body is exhausted and I’m not sure how much longer my legs will hold me, but also because something about this woman tells me she’s not someone to be trifled with, and I’m all fought out for today. She pulls the stethoscope off her neck, and I unbutton the top of my shirt to give her access to my chest. I take deep breaths that leave me coughing.

A second later she steps back, the smirk still on her face, and says, “Well, you’re gonna feel like shit for a couple days, but you’re in much better shape than your buddy they brought in just before you.” I perk up at the mention of McCoy, and she must understand my reaction because she adds, “He’s okay, too. He’ll likely be here a few days, but you can leave in a couple of hours.” She pulls her phone from her pocket, fires off a quick text, then says, “I’ve ordered you Methylprednisolone. It’s a steroid to help your lungs recover. Once you have that, and you feel able, you can see your friend. He’s awake — rough shape, but stable. I’d like you to hang around the hospital until at least one or two P.M.,” she checks her watch, chewing her bottom lip thoughtfully. “Can you handle that?”

I nod, and she turns to leave, but I stop her, “Hey, Doc. We heard there were a couple of fatalities.” The words lodge in my throat, and I swallow against them, fighting to get the rest out. “Any information on who?”

She turns back to fully face me, the smile gone and replaced by genuine sadness, “Unfortunately, I can’t discuss the details until families have been notified, but, yes, there were two fatalities.”

My heart races again. Surely one of them is her.

I was too late.

The doctor tucks a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear, watching me intently as I nod and say, “My girlfriend was in that building. She came in a while ago.”

Lie — such a lie.

The doctor’s eyes widen briefly, but then she smiles again, and I can’t comprehend the expression until she says, “Unless your girlfriend is over the age of 65, you can breathe easy.”

It takes me a moment to digest what she said, and when I do, I feel like I could cry for the first time in longer than I can remember.

She’s alive.

The doctor reaches out, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder, then turns, pulling the curtain closed behind her.

She’s alive.

It’s a chant in my head; it echoes and sings.

By the time a nurse walks in and hands me a pill to take, I’m so fucking anxious that I’m pacing the small space. She stands at the entrance, a look of shock on her face, watching me move back and forth. I stop and hold my hand out. She places the small white pill in my palm and holds out a cup of water, but I swallow the pill dry, then ask, “Where’s my crewmate?” The woman looks likely annoyed, but she still ushers me to follow, so I grab my gear off the bed and follow her.

We step into an elevator, and when the door closes, the nurse wrinkles her nose and says, “Ooo-eee, you stink.”

I lift my arm, taking a whiff, and yeah, I smell pretty fucking ripe. I smile and reply, “Five hundred degrees of fire will do that to a guy. Sorry, ma’am.”

She rushes off the elevator, waving her hand at me and laughing. She can laugh all she wants, as long as she takes me to see McCoy. The door to the room is open, still, she raps lightly as we enter. They’ve cleaned him up some. The soot has beenwiped from his face, and his gear is folded on a chair beside the bed. When he sees me, a look of embarrassment flashes across his face, and he looks down at his hands, quietly saying, “Man, what a bust for my first fire.”

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