Page 12 of Loving Trent
“I don’t know. There is a single mom who lives below us, but we didn’t stop to check on her,” the mom answers as the father is frantically speaking into my phone.
I take off, pushing through the front doors into a small lobby. Looking around at the décor would just be a waste of time; therefore, my legs propel me to the door with the small gold number one on it. Sweat trickles down my face and back as my fists pound against the door.
“Is anyone home?” Speaking sets off a round of coughing thanks to the thick smoke. My eyes burn, and my lungs begin to protest, but I continue to bang. When no one answers, I step back and aim a kick at the doorknob. After a couple of strong kicks, the door jamb busts, and I push the door out of my way.I rush through the small apartment but find it empty. Turning around, I race back through the lobby and spill out onto the sidewalk, sucking in lungfuls of fresh air.
“Oh my God. Up there,” someone screams. The crowd grew in size while I was inside.
I turn to look at what multiple people are pointing at, and what I see turns my hot body ice cold. On the third floor, someone is banging against the window, their mouth agape as if they are screaming.
“That’s our landlord, Shawn,” the mother yells.
With that one name bouncing around in my head, my body heats back up, my heart leaps into my throat, and adrenaline like I’ve never felt before floods me. I again take off toward the fire, not caring about my safety. I reach the side of the building just as the air is filled with sirens, but they still sound so far away. Jumping up, my hands grab a hold of the fire escape ladder and pull. The sound of the metal against metal grates on my nerves, but I don’t stop to flinch. I start climbing and keep climbing up to the third floor. Until I’m standing outside the window.
Through the window, all I can make out is thick black smoke. Even if whoever inside wasn’t named Shawn I would still be standing here risking my life for theirs. Something deep inside me is screaming loudly and rattling the bars of a cage in a desperate attempt to be set free.
Please, God, don’t let it be him. Don’t let it be my Shawn.
Ripping off my jacket, I throw it to the ground, fist the back of my t-shirt, and pull it over my head. I wrap my hand in the shirt and punch through the glass. The heat from the glass doesn’t hurt as I keep punching until it’s all gone. I have to duck when smoke and flames race through the window in search of oxygen. The flame’s heat rushes over my head, but as soon as it dies down, I’m back on my feet. Whatever is inside of medemands that I push through all the fear and exhaustion trying to stop me.
Not caring about the broken jagged pieces of glass still in the window frame, I crawl through it, landing on my hands and knees. My fingers brush against the warm, overheated, sweaty skin of the man trapped inside. He is on the floor, passed out, all the while flames are eating up his walls and the floor.
Bending down, I turn his head, and my heart fucking stops dead. The monster I didn’t know resided in me, roars to life, threatening to destroy me whole. It’s my Shawn, and there is blood rushing down his face. Fuck. No, he can’t die in this fucking fire. Not on my watch. Bending down, I slip my left arm under his chest and, with all my strength, haul him into my arms.
Without stopping to think, I kiss his lips lightly and whisper, “I’m here, Shawn. I promise nothing will happen to you.”
The sound of footsteps on the metal stairwell is barely heard over the sound of the fire, but I pay them no attention as I slowly haul Shawn toward the window. My lungs are burning worse than before, my eyes are watering, and a huge cough rips my throat open. But I don’t stop moving. Just a couple more inches, and I can get him out. The fire is getting closer to us, and I’ll be damned if we both die here.
Someone reaches through the window, grabs the front of Shawn's shirt, and pulls his body away from mine. A growl grows in my chest at the sight of someone else's hands on him, but I push it down. However, once I’m through the window, I push the firefighter out of the way and wrap my arms around Shawn’s body.
“Don’t fucking touch him,” I say with a cough. I turn away from them and continue carrying my Shawn down.
Once safely on the ground, EMTs rush us, trying to do their jobs, but the beast inside that has claimed Shawn Foster almostrips their head off. Only when a small female steps forward and whispers, we need to make sure he’s alive, does the beast allow them to take Shawn away.
Eight
TRENT
Mentally, I’m wrestling with the beast to shove him back inside his cage as the ambulance whisks away a still-unconscious Shawn. I’m not sure what the fuck that was or where this beast came from, but he needs to calm the hell down. I’m in charge here, not him, and getting wrapped up in Shawn Foster isn’t smart for multiple reasons.
“Sir, I really think you should go to the hospital to get your hand checked out, and your lungs,” the female EMT who was the only one to calm me down moments ago says.
I pull my hand out of hers and look at the red skin, not really feeling any pain. “And I said that I’m fine.” One thing that stuck with me from my time at camp is that I have a deep-seated dislike for doctors. I don’t trust any of them. Uncle Joey would have to force me to go. I would literally scream at him whenever I got sick, and he told me I had to go get checked out. Plus, the caged beast likes the idea of going to the hospital way too much.
As I step around the woman, an authoritative voice comes from behind me, halting my retreat. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to insist that you go.”
Turning around slowly, I take in the short, pot-belly man standing behind me. His black police uniform looks like it’s inthe fight of its life. “You going to arrest me if I refuse?” I raise my brows, inviting him to try it. I know my rights, and this fucker can suck my balls.
He sighs as if I’m frustrating him to no end. “Look, I’m not in the mood to get into a pissing contest with you. I have more questions for you. We can either do that from the comfort of a hospital room, or I can haul you in. Your choice, big guy.”
Fuck this. I don’t want to do this at the station because I don’t want my real name to be revealed. At the hospital, I can lie. I have the required documentation to back up the fake name I plan on using. Without saying anything to the asshat that is forcing my hand, I step into the back of the ambulance. I let the EMT hook me up to check my vitals and put an oxygen mask on me.
My original plan was to get the hell out of town before I lose control again. But like all my plans recently, that one goes up in flames. Thankfully, when we get to the hospital, a nurse, whom I can deal with, comes in first. He looks at my hand, goes through the routine to check my vitals, and checks my oxygen level. My anxiety is low with him. After he leaves, a young woman from registration comes in to take my personal information and insurance, which I don’t have. But I pay the required fee to prove that I will pay the bill when it’s generated.
But then the curtain opens again, and an older female doctor walks in, looking at her clipboard. “Mr. Alster Tomlin?”
“Yeah,” I say, fighting against the tightening in my throat and the unease in my gut. Refusing to be in another hospital bed, my ass is sitting in the chair usually used by guests.
“I’m Doctor Laurie. I need to check your hand. The nurse noted that there was no concern on his part, but I’d like to make that decision myself. Then I’d like to order a chest x-ray to check out your lungs.” She starts toward me, but I stand up. The wallsare suddenly moving closer, pressing against my chest, and I need to get the fuck out of here.
