Page 44 of Fall for Me

Seamus’s face appeared over mine, eclipsed by the bright blue sky behind him. “Chelsea! Are you hurt?”

For a moment, I was too stunned to speak. There were people gathering—just legs around us, voices. “Get the dog!” someone called.

More footsteps pattered by. But all I could see was Seamus; all I could feel was his weight on me; his arms cradling my head; the anxiousness in his face, the concern.

“I’m okay,” I whispered. “I’m okay.”

“She’s okay!” said someone in the crowd.

Seamus lowered his head so his hair brushed against my chin. If it wasn’t for the absurdity of lying on the curb with a crowd, I’d want to stay like this.

Then he was up and pulling me up, too.

“Thank you,” he said to someone, who’d handed him the leash to an oblivious Lola, tongue lolling happily.

I blinked, dazed. When I stood, my stomach wobbled. Was I going to be sick?

“Here,” he said. “Come with me.” Seamus led me back across the street, this time with Lola in tow. He said something to a silver-haired man who passed, but I didn’t catch what. I was too out of it. Lola was still pulling on the leash, but Seamus firmly tugged her back. His arm was around my waist, not only protectively, I realized, but because he was holding me up.

“I’ve got you,” he said, his voice a low murmur.

What else could I do but let go of what I’d been holding onto so tightly? I leaned into him, my face pressed into the soft linen of his blue button-down. The clean scent of his shirt—and of him—blocked out everything else. The wobble in my knees; the confusion in my head. From this vantage point though, I could see his pants were streaked with dirt.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Sorry? What the hell are you sorry about, Chelsea?” He sounded almost… angry. He was rattled, I think.

“Your clothes…”

“Fuck my clothes.” Seamus pulled on a door. Then we were inside, in a room with a sitting area and a front counter, and a woman in her sixties with a wide bosom and stylish silver hair, her hands at her face.

“What in the world!”

Reilly and Sons, I thought vaguely. Finally found it.

“Joyce,” Seamus said, his voice that low rolling gravel. “Could you please get us the first aid kit? Maybe a cup of water, too? I’m going to take Ms. Kelly back to my office.”

“Of course, dear.”

Somehow, having someone else doing something for me was enough to shake me out of shock and into embarrassment.

Lola barked loudly.

“Oh God,” I said. “I can… maybe I should tie her up outside.”

“Don’t worry about the dog,” Seamus said. “She’s good in here.”

He led me behind the counter, through a door into an open space with two offices with glass doors, and a third room at the back. That one had a glass wall and in it was a table, fridge, and sink. By then, I’d recovered enough to pull away and walk on my own.

There were photos along the wide hallway of construction sites and men with hardhats. I followed Seamus into his office, where hardhats and visibility vests hung on a coatrack next to a couch. My palms burned, and when I looked down, I saw they were bleeding.

I looked up at Seamus, who was busy wrangling Lola into his office with us. “How did you find me? How were you there?”

“I was out talking to Joyce; we saw the dog run by. Heard the yelling.”

I remembered, vaguely, someone calling after us. Was that him? I slumped down on the couch, careful not to rest my hands on it. Lola barked, weaving in and out between us. She was as bewildered as I was.

I couldn’t believe I’d nearly gotten myself killed again.

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