Chapter 46

46

Juliette

I felt like a fool for trying to hide from these guys who were practically superheroes. They’d find me soon or I’d go back, and I’d feel ridiculous for running away and hiding like a little kid. It would’ve been easier if Cole hadn’t been with me, but that was the problem with these guys. They were all too caring, too good, to just let someone disappear easily. I knew I couldn't hide forever. I just couldn’t stand to be in that room for another second in the face of all the blame and guilt Chief Pratt brought out.

Ryan had been so supportive at the hospital, but what did he say to the chief to make him look at me that way? What did Penelope and Moose say?

I couldn’t fault them. The chief wanted to pin the blame on them and their team. He could even take disciplinary action against them. So of course they’d told him that they got there as soon as they could after they were notified.

You better figure out the weak link that messed this up and make sure it never happens again.

It was me. I was the weak link. So, like the weakling I was, I ran.

I ended up wandering around outside, but I couldn’t walk away from Dylan. I was turning back towards the hospital when I saw a sign for ambulatory surgery. I figured they’d have a big, busy waiting room there where no one would question me for sitting and, well, waiting. I followed the signs across the parking lot, through some shady alleys between buildings and around to the other side of the hospital.

It was a good choice. The large, impersonal room had rows of blue cushioned seats. There was a water cooler and a free coffee machine. There was a vending machine for snacks too, but I didn’t have any money on me. Most importantly, none of Dylan’s friends came looking for me, and no one questioned why I was there. I knew I couldn’t stay for too long, but for the moment, I had a safe place to stew in my guilt.

I wasn’t ready to face Dylan or his family or friends when they repeated the facts the doctors and the chief had stated clear as day—that the problem was the amount of time he was in the house before help arrived. The smoke inhalation had compromised his airways. I was the sole reason it took so long for help to arrive. They’d try to reassure me that it wasn’t my fault, and that I’d done the best I could, but that wouldn’t change the facts. Dylan almost died. Maybe he could still die. At the very least, he could have lifelong injuries that would preclude him from ever being a firefighter again. And it was my fault.

It was my fault we were there for that fire at all. We were late because of me, as usual. Well, and sex, but we could’ve had sex and left on time if I’d been ready earlier. Even though I knew it drove Dylan crazy, I just couldn’t manage to be on time. I’d warned him. When I’d first told him about my dyspraxia, I’d told him that I was always late and that I wasn’t going to be a good girlfriend. He should’ve listened and walked away, and then he’d have been safely at the Sloppy Cow enjoying a beer with his friends, instead of inside that fire.

And if it hadn’t been for my sprained ankle, I would’ve been able to run faster. Dylan insisted the sprain was Kayla’s fault, but it was at least partly mine. It’s not like she even pushed me. I stepped on my own damn bags all on my own. The worst part was that Dylan predicted it would happen, that I wouldn’t be able to get away, and he was right. And now this happened to him because of it. God, it made me want to pick up this stupid blue chair and throw it through the wall. Not that I’d ever done that—or would ever do that—but it had to be better than crying and falling apart like I was on the verge of doing.

And then there was just...me. My dyspraxia. Thinking on my feet to make a quick decision about how to get help, running fast, knowing the directions...every single thing I’d needed to do to save Dylan were things I suck at.

Dylan had been worried about my safety because of it. Most of the time, he tried to pretend it didn’t matter, but as soon as shit got real and he was afraid of Kayla hurting me, he couldn’t deny that I was vulnerable. He’d worried about me, but had he ever thought of how it could affect him too? If he wasn’t thinking about it before, he sure was now. Everyone would be thinking that.

I thought of his mom hugging me and inviting me to their house. What would she say when she got all the facts about what happened? Everyone had been focused on Dylan, but now, with Pratt’s diatribe and Dylan waking up, there’d be more talking, more questions.

As much as I wanted to see Dylan, the thought of him looking at me in revulsion made me want to hide away forever. Or with blame in his eyes. Or pity. Or despair that his career was over. I couldn’t stand the thought of him taking back the words he’d spoken so sweetly a few days ago. I have everything I’ve ever wanted. I have my dream job, I get to work with my best friends, and now I have you. I’d just cost him two of those three things, why would he even want me anymore?

At least Sarah and Benji were okay. That was the only bright side. I’d peeked in their room a couple of times while waiting for the doctors to check on Dylan, and they looked good. So far. No one was talking about it, but even a minor loss of oxygen or toxicity from what Benji breathed in could cause complications later on. Maybe I could provide free OT to help catch and address any issues as soon as possible. Or if the mom didn’t want me, Nicky would be happy to treat him on my behalf.

God, Dylan was such a hero for saving them. I was so proud of him for running into the burning house to save strangers. He was amazing. He’d saved so many lives, helped so many people through the worst, most dangerous moment of their lives. And he’d been so happy and proud to do it. If he couldn’t continue to be a firefighter, it would be like a light was snuffed out. A beacon of hope, a superhero in a fireman’s uniform, would be reduced to a sad man sitting on the sidelines.

I pictured his resigned expression when he described the years before he was a fireman. What would he do now? Would he hate me for leaving him in that fire for so long that it caused life altering damage?

Any time I’d vented to Dylan about having dyspraxia, he tried to convince me it didn’t matter. I tried to tell him it did matter, but he wouldn’t listen. Even after the few slips where he admitted that it made him worry about me, he still insisted I could do anything I wanted despite my dyspraxia. This was the world’s worst I told you so.

It hurt to remember how he used to look at me with such pride. He’d never look at me that way again. Who the fuck locks their phone in the car, can’t get anyone’s attention, can’t decide whether to keep looking for help or to run, falls, gets lost, and runs the speed of a three-legged turtle when the love of their life is in a life-or-death emergency?

Even if he could forgive me, could we move on with trust and faith in each other? I didn’t want to—couldn’t—be put in that situation again. And how could he be with someone he couldn’t rely on? He needed someone by his side who was as capable as him. Someone who wouldn’t hold him back, wouldn’t put him in more danger just by being there.

A voice crackled over the intercom, calling a family to the front desk, startling me out of my thoughts. I looked around the waiting room, surprised at how few people were left. How long had I been here? The clock on the wall said it was five thirty, but I had no idea what time I came.

Fear cut through the guilt. I didn’t mean to be away from Dylan for so long. What if he was having more complications and I wasn’t there? I stood, my whole body, especially my ankle, screaming in protest, and made my way to the young, bored-looking receptionist at the front desk. I’d have to lie to have any chance that she’d help me, and I was a really bad liar.

I tried not to mumble too much. “I’m here with a friend who’s having a...a procedure, but uh, my fiancé is also in the hospital. Can you check on him and if there’s any change or anything, let me know?”

“Sorry, we aren’t allowed to share a patient’s status. Privacy policy.”

Well at least she understood me, not that it helped.

The panic started to become overwhelming. The last two days had been a nightmare. The only thing that made it semi-bearable was that for most of it, I got to feel Dylan’s warm hand in mine and see his heart beat steadily on the screen.

Now, I couldn’t help but conjure the next nightmare. I could hear the speakers crackle to life like in the waiting room, but instead of calling for help to the OR, it was Code Blue to room 214, where I last saw him. Oh God, after that code blue when he was in the OR, each second had felt like an eternity. My own heart felt like it was going to stop, waiting to find out if he was alive or dead. My heart started to race again as the scene played out in my head. The doctors racing into his room. His friends being kicked out as the doctors surrounded him, shocking him with the paddles. Then Dylan’s eyes opening and him searching the room looking for me, but I wasn’t there.

Fuck, he needed me, and I wasn’t there for him. Just like at the fire.

So stupid, so selfish. I didn’t deserve him.

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