22. Nolan
Chapter 22
Nolan
T his right here is why I didn’t want to go to the ER. Four hours and I’m still waiting. I just returned from getting X-rays. All I can do now is wait for the doctor to come tell me if my ribs are cracked or just badly bruised. Either way, I’ll be told to take it easy until they heal. Depending on which, I could either be assigned restricted duties or be closely monitored while working.
The curtain pulls back, and I sit up with a wince, thinking it’s the doctor.
It’s not.
With a frown, I ask, “What are you doing here?” Not meaning to seem ungrateful, but I look terrible, and I’d rather she didn’t see me like this.
Bethany points her cane at me, unimpressed. “Nice to see you, too.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. It is nice to see you. Always is.” With a sigh, I rub my sweaty palm across my face and give it another try. “I mean, why are you here? You should be in bed. Wait, how did you get here? Did someone bring you?”
Last week she was given the green light to drive, but she’s still without a vehicle. Until the settlement lands in her bank account, car shopping has been put on hold.
“Alicia loaned me hers. She’s driving a company car,” she says, making her way to the chair next to me. “Tough night at the office?”
“You could say that.” I’m kind of surprised she’s not freaking out. “What do you know?”
“Basically, what they’re reporting on the news.” Methodically, she counts off each point on her fingers. “There was an apartment fire. They’re still investigating the cause. No casualties. A few residents were taken to the hospital for smoke inhalation. And one firefighter was sent for observation after the building blew up behind him while rescuing a resident.”
“That was on the news?”
She shakes her head. “No. That was on social media. A resident posted a video.”
“That’s not exactly what happened,” I lie and know she sees right through my bullshit. “I’m sure it looks worse than it actually was.”
“Maybe.” Bethany reaches into her purse and pulls out her phone. “Why don’t you be the judge of that?”
“I don’t need to see it. I was there. They always look…” I stop talking when she flips her phone around and the video plays.
It catches the whole goddamn thing. Bentley exiting the building a few minutes before me. Smoke billowing and circling the steel door he exited. A crackle and hiss are followed by me breaking through the door. Fifteen feet from the building, the searing heat of the firebomb engulfs me, knocking me down just as it explodes in an ear-shattering roar.
Damn.
That’s why I’ve been hesitant to let Kellie use social media. People post everything. The emotional impact on the families, and their deep-rooted fear, is completely overlooked.
“Don’t worry. I’ve already told Cora to make sure she talks with Kellie before she sees this. I mean, no one can tell it’s you. But that is you, right?” Sighing, she turns her phone around and replays the video a second time.
“It’s me. But as you can see, I’m fine. Just a little bruised.” I stretch out my arms, forgetting about my ribs and grunt. “Fuck.”
“More than a little.” Rising, she walks over to the bed. “May I?”
With a nod, I lean back and allow her to lift my shirt. I’m aware of what it looks like. Black and blue already. If the doctor doesn’t confirm cracked ribs, I’ll be shocked.
“That’s gotta hurt.” With a gentle tug, she lowers my shirt but remains standing. “They also posted a photo of the firefighter’s gear you were wearing. Guess it’s a good thing you had that on. For you and the young woman you saved.”
“Bethany, I’m fine.” I reach for her hand, but she steps back and returns to her seat. “And for the record, that’s why we wear the gear. It’s there to protect us.”
“I know. I’m glad you’re okay.” With a swallow and a subtle shake of her head, she pastes on a fake smile.
On the verge of proving my strength by jumping off the bed, I’m interrupted—the curtain swings open, the doctor’s crisp white coat and the smell of antiseptic filling the space.
“Sorry it took us so long. It’s been one of those shifts.”
“Tell me about it.” My discomfort prompts me to reposition myself. “So, what’s the diagnosis?”
“Bruised not busted. I’m putting you on restricted duty for the next couple of weeks. Your regular physician needs to reevaluate you in a few days. If he or she decides you can return to full duty, that’s their call. Personally, I think you should take the full two weeks. I’ve seen the video, and it wouldn’t surprise me if you suffer psychological aftereffects.”
“You mean PTSD,” I snarl, the word tasting like bitter ash in my mouth. “Not gonna happen.”
Bethany’s face hardens, her expression turning serious. “He’s right. It’s common for first responders to?—”
“I’m fine. This isn’t my first rodeo. I don’t need someone psychoanalyzing me. Especially my girlfr… you. Especially you.” With a groan, I throw my legs over the side of the bed and push myself to a standing position. “Can I go now? I could really use a shower and a nap.”
Bethany’s serious gaze holds mine, her lips pressed together, though she remains silent. I can tell she wants to say more, but for whatever reason, keeps her thoughts to herself.
“You’ll be discharged soon. I’ve already spoken to the nurse. As soon as you sign the paper, you’re free to go.” He hands me a folder and gestures his head at it. “Just in case you change your mind about speaking with someone.”
I’m about to tell him I won’t, but the nurse bounces in with my papers and I’m more than ready to get out of here. After signing them, I quickly put my copy in the folder and then offer a hand to help Bethany up.
She ignores it and uses her cane. I’ll admit it hurt, but right now I don’t have the energy to fight about this. Whatever this is we’re clearly fighting about.
Walking beside her, I gallantly hurry ahead to open the door. Outside, I follow her to her SUV. Reaching it, I extend my hand, palm up, to politely request the keys.
“Fat chance.” With a decisive click, she unlocks the doors, her grip on the keys tightening. “I’m driving. Live with it.”
I nod and let her pass before opening her door. She places her cane in first before reaching for the handle above the door to pull herself up and in. To ensure she doesn’t fall, I stay close, but avoid helping, since she clearly doesn’t need or want it.
However, once she’s inside, I stand next to her and place one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the back of her seat. “Look at me.”
Her head turns, a practiced, brittle smile briefly illuminating her face before fading. “What?”
“Just say it.”
“No.” She shakes her head, a frustrated sigh escaping her lips. “You wanna be a big, tough man? I’ll let you. For now.”
“For now?” I grunt. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“I thought you needed a shower and a nap. Do you really want to stand out here and have this conversation?” She leans back and her face softens. “Just get in.”
Leaning in, I give her a quick kiss on the lips, then step back and shut the door. Circling the car, I enter the passenger seat and buckle up. “You can take me to the firehouse. I need to grab my truck.”
“Sure.” Before reversing, she glances over her shoulder.
The drive to the station is done in an uncomfortable silence. I hate it, but I’m also not ready to have whatever conversation she thinks we need to have. I suspect the issue revolves around my failure to follow the doctor’s guidance on PTSD, but it might also be because I nearly referred to her as my girlfriend.
“Thanks for the ride,” I tell her as soon as she parks in front of the station. “And about what I said back there, when I almost called you my girlfriend, that was just a slip up. It won’t happen again.”
“Is that what you think I’m upset about?”A perplexed expression washes over her face as her brow furrows in confusion. “Because I’m not. Surprisingly, that didn’t bother me at all. In fact, I kind of wish you would’ve finished saying it, but whatever. We can talk about that later, too. You should go before I forget I’m trying not to lose my shit on you.”
“Okay.” I open the door and climb out. “But Bethany, can I make sure I heard you right? Let me get this straight; are you implying that you are now my girlfriend, and that we are officially dating? That I’m allowed to actually call you that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I need to think about it.” Her fingers lightly drum against the steering wheel. “Bring the girls over later. We can eat, then talk. Might be time to see what the kids think about us.”
“Sure. I’ll see you tonight.”
I close the door, and fucking hell if I don’t get a woody right there in front of the firehouse. That’s not what I expected her to say. Now I’m tempted to skip the shower and follow her home and have that talk after I fuck her brains out.
As I laugh, a surge of pain in my ribs reminds me of what happened earlier, prompting me to go inside so I can speak with the captain before I go.