Chapter 48
48
Juliette
I rushed back to Dylan’s room. Frantic images flew through my mind at a nauseating pace, like I was going through the tunnel in the Willy Wonka movie. But instead of riding through it, I was drowning in it.
Dylan sitting up in bed, smiling and opening his arms, beckoning me to him.
Dylan lying pale and lifeless, doctors standing helplessly by, nothing more they could do.
Dylan holding his badge, anger shooting from his blazing eyes, yelling at me for ending his career.
Dylan holding me as I begged for his forgiveness that I wasn’t strong enough to help him when he needed me. Wasn’t strong enough to live like this.
Dylan kissing me, promising me he’ll never run into a fire again, never risk his life again, never leave me with that responsibility ever again.
The elevator doors pinged open on his floor. So close to him, but I couldn’t move. I could ask for his forgiveness, but not his promises. Dylan would always run into the literal or figurative fire. He would also do anything to protect the people he loves. To protect me.
The elevator started to close. I grabbed the door, held it open.
I couldn’t do this again. But how could I make him choose?
From room 214, just three doors down from the elevator, I heard Ryan’s voice first then Dylan’s dad, and finally, I heard Dylan.
“It’s fine,” he said, still raspy, but stronger than before.
He was okay. Tears streaming down my face, I stepped back, let the elevator doors close.
If I asked for his forgiveness and his promises, he’d grant them, but I’d be just like Kayla. Holding him back.
He’d say something sweet like, being a hero to me is more important than being a hero for anyone else. And he’d mean it. But then, when he was put in a position to have to choose, like he was at that fire, it would kill him to walk away. If he had to keep turning his back on who he was in his heart, it would slowly eat away at him. He’d end up hating me, but even worse, he would hate himself too.
When the elevator doors opened again, I walked out. Out of the elevator and straight out of the hospital.
Barely two minutes into the walk, I knew I’d made a dumb, impulsive decision. The hospital could’ve called me a cab or given me a phone to call Jenna or Nicky. My ankle, and every muscle and joint and scrape and bruise, screamed at me to turn around. It was a good few miles to my apartment, which would be barely manageable on a good day, but at this rate, it would be dark long before I hobbled home. Not to mention, I might as well have had a flashing neon sign over my head announcing I was alone and helpless.
I was lucky I made it out without one of Dylan’s friends stopping me. I wasn’t going back to try again. I summoned my inner Nicky instead. Like she’d said about her many reckless rendezvous back in college, karma would either bring me safely home, or if the proverbial lightning struck me down, it would be what I deserved.
Fuck. I’d definitely made the wrong decision. Damn Nicky and karma and Chief Pratt and the pickup truck that was creeping up next to me. I didn’t actually want to die tonight. I did hate myself a bit, and I was feeling very guilty, but this was too much. If Dylan, Sarah, or Benji had died because of me, then yes, I’d deserve what was about to happen. But now? No, I really, really did not want to be killed or raped or kidnapped and sold into sexual slavery, or whatever was about to happen.
I sped up, limping as fast as I could, my eyes glued to a restaurant in the distance. If I could just make it there, maybe I’d be safe.
The truck stayed next to me.
I should’ve gone in to see Dylan one last time. Told him one more time that I love him. If my body’s never found, will he think I just willingly walked out of his life forever?
The truck pulled ahead. A flare of hope ignited. Was he leaving? No. Fuck. He pulled over. Parked.
The restaurant was closer than the hospital. Could I make it? No.
He was getting out of the truck ahead of me, in between me and the restaurant. And he was huge.
Pain disappeared as adrenaline flowed through my veins. I spun and ran back towards the hospital. This would be so much worse than Kayla’s attack.
Footsteps followed behind me. “Juliette, stop!”
What? He knew my name? I couldn’t think through the panic.
I glanced over my shoulder. Fuck. I was running too fast to do that. I felt myself cartwheeling forward, but I couldn’t stop it. I threw my arms out, bracing for the impact, but big hands grabbed me around the waist, jerking me to a stop, yanking me back into a hard chest.
“Let go!” I screamed. I was trapped in a band of steel, arms pinned to my sides. I kicked and wriggled with all I had.
“Juliette, don’t fight me. It’s Driftwood.”
Driftwood. From Station 7. Quinn’s husband. I sagged.
“Easy, Juliette. I’m going to put you down, alright?”
I nodded, and Driftwood eased me down, keeping hold of my arms. Was he worried about me bolting or falling?
“Are you okay?”
I nodded again, too shaken up to talk.
Driftwood walked towards his truck, pulling me along with a firm grasp. He clearly wasn’t giving me a choice, but he didn’t need to worry. After the terror of the last few minutes, I had no desire to keep walking.
I gave him my address, but he just turned the truck around. Back towards the hospital.
“Please? I just need some time.”
“No, Juliette. You can’t let an asshole like Pratt get to you. It wasn’t your fault, not at all. No one thinks it was.”
“It’s not just that. I can’t do this again. It’s better if I walk away now and have him hate me for that, than if I stay with him and have him hate me for holding him back from being the hero he’s meant to be.”
“That’s not how he sees it. Being a firefighter is just our job. Loving and caring for our women, that’s everything.”
“I shouldn’t be his everything! He should find a better woman, one who is as strong and capable as he is.”
“Dylan loves you, exactly the way you are. The same things that make you feel like less, also make you special. Trust what Dylan sees in you. If you can’t see it yet, trust Dylan enough for the both of you.”