Chapter 4
Chapter Four
The fluorescent lights hummed faintly in the quiet hospital room. Asha sat by her father’s bedside, leaning forward with her forearms on the mattress while holding her dad’s limp hand in hers. Her thoughts were as jumbled as the blankets tangled around his legs. The oxygen mask over her father’s face was both a comfort and a reminder of his vulnerability. He had dozed off mere moments ago, the worry etched into his features softening as sleep claimed him.
Her mother was still in surgery, her broken hip requiring immediate care. She would be fine—the doctors had assured her of that—but Asha couldn’t stop her mind from racing with what-ifs.
She leaned back in the stiff hospital chair. Her spine ached from hours of tension, and it was impossible to get comfortable. Her gaze drifted across the pale blue walls—calming in theory, sterile in reality—but her mind refused to settle.
The fire played on a loop behind her eyes.
The hiss of smoke. The acrid stench. The crackle of flames. The overwhelming heat. Her mother’s scream.
She clenched her fists in her lap.
What had started the fire? Mom had been cooking breakfast one moment then everything had gone to hell the next.
And now the kitchen was gone, the house damaged, and her parents battered and in need of help.
Her legally trained mind tried to find logic in the chaos.
The house and its wiring were old. She’d noticed the flickering lights and the way the breaker tripped when someone ran the microwave and toaster at the same time. But her mom wasn’t careless. Never had been.
Could it really have been structural? Something faulty? Or something worse?
Her stomach twisted.
She rubbed at her eyes, willing away the thoughts, but they simply shifted direction.
Work.
A whole stack of cases waiting for her return. She’d only taken ten days off, assuming it would be enough to attend her parents’ anniversary. It wouldn’t be now. Not with her parents needing care and the house in chaos. She’d have to file for family leave. Soon.
And then there was Zane.
Older. Harder. All broad shoulders and no-nonsense fire chief now—but god, still as magnetic as he’d been in high school. Maybe more so. Back then, he had been charming and a little wild. Now he was steady. Controlled. And the way he’d looked at her…
Her heart gave a traitorous flutter.
Nope. She didn’t have time for that. Not now. Not with everything else on fire—literally.
Still, her body didn’t seem to agree.
The soft creak of the door swinging open startled her. She glanced up, and her breath caught when Zane stepped inside.
Zane!
His face was a mask of intensity, his hazel eyes fixed squarely on her. His presence instantly filled the room, the same way it had filled so many spaces in her life years ago. He looked as focused now as he had during that game in senior year.
It had been one of the last matches of the season. The crowd had roared in the bleachers as the football team lined up for the snap. Asha had stood among her friends, bundled in her school’s navy-and-gold scarf, her voice already hoarse from cheering.
Their team captain had intercepted the ball and thrown it at Zane with all his might. Her boyfriend had taken off, cradling the football tightly as he weaved through defenders with an almost otherworldly grace. The opposing team had closed in, but Zane had broken away, his long legs pumping with raw determination.
His eyes had locked on the goal line, unflinching, his expression one of pure focus. Even from the stands, she could see the way his jaw tightened, how his shoulders squared as he sprinted toward the end zone.
“Hi.” She pulled herself back to the present.
“Hey.” Zane sounded almost hesitant as he glanced to her father then back to her. “How’s he doing?”
Asha followed his gaze. “He’s stable. The oxygen’s helping. He’s been sleeping on and off.”
Zane nodded, stepping closer. “And your mom?”
Her bottom lip wobbled, and she pressed her mouth together and swallowed. “Still in surgery. They said it might be a while.”
Zane’s jaw tightened, and he ran a hand over his short, dark hair. “And you? Did you get checked by a doctor?”
The question caught her off guard. It almost sounded like he still cared. “I was. Nothing wrong with me. I don’t know why Dad was so affected by the smoke, and Mom and I weren’t.”
“Ah, well,” Zane said, his tone softening, “your mother was on the floor, and smoke billows upward. Why was she on the floor, anyway?”
Asha rolled her eyes, a hint of exasperation creeping to the fore. “She was getting something from the fridge, turned too fast, and fell. She isn’t sure, but she thinks she might have bumped the frying pan, and the oil caught fire on the stove.”
Zane let out a low whistle. “That’s one hell of a way to start the day.”
“Tell me about it,” she muttered.
For a moment, the room felt smaller, the space between them charged with something unspoken. Asha let her gaze linger on him longer than she intended, tracing the faint lines at the corners of his eyes, the way his broad shoulders seemed to carry the weight of the world.
“Thanks.”
Zane tilted his head. “For what?”
“For helping. For being there.” Her words wavered, betraying the vulnerability she wasn’t sure she wanted him to see.
He shrugged. “It’s my job.”
Asha nodded, but her chest tightened. She didn’t want to be his job, but she had no right to ask for more.
As the silence stretched, her thoughts shifted, and the barriers she had so carefully erected began to reassert themselves.
A tear slipped down her check, and she sniffled.
This wasn’t how she wanted Zane to see her—frazzled, helpless, and emotional. She’d built a life away from Peaceful, a life of rationale, success, and control. Being here, in this hospital, watching Zane step back into her world, made her feel as though all the years in between had melted away, leaving her vulnerable and exposed.
“Do you ever regret staying?” she asked suddenly, the question surprising even herself.
Zane blinked and narrowed his eyes, making them almost look brown. “Regret?”
“Peaceful,” she clarified, sharper than she intended. “Do you ever wish you’d left?”
He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze steady as he studied her. “No,” he said after a long pause. “This is where I belong.”
The words hit her harder than she’d anticipated. She forced a tight smile and glanced away, settling her gaze on the heart monitor beeping steadily beside her father’s bed.
“Must be nice,” she murmured.
“What?”
“Belonging somewhere.”
She didn’t look at him again, afraid of what she might see—or what she might show.
Sitting stiffly in the chair, she focused on her father’s sleeping face. The soft beep of the heart monitor and the steady rise and fall of his chest should have comforted her, but her mind refused to quiet. She twisted her hands in her lap, weaving and unweaving her fingers as worry gnawed at her.
How long had it been since the doctor had left for her mother’s surgery? Why was it taking so long? Rationally, she knew these things weren’t quick, but the waiting was unbearable. Her mom had always been the strong one, the anchor holding their family together. What if this time she couldn’t pull through? The thought twisted her stomach.
She cast a sidelong glance at Zane, standing near the wall with his arms crossed, watching her. His presence should have been a balm, and in some ways, it was. He was steady, solid. Almost palpable, his quiet strength acted as a buffer against her fraying nerves. But it also reminded her of everything she had left behind—and everything she couldn’t let herself want again.
He didn’t have to be here. He’d done more than enough. The fire, the hospital, calming her dad when he’d been on the verge of panic. But he hadn’t left, and that confused her as much as it comforted.
Asha momentarily stilled her fingers, digging her nails into her palms as she clenched her hands. What must Zane think of her? She didn’t have to guess. He must hate her. How could he not? She could still picture him as a boy, his crooked grin and the way his eyes lit up whenever he looked at her. And she’d thrown it all away—crushed him with no explanation, no goodbye, and no chance to make things right.
The memory was a dagger, twisting in her chest. She winced inwardly, her breath hitching as the weight of her guilt threatened to drag her under. If she had even an ounce of courage, she’d tell him. Tell him why she’d left, why she’d stayed away, and why she could never come back for more than this fleeting moment.
But she couldn’t. She mustn’t. Some things were better left buried.
“You need to take care of yourself, too.” Zane cut through her spiraling thoughts, gentle but firm.
Asha jerked up her head, scowling at him. “I’m fine,” she snapped, sharp enough to deflect the concern in his eyes.
“You’re not fine.” He stepped closer. He spoke softly, but his words didn’t lose their weight. “Your dad’s gonna need you when he wakes up, and your mom will need you even more when she’s out of surgery. But you won’t be much help to either of them if you’re running on empty.”
She turned away her head, fixing her gaze on the monitor beside her dad’s bed. “I can handle it,” she muttered, her jaw tightening.
“I know you can,” he said, quieter now, closer. “You’ve been handling it your whole life, Asha, but you don’t have to do it all right now. Let someone take care of you for once.”
Her throat tightened, and she blinked rapidly, refusing to let the tears that were welling fall. She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t let him see the cracks widening in her armor. The warmth in his voice, the quiet reassurance, made something inside her want to crumble. To lean on him, for only a second.
But she didn’t. She couldn’t. Because if she did, she might not be able to stop.