Chapter 40
Tristen
That familiar pulse of pain in my chest is the first thing I recognize.
The second?
The sound of wailing sirens surrounding me.
The third is the pinch in the hollow of my elbow that sends me straight up on the gurney to rip at the tubing inserted into my veins and taped to my skin.
“Whoa, whoa, there, my guy. Chill out.”
“What—” It croaks out so rough that I clear my throat and immediately regret it as pain lances through my neck up to my ears. “What is it?”
“Saline. Just saline.”
My first reaction? Not the relief I was hoping for, but the disappointment that it’s not morphine.
I swallow and it goes down like rocks.
“Where?” I ask the EMT, my sight finally landing on him, the name Farrin stitched into his uniform.
“Hospital. Barren Ridge.”
I shake my head. “Take me back to the firehouse.”
Half of the words break as they grate over my raw vocal cords, but he seems to get the gist.
“Bad idea.”
“So was that buzzcut,” I mutter and tip my head to his short-cropped hair.
It doesn’t look bad; I’m just being an asshole.
He huffs anyway.
“Aw thanks. I’ll tell my barber next time I look in the mirror.”
I attempt to snort, except it hurts all the way to my toes and I end up groaning instead. Falling back to the gurney with another pain-filled grunt. “Fuck.”
“Sure about that destination request?”
It takes me a moment to respond with a nod. “Firehouse.”
Farrin stares at me for a long beat, one of those loaded ones that I feel more than see, before he sighs and crouches and climbs closer to the front of the bus. I don’t hear what he tells the driver, but when I feel the pull of the bus shift like we’re turning around, my insides clench up.
“Did you give me anything else?” I ask when he finally settles back in his seat next to me.
His brow tips up, but there’s something that flashes in his eyes when he answers “No.”
He should have.
We both go quiet for a long beat, his gaze holding mine, and a kind of knowing crossing his features.
“I only ever start with anti-inflammatory when I see clear bodily trauma if the patient can’t consent.” He tilts his head to the rest of me. “You don’t have much. Just superficial burns, smoke inhalation and a knock to the noggin.”
Again, I’m taken by disappointment over relief and fuck.
“How much longer?”
He holds up three fingers, his nails painted black, and it makes me want to snort at the irony.
I don’t.
Instead, I nod and pull the oxygen mask back up over my face.
“Shake me in two.”
Consciousness is a lot harder than I thought it would be, making my surroundings difficult to navigate as they flutter in and out of scene like something out of a movie.
One minute, I’m climbing out the back of the bus and the next, I’m collapsed in the shower stall, my uniform sticking to my raw skin. I’m blotting at the places I got burned, yellowing the white terry cloth with serum, though I don’t remember getting it.
Where’s Emmett?
The thought of looking for him is gone as fast as it’s there when I find myself working my way up the stairs on autopilot, my lungs struggling.
Shit, how did I get so winded?
Forcing myself up the rest of the way, I collapse onto the first bed I see.
Sleep when you can or die.
I don’t recall who told me that first, probably just some bullshit training gambit to keep the new recruits on their toes but fuck does it feel accurate right now.
Where’s Emmett?
My muscles are too tired to lift my head and look around.
I try to call out, but my voice is shot to fuck and back. It comes out sounding like a wounded groan—which really isn’t too far off from how I really feel—and fills my mouth full of pillow.
Fuck, my head feels heavy.
And it’s not the good kind.
If I can get my feet to work, I’m going to find the good way. That floaty feeling, the darkness that comes with it, is calling my name and I miss it. I want it.
Rolling to my side, I huff to avoid a cough when I realize the sheets are damp with my sweat already.
How long have I been here?
My chest feels too tight.
Throat too raw.
Breathing choppy.
It’s just from smoke. The fire.
My fingertips go numb, and my pulse kicks up.
It’s thumping so hard that I feel it in my neck. The back of my throat.
Fuck, no. Nononono.
The cough that rakes over my raw tonsils leaves me gasping for air and clutching my chest.
Everything hurts.
It’s not supposed to hurt.
“Fuck,” I rasp out as I get my knees beneath me, my forehead against the thin mattress. The pressure makes my face feel like I’m buried, the weight on my back increasing even though there’s nothing there.
I know there’s nothing there.
Wheezing squeezes its way out of my chest, leaving trails of saliva across the sheets with each hack I do my best to tamper.
Each breath makes it worse and fuck, I just want to pass out.
Except I can’t.
Emmett.
I work myself upright and instantly regret it.
Pain shoots through nearly every part of my body, and I cry out.
He was a mess when I left.
I’m panting as I pat around my pockets for my phone and come up empty-handed.
Hatley was with him, right?
Guilt washes over me fast and hard.
I don’t even know if Hat found him.
What if …
I squeeze my eyes shut and rub at them hard enough to see spots behind my lids. When they refocus, the light in the room has changed and it’s somehow darker. The shadows appear deeper. The blackness around the edges of night dense and hiding something.
I clutch at my chest but there’s no shirt to grab onto and for a moment, I’ve never felt barer. Exposed.
Scanning the room with darting eyes, I ignore the way my mind tells me how many things are hiding in the spaces I can’t see and instead focus on what I can.
Six bunks.
A duffle.
The closet door and the stairs leading down into the house.
A rug that looks like the floor of an arcade between them.
Messy beds.
I can’t tell if all of them have been slept in or not but judging by the lump in the lower one in the far back corner, someone is there now.
Another wave of guilt rushes me, and I swallow hard.
Fuck, that hurts.
The lump adjusts, rolling into the side where he faces me and my stomach flips at the sight.
A halo of blond hair peeks out from his hood. Pale hands tucked beneath his cheek.
He’s still mostly balled up and not taking up much space on the bed, but he feels like he is. His presence is.
God, the whole damn room suddenly feels like it’s filled with nothing but him.
Some of the tension in my chest releases and I pull in a short breath.
“You done dying over there?”
I’d fucking laugh if I didn’t think that was half true and gonna be super painful.
“I’m sorry,” I rasp out instead. “Em, I’m so sorry.”
That pressure in my chest bleeds back in between the cracks when he takes a long moment to respond.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
I sit up a little straighter. “But, Em—”
“I won’t. So don’t ask.”
Swallowing hard and wincing, I nod. “A-are you okay, though? Did Hat help?”
There’s a rustle from his bed like maybe he shrugged, and I push to the edge of mine.
“Yeah,” he finally answers and it’s so damn quiet. “He did, I guess.”
I choke back a wave of something that feels suspiciously green, and nod. “Okay, good.”
There’s a thick silence that falls over the bedroom and after another long, uncertain minute, I scrub at my face.
My lids start to droop. My skin feels too tight.
I shake my head.
“Why didn’t Hat take you home?” I ask, my voice rough with exhaustion.
“I didn’t … didn’t wanna—” he huffs like he’s frustrated. By what, I can’t tell, but it still makes my chest pinch painfully. “Didn’t want to leave yet.”
Something foreign blossoms in my chest, warming me from the inside out. It makes my heart beat a little bit faster.
“How come?” I all but whisper into the dark. There’s a nightlight in the hallway, so it’s not completely dark, but it’s enough to make the shadows dance around Emmett’s features. It’s actually quite …
Stunning.
He is stunning.
Devastatingly so.
“Didn’t wanna be alone,” he answers back just as softly, the words settling somewhere inside me. They feel foreign but relatable. Filled with emotions I can’t name but know I’ve felt.
Shit, I feel it right now.
I pull a short breath and rub at my chest.
“Bubbles …” It trails off my lips like a plea, quiet but thick.
I have no idea what I’m asking after, but Emmett seems to when he scoots to the edge of his bed and gets to his feet.
The distance between us shrinks and with each inch he draws nearer, the room feels brighter. Softer. Quieter.
Something akin to hope weaves its way into my bruised bones, cushioning the jagged edges as he slips onto the bed beside me.
“How was it?” he asks like he always does when I see him again after work and some of the tension bleeds from my shoulders.
“Hot.”
Emmett huffs a scoff. “Looks like it.”
I frown.
It’s too dark in here to really see my arms and legs when I look down, but I do anyway. Flexing my fingers, I note the tightness and the chill. Same goes for my face. It feels like sunburn.
It feels raw, almost. But not quite.
What feels worse are my ribs, but I ignore that.
I’m grateful that my unconscious self decided to at least put shorts on as I shift to face Emmett and a chill leaves me trembling.
“I’m glad to see your face,” I admit and pull the blanket up over my shoulders. “Stay with me?”
“How can you just …”
I burrow deeper into some weird position that leaves me mostly curled on myself, so I don’t take up too much room on the small bed.
“What?” I mutter through tingling lips and my eyelids droop.
“Just say shit like that.”
I shrug, the rustle of the blanket grating over my flesh.
“Crazy as it sounds … it’s true.”