Chapter 5 - Chloe
I wake to sunlight streaming across my face, warm and insistent. For a moment, I'm disoriented—this isn't my bed, this isn't my rented room above Mrs. Finch's garage. The air smells wrong—antiseptic and sterile instead of the lavender sachets she insisted on putting in all the linens.
Then it all comes rushing back: the fire, the smoke, the terror. Lewis.
Lewis.
As if conjured by my thoughts, I become aware of a large figure slumped in the chair beside my bed.
I blink, rubbing sleep from my eyes, convinced I must be hallucinating.
But no—as my vision clears, I can make out his features, softened in sleep but unmistakable.
The strong jawline now visible without the layer of soot, dark hair tousled from what must have been an uncomfortable night in that chair, broad shoulders rising and falling with each breath.
He's real. He's here.
A plastic tube runs under my nose, delivering oxygen that feels cool and strange. My throat feels raw, and there's an IV in my arm. Hospital. I'm in the hospital. But I'm alive, which means...
"You got us out," I whisper, my voice raspy and painful.
Lewis stirs at the sound, his eyes opening slowly.
When they focus on me, a smile breaks across his face, transforming it completely.
In the clean light of morning, without ash and fear clouding my perception, I can see just how handsome he is—in a rugged, lived-in way that makes my heart do a strange little flip.
"You're awake," he says, straightening in the chair. He looks like he wants to reach for me but is holding himself back. "How do you feel?"
"Like I inhaled a bonfire," I croak, attempting a smile. "Which I guess is pretty accurate."
He laughs, the sound warming something inside me. "Yeah, that's about right. The doctors say you're going to be fine, though. No permanent damage."
I take stock of my body—the soreness in my lungs, the scratchy throat, the lingering smell of smoke that seems embedded in my hair despite the hospital shampoo someone must have used to clean me up. All things considered, I feel remarkably alive.
"You stayed all night?" I ask, noticing the dark circles under his eyes, the creases in his clothes.
He looks almost embarrassed. "I wanted to make sure you were okay. And I thought you might be confused when you woke up, not knowing anyone in town."
The thoughtfulness of the gesture makes my chest tighten with something that has nothing to do with smoke inhalation.
"Thank you," I say, meaning it more than those simple words can convey.
Lewis shrugs, as if spending the night watching over a virtual stranger is nothing unusual.
"How much do you remember?" he asks.
"Everything, I think," I say, fragments of our time trapped together flashing through my mind.
The heat, the fear, the strange intimacy of facing death with someone I'd just met.
"We were trapped, and then your team found us, and then.
.." I trail off, remembering the dizziness, the darkness closing in. "I passed out?"
He nods. "Right as we were getting to the exit. Scared the hell out of me."
There's something in his voice, a depth of concern that seems disproportionate to our brief acquaintance.
But then, there was nothing ordinary about the way we met.
Hours trapped in a burning building, talking about our lives, our dreams—it's like we skipped all the usual steps of getting to know someone and jumped straight into something deeper.
"I'm sorry," I say, though I'm not sure what I'm apologizing for. For scaring him? For passing out? For the entire situation?
"Don't be," he says firmly. "None of this was your fault."
A thought strikes me, and I try to sit up, wincing as my body protests the movement. "My office—is it...?"
Lewis's expression confirms what I already knew. "It's gone. The whole building. I'm sorry, Chloe."
I sink back against the pillows, absorbing the news. Everything I'd brought with me, all my plans for that space—gone. And poor Mabel, her apartment...
"Was anyone else hurt?" I ask urgently. "Was Mabel really not home?”
"Everyone's fine," Lewis assures me quickly. "She was at her sister's."
"Thank goodness."
We're quiet for a moment, the reality of what happened—what almost happened—settling over us.
I look around the hospital room, at the sunlight painting patterns on the bland walls, at the IV dripping steadily into my arm, at this man who saved my life and then stayed to make sure I didn't wake up alone.
"You know," I say finally, "this isn't how I pictured my first week in Cedar Falls going."
Lewis laughs, the tension breaking. "No? Didn't factor a life-threatening fire into your five-year plan?"
"Shockingly, no," I say, finding myself smiling despite everything. "It was supposed to be: clean office, set up computer, print business cards, maybe introduce myself to the local judge. Nearly die in an inferno was definitely not on the list."
"Cedar Falls likes to keep you on your toes," Lewis says with a grin. Then, more seriously: "What will you do now?"
It's a good question—one I haven't had time to consider. My office is gone, along with most of my possessions. I'll have insurance money eventually, but that takes time. And I'd sunk almost all my savings into the deposit on that space and the renovations I'd planned.
"I don't know," I admit. "Start over, I guess. Find a new space." I pause, then add with determined cheerfulness, "At least I know which buildings have outdated wiring now."
Lewis smiles at that, but his eyes remain serious. "You're staying, then? In Cedar Falls?"
"Of course," I say, surprised by the question. "It'll take more than a fire to scare me off."
Something like relief crosses his face. "Good. That's... good."
Before I can respond, the door opens and a nurse enters, clipboard in hand. She looks surprised to see Lewis.
"You're still here?" she asks, though her tone is more amused than censuring. "I thought Dr. Aaron told you to go home and get some rest."
"I'm rested," Lewis says, straightening in his chair as if to prove it.
The nurse rolls her eyes, but there's fondness in the gesture. "Sure you are. Well, I need to check on my patient now, so you can either step out or turn around while I examine her."
Lewis stands immediately. "I'll step out. Give you some privacy," he tells me. "But I'll be right outside if you need anything."
As he leaves, the nurse—her nametag reads "Gladys"—watches him go with a knowing look.
"That boy," she says, shaking her head. "Stubborn as they come. Wouldn't leave your side all night, you know."
I feel a blush warming my cheeks. "We were in the fire together. He saved my life."
"Mmm-hmm," Gladys says, checking my IV. "And now he's appointed himself your personal guardian angel, looks like."
There's something comforting about her matter-of-fact manner, the way she treats Lewis's presence as simultaneously extraordinary and perfectly natural. Like maybe it's not so strange that he stayed, that he cared.
"How long have you known Lewis?" I ask as she takes my blood pressure.
"Since he was knee-high to a grasshopper," she says. "Treated him for chicken pox when he was six, a broken arm when he was twelve, and a concussion his senior year of high school. Football," she adds, as if that explains everything. "I've known the family for years. Good people."
"He seems very kind," I say, not sure how else to respond to her implied matchmaking.
Gladys gives me a look that says she sees right through me. "He is. One of the best. Now, how's that throat feeling? Scale of one to ten, ten being you swallowed broken glass."
"About a seven," I admit.
She nods, making a note on my chart. "That's to be expected. We'll get you something for the pain. Your lungs are sounding better today—the oxygen is helping. If all goes well, Dr. Aaron might discharge you this afternoon."
"Really?" I ask, surprised and relieved. Hospitals have never been my favorite places.
"Don't sound so excited," Gladys says dryly. "You'll still need to take it easy for a few days. No strenuous activity, plenty of fluids, and I'd recommend staying somewhere with someone who can keep an eye on you, at least for the first night or two."
That gives me pause. My rented room at Mrs. Finch's is private—that was part of its appeal. The garage apartment has its own entrance, and Mrs. Finch, while kind, made it clear she values her privacy as much as she expects me to value mine.
"I'm not sure..." I begin, but Gladys cuts me off.
"Something tells me that won't be a problem," she says with a pointed look toward the door, where Lewis's shadow is visible through the frosted glass. "Now, let me finish my checks, and then I'll send lover boy back in."
"He's not—we just met," I protest weakly.
Gladys gives me another of those knowing looks. "Honey, that boy has been sitting in that uncomfortable chair all night, refusing to leave even when we threatened to call security. I've known him his whole life, and I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you."
With that bombshell, she finishes her examination, leaving me to process her words. When she's done, she pats my hand. "The doctor will be in to see you soon. And don't worry about what happens next. Cedar Falls takes care of its own—and like it or not, you're one of us now."
She leaves, and moments later, Lewis returns, carrying two cups of what smells like coffee.
"Thought you might want this," he says, offering me one of the cups. "Hospital coffee is terrible, but it's caffeinated at least."
I take it gratefully, the warmth seeping into my hands. "Thank you. For the coffee, and for staying, and for..." I gesture vaguely, encompassing everything that's happened in the last twenty-four hours.
Lewis settles back into the chair beside my bed. "No need to thank me. Though I won't say no to that dinner I mentioned, once you're feeling better."