Chapter 15 #2
"Great. Then, we'll move on Stein tonight," she says.
I look back at Avery. The paramedics have her sitting up now, an oxygen mask over her face.
One of them says something to her and she nods slowly, then a deep cough works through her chest, rough but familiar enough that some of the pressure in mine eases.
She turns her head after and finds me on the sidewalk.
I walk over and get in the ambulance when they load her, and nobody stops me.
On the way to the hospital, I'm sitting beside the gurney with my elbows on my knees, watching the EMT run through the standard checks.
She reaches over and puts her hand on my arm. She lays it there flat, no grip, no pressure, just the weight of it, and leaves it.
The EMT says, "Sir, you can lean back."
I stay where I am.
The EMT asks her to follow a finger with her eyes and she does, and then she smiles. When I see her eyes change above the mask, that's the moment I know she's going to be fine.
"The store?" she asks. The mask muffles it but I get the shape of the words.
"It's out," I tell her. "You stopped it before it spread."
She closes her eyes for half a second.
"You know," I add, "most people don't respond to a fire by personally fistfighting it for their bookstore."
She watches me.
"It never got to the front of the store," I say.
She closes her eyes for a second and opens them again. "Shane?"
I look at her hand on my arm, then at her face.
I've spent weeks deciding what Avery shouldn't know. Sitting beside her now, watching her fight for a full breath, it suddenly feels impossible to justify another omission.
"He's in custody and they're moving on Stein tonight."
She goes still, eyes searching mine, her jaw tightening like she's bracing for something I haven't said yet.
"His mother is Stein's sister."
Avery blinks at me slowly. "Okay, wow. That feels like information someone should've delivered before the attempted bookstore arson portion of my evening."
I don't know why now is the right time to tell her, and maybe it isn't. But I don't want to be the person who makes her wait for it anymore.
She turns her head and looks at the ceiling of the ambulance.
The smoke wasn't the part I couldn't stop thinking about. It was knowing somebody had wanted this to happen.
We stay like that for the rest of the ride. Her hand on my arm. The oxygen reading a steady number on the monitor. The city moving past outside.
The hospital releases her in under two hours. I stand at the edge of the bed while the nurse goes over discharge instructions, nodding like I'm the one who has to remember them, then take the paperwork from her when she hands it over and I help Avery ease off the bed.
She walks out of the discharge bay with her hair still smelling of smoke and the extinguisher. I keep a hand at her back as we move through the lot and help her into the passenger seat, making sure she's steady before I close the door.
I round the hood and get in, start the engine, and pull out onto the street.
"I want to go check the store out," she says.
"We can't," I tell her, keeping my eyes on the road. "The fire department is in the building. I asked my contact to send updates."
She turns her head and looks out the passenger window as we drive. "That's my store."
"I know," I say. "But let the fire department finish."
She doesn't push it further as she watches the road and I drive her home.
The fire hadn't taken the store. But for a few minutes I'd thought it might, and I was surprised by how much that still hurt.
Cordelia is on the front steps when we pull up.
She comes down the walk before I've put the car in park, and by the time Avery opens her door her best friend is already there, pulling her in with both arms, the kind of hold that doesn't have anything to say and doesn't need to.
I get out and stand by the car, giving it a minute. Pancake settles in the back seat without being told, her chin on the armrest, watching.
Cordelia pulls back and studies Avery's face, then looks at me over Avery's shoulder. She says something to Avery too quiet for me to catch, and Avery answers. Cordelia lets out a short, relieved laugh, hugs her again, quick and tight, then steps back.
"I'm going to let you sleep," Cordelia says. "You look awful, and I mean that with love and just a little competitive glee."
She glances at me. "You've got her." It isn't a question.
"Yeah," I say. "And based on that look you just gave me, I'm guessing failure comes with a very aggressive performance review."
Cordelia squeezes Avery's hand and plants a kiss on her cheek. "Love you." Then she heads toward her car.
As she passes me, she gives me a look that makes it clear she is trusting me with her best friend's care, and that if I fall short, I will answer to her.
Avery watches her go, then goes inside.
I bring Pancake in and she goes straight to the living room, turning once before lying down. The quiet of the house meets us, and Avery stands in the hallway for a moment without moving.
I close the door behind us.
She turns and looks at me in the low light of the front hall, and there's something in her face that I don't have a name for. She steps in close.
I carefully put my hands on her face and she reaches up to close her hands around my wrists.
"I'm okay," she says, then grimaces slightly. "Although I do smell like somebody set a library on fire and then tried to fix it with a Yankee Candle." Her voice is rougher than it was an hour ago, the hospital air having done only so much.
"I know you are."
I pull her in, one hand at her back, the other at the base of her neck. She fits against me so well, but I notice a tremor running through her that I feel in my hands.
"Hey," I say quietly. "You're shaking."
She huffs out a breath that almost passes for a laugh. "I'm fine."
I slide my hand up and down her spine, slow and steady, giving her something to follow. "You're good. I'm here."
Her fingers curl into the front of my shirt, gripping like she needs something solid.
"Hey," I say, keeping my voice low. "Look at me."
She does, steady and present, not panicked or drifting, her eyes locked on mine while her breathing stays uneven but controlled. Her mouth opens like she's about to say something, then she shakes her head once.
"Okay," I say. "You don't have to talk."
My hand settles at her jaw, my thumb brushing her cheek. I feel the shift happen through her hands first as her grip changes from clinging to holding me in place.
Something creaks down the hall, pipes or old wood.
She exhales and steps closer, and I meet her halfway without thinking, my hands finding her again, one at her back and the other sliding into her hair.
"C'mere," I say, already reaching for her before I can think too hard about it. I guide her toward the bathroom with my palm steady at the small of her back.
She follows, her fingers slipping between mine and holding tight as we move.
I turn on the water in the shower, adjusting the temperature and testing it with my hand before I look back at her.
She's still standing there, waiting for direction.
"Let's get you out of these clothes."
She nods and her fingers fumble at the hem of her shirt.
I step in and take over, peeling the fabric away from her skin, slow and careful. The smell of smoke lifts with it, caught in the cotton, as it drops to the floor.
"You okay?" I ask.
"Yeah," she says, but her voice is thin.
"I've got you."
I work her out of the rest, piece by piece, my hands steady, my focus on what she needs and nothing else, even while my body registers every inch of her.
The steam builds around us, warm and thick, filling the space, softening the edges of everything.
"Step in," I say, guiding her forward with my hand at her back.
She hesitates for half a second.
So I step in first without taking anything off and let the spray hit me, heat soaking through my shirt and pants.
"Come in," I say.
She steps under the water with me.
I have one hand steady at her waist as the spray comes down over both of us.
She shivers as the water hits her, but it's not from the temperature. I see it in the way her lashes lower and the way her mouth softens.
I reach for the shampoo and work it through her hair. "You realize most people would've stopped trying to straighten crooked shelves after the attempted arson portion of the evening, right?" I ask, close to her ear.
"Yes," she answers, her voice stronger now.
I rinse her hair, my fingers combing through, and she leans into me without thinking. I feel her weight, the way she trusts it, and it pulls me closer.
"Turn around," I say, my voice low. She obeys without hesitation, spinning until her back is to me, the water sluicing down the curve of her spine. I step closer, close enough that my thighs brush the backs of hers, and I can feel her heat through my wet clothes.
My fingers sink into her hair, working the shampoo into her scalp with slow, circular motions. She makes a soft, almost helpless sound and her head tips back against my chest, her body melting into mine like she's been waiting for me to hold her up.
"I've got you," I murmur against her temple, one hand steady at the back of her neck while my thumb strokes slow along her jaw like I'm keeping her anchored there with me. My fingers keep massaging, pressing into the tension at the base of her skull until her muscles loosen beneath my touch.
The water rinses the suds away, running down her shoulders and along her back while she leans into me a little more, trusting the touch, and the shift in her pulls at something low in my body.
But this isn't where I'm taking this. Not yet.
She reaches for the conditioner before I can, her fingers fumbling slightly with the bottle. I don't stop her. Instead, I watch as she squeezes a small amount into her palm, then smooths it through her hair, her movements slow and unhurried.
The scent is something floral and sweet, and it mixes with the steam, wrapping around us.