Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Kace
Once the door closes with a quiet thud, I'm finally alone.
I exhale and feel myself melt into the towel-covered stool where I sit.
I'm medicated just enough to ease the worst of the pain, but nothing removes the vise squeezing my lungs or the fact I'm so hyperaware of my injuries.
Of what they cost me. Of what they'll cost the girls next time if luck doesn't break my way.
I let the lukewarm water pound me without moving. I'd rather it be hotter but know I can't up the temp due to the burns. So I sit here, and I stare at the way the water rolls down the drain, and I try to breathe through the pain and the onslaught of images.
Sully's question about returning to work, though? That had tipped me over the edge into the dark places of my mind.
I go over every moment of that day. From telling Gabe I knew the layout of the building to hearing his order to exit when I spotted the firefighter caught up by his gear.
I remember a split second of hesitation and survival instinct, because the flames were moving fast. The urge to get out.
No matter what. Then ignoring it and going to help get him loose.
I remember… I remember seeing the ceiling break. Knowing it was about to come down and shoving the other man forward because I knew there wasn't time for both of us to get out of the way.
My breathing turns ragged as I sit and roll through those memories. The surge of fear as I go down. The pain. The smell. The—the knowing and awareness that death danced around me, ready to take me.
I run a hand over my face and try to shove the memories aside. Ground myself in the here and now.
I made it out.
I'm fine.
Or I will be soon.
Maybe.
Truth is, I have a long way to go before fine is even on the same plane of being accurate. Will I heal?
My leg now has pins and rods holding it together, and while not broken, my arm and shoulder feel as though I've been put through some kind of archaic torture device.
The one that yanks off limbs. Drawn and quartered?
I think that's what it's called. I feel like that's what happened.
Like I've been ripped apart, and every beat of my heart is echoed by pain that's always on the fringe and never far from awareness, no matter how drugged I am.
Even in the hospital on the good stuff, I felt it.
What if it doesn't go away completely? What if I never get back to one hundred percent? What if I can't make it to seventy percent?
It makes me think. Makes me wonder what the future will bring. How we'll live. How I'll provide for my family.
The burn doc warned there's a chance I could have pain forever due to nerve damage. It just depends on how things heal, even though by medical terms, my burns are relatively minor. But my leg? It's messed up.
Will I be able to pass a physical? Perform the duties my job as a firefighter requires?
I fist my good hand and feel pain shoot through me just at the act. My body is that damaged. The tension prickling over my skin fires off nerves already screaming for mercy.
It's day one, like Lindsey said. A reminder that this isn't how things will be. I hope.
I have my girls. I have help until I'm back on my feet. I'll eventually get back on my feet, which is a way better ending than I could've had.
In the scheme of things? Life is good.
I just have to shake off the demons and focus on that. Move forward.
And then… figure out what's next.
After a long sit in the shower, I call for Lindsey.
She knocks before entering, and I can feel her assessing me like a shrink.
I don't blame her. I've been in here way too long, but I needed the time to wrap my head around the last few weeks and brace myself for what's to come.
I can't say that I've succeeded in doing it, but the alone time has helped.
"Ready to get out before you prune up?"
"Can you…wash my hair first?"
We'd removed the sling, but my range of motion is limited both by the burns and by the sprain.
"Of course. I should've done that earlier. I'll remember next time."
I like that she really doesn't seem to mind helping me. But I guess we're both in the same spot theoretically. She needs my home and a place to stay as much as I need her help.
"You doing okay there, big guy?"
The question is softly voiced but full of suspicion. Like she can see my struggle. Maybe she can.
"Yeah."
Silence follows my words and then…
"You know, I may suck at a few life choices I've made lately, but I've been told I'm a good listener."
I stare at the water rolling toward the drain, wishing I could shove the bad mojo I'm feeling down with it. Nobody wants a doomsday guy on the crew. "I'm good, Lindsey. Thanks."
She doesn't believe me, and I give her credit for reading my mood.
But she stays quiet and begins to wash my hair.
I close my eyes to combat the suds and to enjoy the feel of her nails lightly raking my scalp and massaging it.
It's a good distraction, and it draws me further and further away from the darkness of before.
"Just so you know, Dani's in her room pretending she's pregnant again. I'm…really sorry. I know you don't want her thinking it's okay to be like me."
I take her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "She's a kid playing pretend. Tomorrow she'll be a rock star or demon hunter." I sense more than see tension leave her.
"Maybe I'll encourage llama wrangling as a goal."
I give her hand another squeeze before releasing her. Lindsey shifts to retrieve the handheld. She turns it on, and I tilt my head forward for her to rinse my hair. It feels good to be clean and not hospital clean, with their leave-in soap and shampoo.
We go through the whole process of drying me off while keeping my modesty intact for her sake.
I'm back in running shorts when she helps me into the wheelchair, and we're both panting and out of breath by the process.
And despite how good the bath felt, I'm worn out as she applies the cream to my burns. By the time she finishes, I’m exhaustion-drunk and ready to pass out.
Lindsey wheels me back into the living room to the recliner, and we go through the process again. Only this time, I can't keep my eyes open once I hit the cushioned seat.
I feel her fingertips lightly brush through my hair to smooth it but can't force my lashes up. All I can think is that whatever happens, right now, I'm glad I'm not going it alone.
I'm surrounded by smoke, and I can feel the heat of the flames despite my gear. I'm on my way out when I see him. I can't make out who it is, but he's struggling. Tangled.
I head that way and recognize Zack once I'm bent over him, pulling on the wires he's caught on. We get them off, and he's up. Okay.
We're moving toward the exit when I see the ceiling collapse in slow motion. I don't have time to think. Don't even have time to take a breath. I act, instinctively shoving him hard to push him out of the way because no way can we both make it.
I go down beneath the burning debris, rocked to my core as I feel my leg break and then break again in a one-two crunch of agony. I hear myself scream. Then drag in another breath to scream again as the fire sears my skin.
The pain is blinding. The flames searing—
"Kace. Shhh. Kace, it's okay. Shhh. Hey, it's okay. You're okay. You're with me. You hear me? You're safe. It's over now. You're safe."
Lindsey's voice breaks through the nightmare suffocating me, and I open my eyes to find her bent over me once more, her expression one of heartbreaking tenderness and wide-eyed terror. Her trembling fingers are on my face, brushing over my cheeks and grounding me in the here and now.
I suck in a breath and let my head roll against the cushion.
I'm home. Safe, like she said. But it still takes me a few seconds to orient myself and for that fact to sink in. For my body to drag itself completely out of that memory.
I use my good hand to snag her round the shoulders and drag her low, pulling her against me in an awkward hug but needing contact.
I can tell she's surprised by the move, but I don't care.
I need the scent of her hair to rid myself of the stench of burnt flesh.
The cool warmth of her skin to ease the heat of the flames.
"You're okay," she whispers. "You're here with me and the girls, and you're okay."
I hear tears clogging her throat, and I hate that I'm the cause of them. But I don't let go or tell her to hush because I love hearing her whispered reassurances. I need them. I need them badly.
I close my eyes and breathe her in again, letting her chase the charred remnants of the dream away. She's softness and strength. Coconut and vanilla and mint.
She lets me hold her like that, bent over the chair awkwardly but resting against me. The burns ache from the pressure of her weight, but I like it. I like the pain because it means I'm still here.
After a long, long time, I let her go. "I'm sorry."
She slides into a crouch beside the chair, and I frown when I see her wince. "Did I hurt you?"
Her expression softens even more, and she shakes her head.
"No, not at all. Just a little stiff from the angle."
"And lifting me," I mutter. Maybe this isn't a good idea. She's pregnant after all. I hadn't really considered that when she made the offer because I was so focused on getting out of the hospital. But I should've. She's pregnant—and lifting someone twice her size.
"I've never had to lift you. As if I could," she murmurs. "Balancing you is no big deal. Hey, I'm fine. Seriously, big guy, I'm all good. I think the question is, are you okay?"
I nod, but I can tell she doesn't believe me. "Just a nightmare."
"Yeah, and a doozy from the sound of it. You were…back in the fire?"
She's hesitant to ask. I'm hesitant to answer, but I nod. Why bother lying when it's obvious? "I went down. Felt the breaks and the flames and—knew I wasn't going to see my girls again."
"Oh, Kace."
I scrub a hand over my face and rub hard.