Torch (Take It Off) (2 page)

2

The problem with passing out is that upon awakening, you had to face the pain of whatever caused you to pass out in the first place all over again. Okay, so the pain wasn’t as bad as it was before, and I figured that was in large part due to the IV sticking out of the back of my hand. I wish they had a pain pill for that because IVs hurt.

I blinked, trying to focus and look around the room. I was in a private room, which was nice. The walls were sterile white; there was a curtain pushed open around the bed and a TV mounted to the wall. The blankets that covered me to my waist were no nonsense and kind of scratchy. Not at all like my pillows and bedding at home.

Home.

The thought brought up a surge of panic. I looked down at my wrists, which were wrapped in layers of white gauze that wound down around the base of my thumbs and then back up again.

Burned.

I was burned.

Images from what happened assaulted me. The match, the fire, the fear. I shifted, wanting to get away from the memories, and a lock of hair slid onto my cheek. It smelled like smoke.

The memory of almost choking to death on smoke made a sound tear from the back of my throat. The monitor off to my right began to beep, and I looked up, the sound helping a little to bring me back to reality.

I was safe.

There was no fire here.

There was no man standing in the shadows with a match.

The door to my room opened and a nurse bustled in. She smiled when she saw me looking at her. “Ah, you’re awake. I’ll get the doctor.” She pressed a couple buttons on the monitor, and the rapid beeping stopped; then she hurried from the room.

There was a dull ache in my shoulder and my skin felt tight everywhere, like it got wet and I was thrown in the dryer, which caused it to shrink around my body. I glanced down at the bandages around my wrists again and wondered how good the drugs they had me on were. As in, how bad was this going to hurt later when I wasn’t taking as much medicine?

I glanced at the water pitcher next to the bed, wondering if there was any water in it. My throat felt so dry, like I hadn’t had any water in days… How long had I been lying here?

I stretched out my arm, reaching for the pitcher, but I didn’t make it very far because every single muscle in my arm and back groaned in protest. But instead of flopping my arm back down, I sat frozen, staring at the red burn on my right hand. The skin was completely crimson, like I stuck my hand out a window and let it roast an entire day in the hot southern sun.

I got burned in the fire.

My brain seemed to be working extra slow because that was just now becoming clear. The bandages obviously hadn’t been enough of an indicator. And the fact that my wrists were bandaged and my hands were not but were still red… Well, that was very telling. Those burns must be worse.

The door to my room opened again. I glanced up expecting a doctor in a white lab coat, carrying a chart. But it wasn’t a doctor. It wasn’t a kind-faced nurse either.

The door swung slowly shut behind him and his footsteps paused when he saw I was staring at him. As if I could look away. Once again, I felt the familiar feeling of my lungs seizing from lack of oxygen. It was like he was some extreme human vacuum that had the ability to suck every ounce of air out of the room.

 “You’re awake.” His voice was oxygen to my breathless body. The minute the calm yet strong words passed his lips, my body automatically inhaled. It’s almost like my body knew him—like it recognized him even though my brain screamed it would never forget a single thing about his incredible face. And his words… Did that mean he hadn’t accidentally stumbled into the wrong room on the way to visit his sick and frail grandmother?

Who was I kidding? He didn’t look like the type that would have a sick and frail anything.

He was tall, obscenely taller than I was… He probably stood over six feet (that put him an whole foot taller than me) with very wide shoulders that gave way to lean hips and legs that seemed to go on for miles, only to end with feet the size of Florida. How he found boots to contain those things I would never understand.

Along with his scuffed-up tan boots, he was wearing jeans, a worn gray T-shirt (untucked), and an army-green jacket with about a million pockets on the front. He was dressed like any ordinary guy you would see on the sidewalk or at the mall.

Except he was anything but ordinary.

He was ruggedly casual. He had the kind of look that women of any age would follow with their eyes until he was completely out of sight. It was almost as if he put not a single thought into the way he stepped out of the house.

His dark hair was short but still appeared rumpled. His very strong jaw was covered in stubble, creating a shadow over the bottom part of his face. Above the stubble was a strong nose, heavy dark brows, and eyes… light-blue eyes that seemed out of place with such dark hair and olive-toned skin.

Yet, they weren’t out of place. They were a beacon. Somewhere to focus. Somewhere for my suddenly tilted world to be grounded.

“Are you thirsty?” he said, noticing I was turned and reaching toward the pitcher. He cleared his throat and came quickly across the room, snatching up the pitcher and frowning. “It’s empty.”

I watched, still unable to say a word, as he disappeared into the bathroom where I heard the faucet begin to run. I finally dropped my arm back onto the bed, wincing a little at the pain but feeling more awake than I had since opening my eyes.

The faucet shut off and he strode back into the room, my eyes once again fastening on his face, on his fluid, strong movements. I had no idea who he was, but I certainly enjoyed looking at him. Something began to uncoil in my middle—something warm and pleasant. A feeling that eclipsed the pain and fear of waking up in a hospital room alone and unclear.

“Here,” he prompted softly, placing a straw in the small yellow cup and holding it close to me. His scent wafted close, completely taking over my senses and making me forget my throat was as dry as a desert. It was deep and clean. Very manly. Very powerful without being overwhelming. He cleared his throat, using his thick fingers to bend the straw toward my mouth as he held it still.

My lips parted and the straw found its way between my lips, but my eyes, my stare was held captive by his icy-blue irises. Icy eyes that were far from cold. My body seemed to remember how dry it felt because without me realizing, I drew some water through the straw. It was almost painful going down, and I felt it travel all the way through my throat and spread into my stomach.

I coughed a little, the lukewarm liquid a little startling to my system, and the cup disappeared and the incredibly handsome stranger moved closer, sliding his arm around my shoulder and staring down at me with concern-laced eyes.

“Does anyone know you’re awake?”

“Wh-who are you?” I said. My voice was unusually throaty and low.

The door to my room opened once more. Geez, couldn’t a girl get any privacy with some hottie stranger? It was a fun thought… until I remembered that someone tried to kill me. A stranger.

I jerked away from his touch, biting back a cry of pain.

He straightened and moved away as the doctor moved to the end of the bed, first glancing up at the monitor, which was once again beeping wildly, and then back at me with a polite expression on his face. The nurse was right behind him, coming around to silence the machine once more.

“Miss Parks, it’s good to see you awake. Are you in any pain?”

“Not too much,” I replied, noticing again at the deep tone of my voice. My hand automatically went to my throat.

“The change to your voice is only temporary. You inhaled quite a bit of smoke. You will likely have a sore throat for a while.”

“My hands,” I said, looking up at him.

“How much do you remember?” the doctor asked.

I felt the stranger’s attention sharpen as he stared at me, waiting for my answer. I glanced at him, unsure if I should be talking to my doctor about anything in front of him.

“I’ll just wait outside, in the hall,” he said, clearly noticing my discomfort.

The doctor nodded, but I had to know. “Should I know you?”

He stopped and pivoted. “No, I…” His words trailed away like he wasn’t sure how to explain the fact that he was here.

“He’s the fireman who pulled you out of the house,” the nurse said, excitement lacing her tone like this was some huge scene in one of the soap operas she likely watched.

The doctor cleared his throat and gave her a look full of reproach, and she glanced at the floor guiltily.

Images of the raging fire flashed before me. I felt the heat, the claws of death reaching for me… but then I saw the man—the one I thought had been nothing but a hallucination. He stepped through the flames. He literally walked through a wall of fire to pick me up and carry me to safety.

He was the one who threw me into the pool. While I was tied to a chair.

“You’re him,” I said, not asking because the nurse just said so. She was only too thrilled to spill the beans, so I knew it had to be true.

He nodded.

“Stay,” I heard myself saying.
Wait, what?

He didn’t move back into the room. Instead, he leaned against the wall, stuffing his hands into the front pocket of his jeans. I mean, seriously, he looked like he could be in a magazine. Advertising some sexy cologne or perfume. Something by the name of
Rogue
.

Oh my God, the fire must have melted half my brain cells. I was daydreaming about perfume after waking up from attempted murder.

“Someone tried to kill me,” I told the doctor, looking him straight in the face. The stranger against the wall stiffened but otherwise said nothing, and I didn’t look his way.

“So you remember the fire,” he said, not directly avoiding my words.

“I remember someone trying to burn me alive.”

The doctor frowned and glanced at the nurse, who bustled out of the room quietly. “You can speak with the police about that,” he said. “I’m here to focus on your injuries.”

“How bad are the burns?”

“You have first and second-degree burns, Miss Parks. I would say you were actually very lucky. You have suffered moderate smoke inhalation. As I said, your throat and voice will be affected for a while. You were on oxygen for the first twenty-four hours that you were here, so breathing shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Wait,” I said, “how long have I been here?”

“Four days.”

“Four…” I lost four days. Almost an entire week. That was almost as scary as nearly dying. It was like I did die for four days… four days I would never remember. Four days of being immobile and lost.