Sparking Sara (The Men on Fire Series)

by Samantha Christy

  I’m happy to hear him say that. I start to back out of the room when Sara makes a noise. She grunts and holds a hand out to me as much as she can.

  “You want me to stay?”

  “You can go,” Oliver says.

  But he isn’t the one I was asking. Sara nods her head, staring at me intently.

  “Okay, I’ll stay. I’ll just sit right over here.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Oliver says.

  “If she wants me to stay, I’m staying. Don’t take it personally. I’m sure she’ll grow more comfortable with you the more you’re here.”

  “Fine,” he says.

  And for the next two hours, he sits by her side. He makes some calls. Responds to some texts. Every once in a while, he’ll comment on something having to do with art.

  He sits by her side, but he’s most definitely not here for her.

  When he gets up to leave, I pull him aside before he reaches the elevator.

  “Oliver. Listen, man. I’m not going to tell you what to do.”

  He laughs. “Really? Because that sounds precisely like what you’re about to do.”

  “You need to talk to her when you’re here. Save your calls and emails for later. She needs you to speak to her. Fill in the blanks for her. Show her pictures of your life together. She’s scared. She doesn’t remember you. You could be anyone to her. And you’re not married yet, so there’s nothing to say she has to go home with you.”

  He studies me with a tight jaw. “Actually, there is. We live together.”

  “You do?”

  He nods.

  “Then how in the hell did you not know she was in an accident? Didn’t you wonder when she never came home?”

  “I told you, I was out of the country. I left before her accident.”

  “How convenient.”

  “Convenient?” he bites at me. “You think I didn’t want to be here by her side? I didn’t know she was in an accident. One could say you’re the arrogant arse, sitting with a stranger day in and day out to try and get your hands on her bloody money.”

  “Her … You’re kidding, right?”

  He shrugs. “Why else would you come here every day? She’s no one to you. You’re no one to her. And you’re a civil servant of New York. I’m sure that doesn’t pay much. I could have you thrown out of this hospital, you know. She’s going to be my wife. I love her and I’ll protect her. Fiercely if I must. Now, are we going to have a problem with this, mate?”

  He seems like a different person out here in the hallway. It’s like a switch went off. Now he wants to protect her. Maybe it’s just now sinking in. Maybe he couldn’t show emotion in front of Sara, but he’s clearly emotional now.

  I take a step back and lean against the wall. “How about a truce?” I say. “You don’t throw me out and I won’t be an arrogant … What did you call me?”

  “Arse.”

  “Right. I won’t be an arrogant arse. But I would like to continue to help her when you can’t be here yourself. I only work a few days a week. It’s really no trouble. And believe me, I’m not after her money, Oliver. I didn’t even know she had any until Lydia told me about it.”

  “Who’s Lydia?”

  “Sara’s childhood best friend,” I say, wondering why he wouldn’t know this about someone he’s engaged to.

  Part of me wants to follow him home. Or have Jake put a tail on him to see if he is who he says he is.

  “Oh, Lydia, the waitress from high school. Of course. They had a falling out some years back, before Sara and I met.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief and nod.

  “So why the interest in Sara?” he asks.

  I try to think of what Marcus would want me to say to that question. I shrug. “I suppose it has something to do with my parents dying in a car accident or some psychobabble shit like that.”

  “Sorry to hear that, mate.”

  “Listen, I won’t step on your toes, okay?”

  He nods. “Fine.”

  “I have to work tomorrow. Do you think you can spend the day with her?”

  “Not all day,” he says. “I have a lot of work to make up after my holiday or I’ll be sacked for sure. But I can be here in the morning.”

  “I’ll call Joelle and see if she can make it in the afternoon.”

  “I’m sure Sara would fancy that,” he says, pressing the call button on the elevator.

  I hold my hand out to him. “I’m sorry if I came on too strong earlier.”

  “I guess I should be happy that Sara had someone looking out for her.”

  He turns to step onto the elevator when something occurs to me. “Oliver,” I say, holding the doors open. “Did you know Anna? Her friend who died in the accident?”

  His jaw twitches. “Not particularly.”

  “I thought Joelle said all you artist types run in the same circles.”

  “Sara is the artist. I’m just the one who—how do you Americans say—pimps their shit?”

  I remove my hand and let the doors close as he gives me a curt wave goodbye.

  Sara is sleeping again when I return to her room. I see she’s back on the vent. It’s understandable. She’s had a tough day with all the therapy and then meeting Oliver.

  She’s sleeping restlessly, so I decide to play some music. Beach Boys, of course. It calms her down.

  When she wakes up, it’s almost time for me to head out. She looks at me and then around the room, seeming relieved that it’s just me. This must be so hard for her. I wonder how she must feel about waking up to find out she’s engaged to be married to a guy she doesn’t even know. And she lives with him. I think I’ll let him be the one to tell her that little piece of information. Luckily, she won’t be going straight home. That will give her time to get to know him again.

  Before I go, I pick up the deck of playing cards. I made a promise to myself earlier when I saw Neil working with her that I’d do everything I could to reinforce what he’s doing. I raise the head of her bed and put the same four cards in her lap.

  “Do you remember what card I asked you to hand me this morning?”

  Her eyes go straight to the ace of spades, and I can’t help the smile that overtakes my face. She’s committing things to memory.

  She lifts her right hand slightly and moves it over six inches, where she drops it like a dead weight onto the card. She works hard to maneuver the card between her fingers and then she pushes it towards me.

  I reach out and take it from her. “Great job, Sara. See how much you’ve improved since this morning?” I tuck the card into my back pocket. “I’m keeping this one. I’ll bring it back with me the next time I visit.”

  Her lips curve into a small smile.

  “I know you’re almost an expert card player now, but don’t go playing strip poker with anyone. Especially the guy two doors down.” I make a ridiculous face. “I’ve seen his bare ass and I can tell you, you don’t want any of that.”

  The smile on her face grows bigger.

  I smile back at her. “Bye, Sara Francis. See you soon.”

  Her fingers come off the bed in an attempt at a wave.

  Krista calls to me on my way out. “You’re coming back, aren’t you?”

  I pull the card out of my pocket. “Of course, I have to return this.”

  She smiles knowingly. “You’re good for her,” she says.

  “Oliver will be, too. I think he’s still in shock by all this. He literally just found out and he’s having to process it very quickly.”

  “That’s true, but I heard your conversation by the elevator and I wanted you to know he can’t have you thrown out. He’s not her husband. Fiancés have no say unless they have power of attorney.”

  “I’m not going to go against his wishes. He’s in love with her. They live together.”

  “Still, don’t stop what you’re doing. She responds to you and that’s more important than who she’s supposed to be in love with. Sara’s healing is all that matters.”<
br />
  I nod, agreeing with her. “It is. And I don’t plan on abandoning her.”

  “Good. Because I think the other nurses would miss having you around. They don’t get much eye candy up here.”

  I laugh. “Oh, the other nurses, huh?”

  She shows me her ring. “Happily married here,” she says. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t look.”

  I teasingly put a little swagger in my step when I walk away. “See you later, Krista.”

  I hear her sigh melodramatically as I saunter down the hallway.

  In the elevator, I think about what Krista said. Sara’s recovery is what’s important here. Not where she lives or who she’s going to marry. I’ll just have to figure out a way to participate in that recovery without stepping on Oliver’s toes like I promised.

  And the only way I see doing that is to make friends with him.

  Chapter Eleven

  Bass’s wife, Ivy, comes walking through the doors of the firehouse with an armful of flowers and a baby stroller.

  Bass hops up off the couch to help her.

  “Thanks,” she says. “We had extra in our delivery today, so we thought we’d drop some off and liven up this place.”

  “We?” Bass says, looking at the baby.

  “Well, she’s got to start sometime if she’s going to be a master florist.”

  Bass picks up the baby and holds her expertly in his arms. Watching him with her is surreal. He’s as big a guy as the rest of us. Strong. Built. Tough. But you put a baby in his arms and he becomes an entirely different person. Still a protector, but more like a huge teddy bear. I can see how much he loves her. Loves them.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Brett leaning against the wall, staring. It’s obvious he wishes he had the same kind of relationship with his wife and son. I feel sorry for the guy. He’s basically been like a single dad ever since Leo was born. Leo’s nanny brings him by the firehouse often on their walks. Leo has become like the unofficial mascot of the firehouse. Amanda, on the other hand—I hear she hasn’t been seen at the station since before Leo was born.

  I watch Ivy arrange the flowers she brought. She puts one vase on the table. Another on the kitchen counter. She pulls a flower out of one of the vases, a daisy I think, and hands it to Bass. Then he kisses her.

  My phone pings with a text.

  Joelle: Sara is asking for you. I told her you were at work today. Do you want me to tell her you’re coming by tomorrow? I wasn’t sure now that Oliver is back.

  Me: She’s talking?

  Joelle: No.

  Me: Then why do you think she’s asking for me?

  Joelle: She seemed sad today, so I started asking her questions. When I asked her if she wanted you here, she nodded. When I asked her if she wanted Oliver here, she stared blankly at the wall.

  Me: Wait, didn’t he show up today? He said he would sit with her this morning.

  Joelle: He was here when I arrived. Said he sat with her all morning. He was quite charming. Still, I feel bad for him that Sara has no memory of their relationship. It’s got to be hard on him.

  Me: Not as hard as it is on Sara.

  Joelle: They want to move Sara to a rehabilitation facility tomorrow afternoon. I think she wants you here when they move her.

  Me: I’ll be there. Do you think she’s ready?

  Joelle: She can barely hold up her head, Denver. She still isn’t speaking. It’s scary.

  Me: It is. But I guess we need to trust the doctors.

  The alarm sounds and all units are called to respond to a motor vehicle accident. My heart thunders as I put my phone away and make my way to the rig. Bass puts the baby into the stroller, and I give Ivy a quick kiss on the cheek on my way by.

  Steve gives me a look as we get into the truck. Someone always does. Someone always wonders if I’m going to freeze on the call. Those who know me, like Engine 319, tend to give me the jobs they know I can handle. Like crowd control until NYPD shows up. Or rigging the lines.

  I used to be grateful for that, but now I think about what Brett said to me the other day.

  “I want in on this one, Captain,” I yell into the front seat.

  He raises his eyebrows at me. “You sure?”

  I nod.

  “What are you doing?” Bass asks.

  I look out the window. “I’m going into tall fucking buildings,” I say.

  “You are making absolutely no sense,” he says. “Were going to an MVA.”

  “I know. But I need to do this. I’m never going to get over this—whatever it is—until I do.”

  “I got your back,” Bass says.

  As we pull up to the accident, I can see this one will be all hands on deck.

  J.D. looks at me when I hop out of the rig. “Andrews, you and Briggs take the SUV, Duck and I will check out the red car.” He turns to Brett’s company. “Squad, check on the truck driver and see if you can pull the truck upright.”

  Bass and I grab some gear and run over to the SUV that’s partially under the overturned truck. I take some deep breaths and hope I don’t see my parents when I look into the front seat. But it’s just my damn luck that the two people in the car look to be about the same age as my parents when they died. And blood, tangled metal, and shattered glass is everywhere.

  I feel the bile rise up in my throat.

  I close my eyes and breathe.

  “You okay, man?” Bass asks, climbing up onto the hood so he can reach through the smashed windshield to check on the woman.

  I hold a finger out to him as I try to keep myself from throwing up.

  “Come on, Denver. We need you.” He nods to the driver. “He needs you.”

  I look back in the car and try to get the thought of my parents out of my head. Instead, I try to pretend the guy is Sara, which is damn hard, considering he’s an overweight bald man.

  “Sir, can you hear me?” I say, trying the door handle, which I know won’t open.

  “My wife!” he cries.

  “My partner is getting her,” I say. “Sir, I need you to tell me if you can move your arms and legs.”

  “I’m trapped,” he says in a panic.

  Images of my nightmares flash through my mind. Thoughts of my parents trapped and cold and dying.

  I start to back away as my stomach twists in knots.

  “Denver!” Bass shouts at me. “Come on, man. You can save this guy. Put a collar on him. Get the jaws. Pull him out. One step at a time.” He’s on his stomach, reaching in to assess the woman as he yells at me through the shattered driver’s side window. “Look at me! You’ve got this. One step at a time.”

  “I can do it,” Debbe says, coming up from behind.

  “You can’t do it,” Bass says. “The truck could collapse onto the car any second. Denver is trained for this. It’s his job.”

  Debbe holds the cervical collar out to me.

  “One step at a time,” I say to myself as I step back up to the SUV and put the collar on him. Then I turn to Debbe. “Can you have someone bring the jaws over here? And I’ll need a blanket to cover him.”

  “Sure thing,” she says, running in the other direction.

  “Sir, can you move your arms and legs?”

  “Yes. My wife, is she okay? I can’t see anything.”

  I see he has a pretty bad gash on his head and his face is bloody. Hopefully it’s just the blood from the gash that is obscuring his vision and not a brain injury.

  I see Bass pulling the woman through the front window. “We’re helping her, but I need you to hold tight. I need to force the door open.”

  Brett comes over with the jaws. “We’ve got the truck secured. We’ll turn it upright as soon as he’s out.” He nods to the door. “You want me to do it?”

  I shake my head. “I need to do this.”

  He pats me on the back. “I’m right here.”

  I set up the jaws and the door pops off; the whole time I feel like I’m going to puke all over this poor guy. “Debbe, he
’s coming out, get the backboard,” I shout over my shoulder.

  “Got one right here.”

  I reach into the car and cut through the guy’s seatbelt, then gently maneuver him onto the ground where we strap him onto a backboard and carry him through the wreckage to a gurney.

  I hear the loud noise behind me of the truck being pulled off the SUV.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa—wait!” someone yells. “It’s not holding!”

  I turn around to see the large delivery truck crashing down onto the SUV, collapsing the entire front seat and everything in it.

  “Oh, shit.”

  I stare at the wreckage. I was standing next to that car sixty seconds ago when Bass and the others were still inside. I run to the side of the building on the corner and brace myself against the wall as I lose my lunch all over the pavement.

  Bass comes over, patting me on the back. “You okay?”

  “I almost got him killed,” I say. “Hell, I almost got you all killed.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “I hesitated.”

  Bass waves his arms around the scene. “I don’t see any dead people. Do you see any dead people?”

  “If that truck had fallen two minutes sooner …”

  “That wouldn’t have happened, Denver. They had it secured. It only fell when they were trying to right it, after we had the victims out.”

  “Still. I hesitated.”

  “And then you did your job.”

  “What if next time, my hesitation costs someone his life?”

  “You’re not going to let that happen. Are you?”

  “Shit. I don’t know, Bass. You tell me. Sometimes I just freeze. It’s like I can’t move and my feet are cemented to the ground. It’s like everything is going on around me and I’m not there.”

  He puts an arm around my shoulder. “You’ll get past this, brother.”

  “What if I don’t?” I ask. “What if I can’t?”