by Hart, Emma
I just wanted a good long, hot shower.
So that was what I did. I turned the heat up until it was the hottest temperature I could bear and got in. There was a quick detour to grab some face wipes to remove my makeup before my mascara could run and sting my eyes.
I soaked myself in the water, reveling in the sensation of the heat beating away at my skin. The entire bathroom steamed up as I went through the motions of shampooing my hair and conditioning it. My skin was red raw by the time I was done scrubbing it with my sponge and then my loofa.
But I was clean.
I was oh so clean and it felt oh so good.
I turned the shower off and climbed out. I grabbed the nearest towel and wrapped it around my body, then picked up a second and twisted my hair into it on top of my head.
It was like a giant diaper on my head.
It wobbled as I made my way through to my bedroom, humming along to myself. Taylor Swift’s latest song had been played on the radio over and over today and it was firmly stuck in my head. It was the tune to my post-shower rituals of digging out my oldest, most comfortable underwear ready for tomorrow morning’s lazy session.
I dragged out a tank top that declared me wanting to be where the people aren’t and thick banded panties that branded Victoria’s Secret all around the waist. After quickly drying myself off, I got into the clothes, adjusted the fabric over my boobs, and reached up for the towel.
It took me a few minutes to work a wide-toothed comb through my hair and get the knots out of my thick curls. When that was done, I snapped a band on my wrist before grabbing my moisturizer.
It took a few more minutes to work through my nightly skincare routine, and I was eyeing up the sachet of cucumber face mask when I paused.
Something smelled… funny.
I pushed my stool back from my dressing table and walked out into my apartment. The closer I got to the front door, the stronger the smell was. I couldn’t place—
Burning.
Something was burning.
I spun, checking every inch of my apartment. There were no lit candles, and I hadn’t used the oven at all day today, so I knew it wasn’t that. Nor had I turned on my hair tools for it to be one of those.
Oh, my God.
What if something was wrong somewhere else?
I ran to my front door and tugged. It didn’t open. It was locked. I’d locked it before I got in the shower.
I fumbled with the keys from the coffee table and got it in the hole on my third attempt. The lock undid with a click, and I pulled the door open to black smoke filling the hallway. Fire alarms blared through the air with the one exception:
Mine.
I’d never replaced the batteries.
Mr. Jennings’ door was closed opposite mine, and I dashed back inside for my phone. I had no idea where the fire had started or what was going on, but I had to call nine-one-one and see if my neighbor was okay.
With a shaking hand, I tapped the number and hit call. The operator answered and I had no idea what I was saying. I was on my knees, banging on Mr. Jennings’ door, trying to stay as low as I could to avoid taking in too much smoke.
I was halfway through saying I was trying to get my neighbor when the door opened. “Hold on! He’s here!” I almost shouted to the operator.
“Good grief!” Mr. Jennings shouted. “What’s going on?”
“Ma’am? Do you have him?” the operator asked in my ear.
“I do. Yes!” I got up as far as I dared.
“Both of you inside the apartment. Shut the door.”
“Arthur, we have to get inside. I don’t know where the fire is but the fire department is on their way.” I crawled into his apartment. “Come on!”
“Yes!” He shoved the door shut and came in with me.
“Are you inside?” the operator—Polly, her name was—asked.
“We’re inside,” I confirmed, moving for his fire alarm. I’d never hear her with it blaring, and we already knew there was a fire in the building.
“Get a damp towel and block the bottom of the door to stop the smoke coming in, okay, Reagan? Get as low as you can to the ground.”
Panic built inside me. “Arthur has a bad hip. He can’t get down.”
“Okay. Block the door like I said and go to the room that is the farthest away from the apartment door, do you hear me?”
I nodded, putting her on speaker.
“Do you hear me?”
“She’s nodding,” Arthur replied, taking the phone. “Towels in the bathroom.”
Right.
Of course.
I ran through his apartment to the bathroom and grabbed three towels. I soaked them under the tap in his tub before squeezing them and running them back through to the door, dripping water everywhere.
Arthur was talking to Polly. She was telling him the fire was on the ground and the first floor. We were to stay put as the fire department was there. They were getting it under control and would be there to rescue us soon. She took his apartment number three times while I blocked the bottom of the door and helped him over to his bedroom which was the farthest from the front door.
Yes, it was hot. Yes, we could see the smoke outside the windows. No, we wouldn’t open a window, but I was pretty sure there was smoke forcing through the front door now.
I couldn’t see it, but I could smell it. It was thick and acrid, and I wrapped my arm around a shaking Arthur.
Polly kept talking to us, but it was all a blur. The smoke outside the window was getting thicker and thicker as it billowed into the sky. I was afraid to open the bedroom door just in case the fire had spread to the third floor now. I swore I saw the flash of flames licking at the sides of the building when I looked outside the last time.
What if I’d replaced those batteries like I should have? What if? What if I hadn’t been in the shower? Would I have noticed it sooner? What if I hadn’t been in my own little world—was there a chance I’d have heard the other alarms sooner? Smelled the smoke sooner?
Call me dramatic, but I couldn’t believe this was how I was going to die.
In a fire.
In my oldest cotton panties where the fabric had bobbled, and braless.
Awesome.
Joking was the only way I could stay calm. If I didn’t, I was going to panic, and that wouldn’t help anyone, least of all Arthur.
“Reagan? Can you hear me?” Polly’s voice cracked as the line broke.
“Yes!” I shouted.
“You need to go to the door and bang, okay? Smoke can obstruct the apartment doors. Use a wet cloth over your mouth to support your breathing. They’re entering the building now to get everyone out.”
I confirmed I would and took the phone from Arthur. One quick trip to the bathroom later and I had two cloths for us both. I handed one to Arthur to protect his mouth with and used the other for me.
He assured me they were clean, but I honestly didn’t care if they weren’t. If it was between a dirty face cloth or death, I’d pick the cloth.
I might regret it later, but at least I’d live to regret it.
Thick smoke was eking its way through the cracks around the sides of the door I couldn’t block off, and I told Polly that.
“Bang loud, Reagan, okay? Keep the cloth over your mouth and nose and do not move it. You don’t have to talk to me anymore. I’ll stay on the line until the firefighters have reached you. I’ll keep talking to you, but you tuck your phone into your bra and bang on the door.”
“Okay!” The smoke smarted my eyes, so I squeezed them shut before I tucked my phone under the arm that was holding my washcloth in place.
Why hadn’t I put a bra on? Why?
With everything I had, I thumped my fist against the door. I didn’t know how many of us were stuck in the building while it burned or even if it would collapse, but Polly’s constant affirmations that she was there and I was doing great kept me going.
So did the adrenaline.
I couldn
’t die yet. I was too young. I had to see Halley and Preston have babies. I had to see Betty’s babies and love on them a little bit. I had to see Ava find love. I had to see another one of Aunt Bethel’s hideous outfits.
And my God, if I got out of this shit alive, I was going to ask Noah where he lived and, if it was close by, I was going to ask him out.
So be it, amen, blessed be.
I banged a few more times before I heard a shout outside. “Hello! In here!”
The smoke was thicker now, and I was glad it was me out here and not Arthur. He would be protected in the bedroom.
“We’re in here!” I yelled into the damp cloth, thumping the door as loud as I could.
A bang came back. “Step back from the door and move any obstructions!”
I yanked the towel away and moved back. The cloth slipped from my hand, and I dropped to my knees to grab it. I coughed as the smoke flooded the room with the opening of the door. My phone clattered to the rug, and I felt blindly for it, covering my mouth again.
“Miss—are you alone?” A deep voice accompanied a strong, gloved hand gripping my arm.
I shook my head. “In the bedroom—he’s old. Bad hip.” Another cough.
“Hold that tight to your mouth now. Sam! There’s an old fella in the bedroom!”
“Got it!”
“Come on.” The firefighter pulled me to my feet. “Can you walk?”
I nodded, but my legs gave away as soon as I took a step.
“I’m picking you up, all right? I’ll run you outside where the medics are waiting. I won’t drop you.”
“Okay,” I rasped behind the cloth. I pressed it so tightly to my face that it was any wonder I could breathe at all.
In one swift movement, he wrapped his arms around me and lifted me over his shoulder. I caught a glimpse of Arthur being carried the same way before I had to squeeze my eyes shut once again.
I was bumped and jostled, but the firefighter’s grip on me never wavered. He held me tight to his body as he descended the flights of stairs. The smoke got thicker and it was harder and harder to breathe as we got closer to the ground until—
It stopped.
The jostling stopped, and my feet were deposited on the ground. “It’s all right, you’re outside.”
I nodded, coughing into the cloth.
“I’ve got her, don’t worry.” A new, female voice and new arms took hold of me, and I forced my eyes open. “What’s your name, sweetie?”
“Reagan,” I breathed. My savior was a step away from me now, covered head to toe in dust, and I looked in his direction. “Thank you.”
He turned his head and nodded at me. There was a flash of green in his eyes before he turned and headed back into the still smoldering building.
My gaze was glued to him. He’d just saved my life.
A firefighter came out of the smoky doorway with the familiar figure of Arthur over his shoulder. I made toward him, but my legs went again.
“That’s my neighbor! I was with him! Is he okay?”
Another medic came to the other side to steady me. “He’ll be looked after by our colleagues, don’t you worry. We need to get you in the back of the ambulance and get you checked out.”
“I’m fine.”
I was not fine. My teeth were chattering and my entire body was shaking. I knew I was going into shock, but I refused to give in.
“Reagan!”
I looked up in time to see Preston burst through the police line.
“That’s my sister!”
“Get out of my way!” was Aunt Bethel’s shout.
My body was too busy shutting down to do anything. Before I could think, everything was blurry. I was bundled onto something where I could lie down and something was put over me, and then—
***
“What do you mean, there’s no wine here?”
Miss Louella was fifty-three-years-old and had the unfortunate assignment as my nurse. “It’s midday, Reagan. Even if I could, I wouldn’t serve you it.”
I blew out a long breath and dropped my head back as she secured the blood pressure cuff around my upper arm. “I’m fine. It was shock. I didn’t inhale enough smoke for it to be damaging. The doctor said so. Why won’t they let me go home?”
“Sugar, I’ve told you three times this mornin’. Smoke inhalation symptoms don’t show up immediately.” She checked the machine next to me. “Dr. Wilson wants to make sure you’re really all right before he sends you on home.”
“I’m asking for wine, aren’t I? If I was sick, I wouldn’t ask for wine.”
“Reagan.” She removed the cuff and sat on the edge of my bed, looking at me with her kindly blue eyes. “You’ve had a traumatic experience. You’ve lost everything you own except the clothes you were wearing and your cell phone that you somehow managed to drag to the ambulance. I’d say it’s the optimum time for wine.”
She had me there.
“So why won’t you bring me any?”
“It’s not on the menu for patients. And before you ask—no, your friends cannot bring you some with the Subway sandwich you insisted on having.”
“Miss Louella, I’ve had a traumatizing time. Can’t I have the sandwich my heart desires?”
She pursed her pale pink lips together. “You’re trouble, you know that?”
“Yes.”
I said it so flatly that she just laughed. “All right, you’re done for now. Your obs are all good,” she said, picking up the chart. “You’re not showing signs of shock, so if you really want to leave, I’ll call Dr. Wilson and see what I can do for you.”
“Pleeeeease, Miss Louella. I’m totally fine. If you have a phone charger, I’ll be even better.”
She fought a smile. “Let me check the staff room.”
“I love you.”
“You’ve said that three times this morning.” She grinned and with a click of her pen, put it back in her chest pocket. “All right. You rest up. Your friends shouldn’t be much longer.”
I sighed. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
She winked. “I know you do, honey.” She left my room, the door clicking as she opened it. “Oh, sir, she’s not taking visitors right now.”
I frowned.
“Sorry, ma’am—uh, her doctor said I could see her.”
That voice was familiar. Why did I recognize it?
“I took the call to the fire last night.”
Oh, shit!
It was the voice of the guy who had literally carried me out of a burning building.
“I’m not sure she’s up to unfamiliar visitors right now,” Miss Louella replied.
“It’s okay.” My voice was smaller than I wanted it to be. “Miss Louella, it’s okay. He can come in.”
She looked over her shoulder. “Are you sure?”
I nodded, pushing my hair behind my ear. “I’d like to thank him.”
With a jerk of her head, she stepped aside and said, “Be gentle. She’s had a rough night.”
“Of course,” rumbled the deep voice.
I looked down as the door clicked shut. What did you really say to the person who’d saved your life? I hadn’t expected to ever see him again, but here he was, in front of me.
Well, I assumed he was.
I wasn’t looking at him.
With a swallow, I looked up.
My breath caught in my throat. Clad in black sweat shorts and a white polo shirt with the Creek Falls fire department logo on it, I noticed two things: he was tall—at least six-three—and built like he lifted weights eight hours a day. No wonder he’d tossed me over his shoulder so easily. His dark hair was trimmed short to his head, but it was just long enough to run your fingers through, and green eyes fixated on me with shock flashing through them.
But I barely had time to register his parted lips or the dark coating on his jaw before my gaze roved over his arm.
It was covered in tattoos.
A thick, black line at his wrist gave way to tr
ees that wove into the hints of a Celtic knot and red roses on his elbow and a ferocious, roaring lion on the bicep.
This.
Was.
Not.
Happening.
There was no way. Absolutely not.
But it was.
I knew those tattoos. I’d seen a picture of them just days ago.
“Oh, holy fuck,” I whispered.
CHAPTER FIVE
* * *
NOAH
Surprises Aren’t Just For Birthdays
She looked at me the exact same way I imagined I was looking at her.
It was one thing to suspect that the purple-haired woman I’d hauled over my shoulder and carried out of a burning building was the girl I’d been texting all week. I swore I’d heard her give her name as Reagan to the medic, but I’d passed it off as hearing things.
I was working. I was doing my job. Between the burning fire and the sound of the hoses roaring through the night and the commotion of all the people gathered outside, there was every chance I’d heard wrong.
It was too much of a coincidence, wasn’t it? One accidental text message, a few conversations, and she happened to be the first person I rescued from that fire?
It was… weird.
Judging by the way she was looking at me, she felt the same. I hadn’t heard things, and the beautiful, purple-haired woman in the hospital bed in front of me was Reagan.
Was she going to go into shock again?
She looked like she was. Her blue eyes were wide and horrified as they made their way down my arm and recognition set in. Her lips were parted in the most perfect little ‘o,’ and her purple hair was a mass of curls around her head, almost like a halo.
Or a mane.
Something told me that she was a lion.
“Well,” I said, shoving my hands in my pockets, desperate to break the awkward silence. “This is a story to tell the grandkids, isn’t it?”
She blinked at me, and then her bottom lip wobbled. Just as I thought she was going to cry, she burst into laughter. She clapped her hands over her face to cover it as she giggled her way through the next minute.
I could do nothing but smile, so I leaned against the wall and waited for her to calm down.