Second Alarm (Firehouse Fourteen Book 5)

by Lisa B. Kamps

  She shook her head and wiped a shaking hand across her eyes. Nothing more than sex? Who was she kidding? Somehow, somewhere along the way, she had started thinking of Adam as something more than a casual encounter. Oh God, how had she let it happen? It shouldn’t have…but it did.

  It was for that reason she almost ignored the text messages. They hadn’t been meant for her—they couldn’t be. But she received a few more, calling her by name.

  Beth finally learned that the sender was Mikey, the woman firefighter from Adam’s shift. A woman she had only briefly spoken to, a woman she barely knew.

  It was the final message that had sent her running from the salon in something close to panic.

  He needs you, Beth, only he doesn’t know it.

  Stupid. God, she was so stupid. Why was she racing to the hospital on the word of one of Adam’s coworkers? This was a mistake, a huge mistake that would only result in heartbreak. She doubted that Adam needed her—she doubted he needed anyone. She was flying down the interstate, breaking the speed limit and risking an accident, to go see a man who didn’t even know she was coming.

  A man who would no doubt be very surprised when she showed up. And he probably wasn’t even hurt that bad. She was probably overreacting and imagining the worst.

  Her foot eased off the accelerator as she merged off I83 toward the exit for Charles Street, her phone’s map app telling her to stay to the right. An overwhelming urge to turn the car around and go back home washed over her. Yes, she was overreacting. This was a mistake that would end in embarrassment for both of them.

  But what if she wasn’t overreacting?

  It was that very slim possibility that kept her driving in the direction of the hospital.

  South along Charles Street, past something that looked like an old castle on her left. Traffic slowed in front of her, stopping for a light. Her phone instructed her to turn left onto Towsontown Boulevard, to make a right onto Osler Drive. She drove through parts of a university campus, finally turning left onto Sister Pierre Drive to the hospital entrance.

  She pulled into the parking garage and eased the old car into an empty space on the third level. And then she sat there, her forehead resting against the steering wheel, wondering if she was making a big mistake.

  Her heart pounded in her chest, her breathing shaky and too fast. Yes, this was a mistake. She would walk into the room and see the unwelcome surprise on Adam’s face and realize he had no desire to see her.

  But what if she saw something else?

  Foolish. So foolish.

  She was here. She’d just go in, say hi, and that would be it. Five minutes, no more than that. Just enough to say hi and to reassure herself that he was fine and then she’d turn around and leave. She’d come this far, after all, she might as well see it through.

  And it wasn’t like this would be the first time she’d made a fool of herself in front of a man. One more time wouldn’t hurt her.

  She grabbed her purse and climbed out of the car, choosing to ignore the tiny little voice that piped up and called her a liar. The heels of her short boots clicked on the concrete as she walked toward the elevator. Just a few minutes, that was all. She could survive a few minutes.

  She entered the hospital, paused as she looked around the lobby. Mikey had given her Adam’s room number. Did she need to check in at a desk, or just go up? She wasn’t sure.

  Better safe than sorry.

  She pulled the straps of her purse higher on her shoulder and made her way to the elderly man sitting at the desk. He looked up at her with kind eyes, an expectant smile on his face.

  “I’m—I’m here to see Adam Price.” Beth gave him the room number and waited. The man entered something into the computer then asked her to sign in as he gave her a visitor’s badge. Beth clipped it to the collar of her sweater then started toward another set of elevators. Her gaze swept past a small gift store and she hesitated.

  She shouldn’t, not really.

  But now that she saw it, she realized she wanted to. Just something small, maybe even something silly.

  Ten minutes later, she was on the elevator leading up to Adam’s floor, a single helium balloon attached to the hand of a small stuffed bear dressed in firefighter gear. She was already regretting the purchase, thought about leaving the silly thing behind in the elevator when the doors opened with a small hiss.

  She was already making a fool of herself by coming to see him, she might as well go all the way. It was just a stupid bear that meant nothing. No harm in giving it to him.

  She stepped off the elevator, studied the signs on the wall across from her, then turned left. The maze of hallways stretched around her, leading in different directions. She had to backtrack twice, looking for the right wing. A nurse took pity on her and pointed her in the right direction, her smile widening at the sight of the bear and balloon.

  At least someone appreciated it.

  Beth tugged on the heavy wooden doors, entered another hallway lined with rooms. The noise of mechanical beeps and groans and soft conversation hummed around her, oddly hushed. She heard laughter coming from a room at the end of the hall, out of place, almost jarring. Under the laughter was another voice, a little deeper, strained and somehow forced. A nurse came out of one room, frowned in the direction of the noise, then finally noticed Beth standing there. Her gaze lowered to the bear in Beth’s hands then she pointed in the direction where the laughter had come from.

  “Last room on your right.”

  Sweat dampened Beth’s hands and she wondered how the nurse knew which room she was looking for. The firefighter bear, it must be. She headed in that direction, scanning each room number just in case. She didn’t want to enter a stranger’s room by mistake.

  She didn’t want to enter Adam’s room, either, not when she saw the people crowded in there. Nobody had noticed her yet, it wasn’t too late. She could still leave without embarrassing herself.

  A head turned as she started backing away from the door. Piercing gray eyes caught hers, flared with recognition. The man—his name was Jay—nudged the man next to him. Conversation slowly died away as more heads turned, one by one, to look at her.

  Beth tightened her grip on the bear and almost ran off under all the scrutiny—but her feet were glued to the floor, unable to move. She swallowed, the sound loud in her ears, and scanned the faces. Most of them were familiar. At least, she thought they were. She wasn’t really looking at them, she was trying to see the bed—but it was hidden behind the bodies of Adam’s other visitors.

  Beth shifted, wondered if she looked as frightened as she felt. This had been a mistake. A huge mistake.

  She wondered if it was too late to back out of the room, too late to run down the hall and out to her car. She took one hesitant step back, ready to do just that, when the crowd moved away from the bed and she got her first glimpse of Adam.

  And oh God, had that strangled gasp come from her? It must have, the way everyone was looking at her. She closed her mouth, pressed her lips into a tight line, ignored the sudden wave of dizziness that washed over her. The man in the bed didn’t look like Adam, not at first.

  A white sheet covered him from the waist down, the color somehow washing out the bare skin of his abdomen. His right arm was held in place against his bare chest with some kind of sling. She could see a tube of some kind sticking out from under his arm. Oh God, the tube had been inserted into his chest, she could see where it entered his skin and was held in place with white tape. Another tube ran from his left arm, up through some kind of machine and into a clear bag suspended from a hook above his bed. An oxygen mask rested at an odd angle near his pale face. Beth could hear the slight hiss of air and wondered briefly why it wasn’t covering his mouth and nose. Wasn’t that how it always looked on television?

  Her gaze drifted across the stubble covering his jaw, lingered on the dark smudge across his cheek. No, not a smudge. A bruise, black and purple and swollen, so dark against the pale, drawn skin of
his face.

  And then her gaze met his and Beth forgot to breathe. His eyes, normally such a deep, dark blue, were glazed with pain, the skin underneath them sunken and bruised. He looked…vulnerable. Weak. Not quite frail, but no longer filled with the vitality she had noticed the first time they met.

  A tremor went through her, chilling her. She pulled her gaze away from his, glanced at the curious faces watching her, looked back at Adam.

  “I—I just—” She tried to get the words out but couldn’t, they were lodged in her throat, cutting off the air to her lungs. Panic seized her and she closed her eyes, told herself she could not—would not—faint. Not here. She had already embarrassed herself enough just by coming here. She wouldn’t make it worse by falling flat on her face.

  A second went by, then another. She cleared her throat, pulled in a deep breath, and opened her eyes. Her gaze returned to Adam and she wondered what he was thinking. Was he surprised? Happy? Angry?

  She couldn’t tell, realized it didn’t matter.

  “I—I just came to drop these off—”

  “That’s our cue. Come on guys, time to leave.” The feminine voice, tired yet filled with authority, came from the other side of Adam’s bed. Beth looked over, noticed Mikey pushing herself up from a chair. Her fiancé was by her side, helping her stand as she grabbed the pair of crutches resting against the wall.

  One by one, Adam’s visitors filed past her, their greetings of hello and nice-to-see-you-again nearly drowned by the buzzing in her ears. She nodded, may have replied, she didn’t know. The last one to leave was Mikey, hobbling on the crutches, a cast covering her foot and lower half of her leg. She stopped at the foot of Adam’s bed and gave him a look Beth couldn’t decipher.

  “Don’t be an ass.”

  Beth heard the whispered words, heard Adam grunt in response. Then Mikey was hobbling past her, a small smile on her face.

  “Thanks for coming.”

  Beth nodded, not sure what to say, not sure she’d be able to get the words out even if she did.

  And then she was alone in the room, standing there with the stupid bear and balloon in her hand as Adam stared at her.

  “Beth.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Beth.

  It wasn’t a drug-induced hallucination, no matter what he had thought when he first saw her standing there. Adam wasn’t sure if he was happy to see her, or angry at Mikey for meddling. He should have known she’d try to do something, especially after her stupid fucking comment yesterday. Damn her—

  Except he couldn’t work up any anger, not really. Maybe it was just a side-effect of the pain medicine, part of the soft cloud of mellowness that wrapped around him, insulating him.

  Or maybe it was because the sight of Beth standing there, looking so uncertain yet so worried, stirred something deep inside him, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Something so different from the dull pain that had been hovering at the edges of awareness ever since he woke up yesterday.

  Even before then.

  He should say something, he knew that. But no words came to mind, nothing adequate. So he just lay there, watching her, his gaze drinking in the sight of her. She shifted, her gaze pulling away from his and darting around the room. She took a step forward, stopped, pulled her lower lip between her teeth then let out a shaky breath.

  “I—I just wanted to drop these off.”

  His gaze dropped to the stuffed bear in her hand, with its fuzzy arms and feet poking out from the shiny black coat and pants. Adam’s mouth twitched in a quick smile when he realized the little bear was a firefighter bear and that the outfit it was wearing was supposed to be turnout gear.

  Beth moved forward, her steps quick, the sound of her heels clicking across the tile floor as she approached the bed. She placed the bear and the attached balloon on the rolling table at the foot of the bed and stepped back, one hand curled tightly around the strap of the purse hanging from her shoulder. She glanced at him, quickly looked away, and stepped back.

  “I should probably go. You probably—”

  “Stay.” The word sounded desperate, almost like he was begging. Adam cleared his throat and tried to smile. “It’s not exactly a quick trip back home, is it?”

  “Oh. Um, no. It isn’t.”

  Adam moved his left arm, pointed to the chair Mikey had occupied minutes earlier—the only chair in the room. “You can sit if you want. Might be more comfortable.”

  “You look tired. I don’t want to bother you—”

  “I’m fine.”

  She didn’t look like she believed him. In fact, she looked like she was scrambling for an excuse—any excuse—to leave. If Adam was smart, he’d let her. Just thank her for the small gift and for stopping by then pretend to drift off. It would be easy enough—the drifting off part. The least little bit of activity or excitement was enough to exhaust him.

  But he didn’t want her to leave. He refused to examine why, didn’t really care why. He just knew he wanted her to stay, at least for a little bit.

  She hesitated long enough that Adam was sure she’d turn around and leave anyway. He didn’t question the disappointment that washed over him—he’d figure it out later, when his brain wasn’t quite so fuzzy with medicine and pain.

  But instead of leaving, Beth slowly walked around the side of the bed and lowered herself into the chair. She placed her purse on her lap and held onto it with both hands, her grip so tight that her knuckles turned white. He saw her gaze skim along the hospital bed, quickly pass by the collection bag hanging from the side, move up to his bared stomach and chest. Her eyes finally met his. Wide, filled with emotion he couldn’t read.

  Silence settled between them, thick and heavy. A little awkward. Slightly uncomfortable. Adam wracked his brain, searching for something to say, anything to dispel the growing silence.

  Beth cleared her throat, glanced over at him, looked away again. “Does it hurt? Never mind. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked, of course it hurts.”

  “A little, yeah.” He gave her a quick smile, worried that it looked more like a grimace. He nodded toward the table where she had placed the bear. “Would you mind handing me that cup?”

  She jumped from the chair so quickly, Adam was surprised it didn’t tip backward. Then she was standing next to him, holding the cup in one hand, steadying the bent straw with the other. He almost told her he could hold the cup himself, that he wasn’t totally helpless—but he didn’t. He simply tilted his head forward and closed his lips around the straw to take a small sip of water. Beth pulled the cup away when he was finished and placed it back on the table then stood there, looking everywhere except at him.

  No, that wasn’t quite true. Her gaze skimmed his body, resting on each bandage, each tube, each bruise. Moisture welled in her eyes. She blinked and turned away, taking in a shaky breath.

  His gut twisted, filling with knots as his heart slammed into his chest. What the hell was that about? She wasn’t crying for him—she’d probably do the same for anyone else she knew. He shouldn’t read anything into it.

  That didn’t stop the warmth spreading throughout him.

  “You, uh, you look good.”

  Her head spun around, her brows lowered over those beautiful green-and-gold eyes. She glanced down at her outfit—black pants, black sweater—then looked back at him and shook her head. “I came right from work. I mean I—I don’t usually wear all black. I wouldn’t normally wear all black to a hospital. I didn’t—”

  “You still look good.” He raised his hand, let it drop back to the mattress before he could do something stupid, like reach for her. “Especially compared to me, right?”

  Her eyes rounded in surprise and her mouth parted on a choked gasp. Had he surprised her? He wasn’t sure why—it was nothing more than the truth.

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “Beth, I was joking. Or trying to. It’s okay, I have a pretty good idea how I look.”

  She nodded, her hands grippi
ng the railing that kept him from getting out of bed. Stupid—it wasn’t like he was going anywhere anyway, not anytime soon.

  He noticed her staring at his chest. No, not his chest—at the sling holding his arm in place, at the tube poking out from his side.

  “Chest tube.”

  Beth’s eyes darted to his and a faint blush covered her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to stare. I’m sorry—”

  “Don’t be.” Adam lifted his hand again, let it fold over hers. She jumped, looked down. Adam didn’t move, barely breathed as he waited. Would she move away? Leave? Say anything?

  Seconds stretched into a minute, each one counted out by the beating of his heart. Beth’s hand relaxed under his, her fingers slowly uncurling from the railing—

  Then gently threading with his.

  Adam breathed a sigh of relief then started coughing. Pain exploded in his chest, sent stars shooting in front of his eyes. He felt Beth tense, sensed her panic as she called his name. He tightened his hold on her hand, tried to shake his head and tell her he was fine. Several more coughs, not as deep, then he could finally breathe. He twisted his head, pulled in several shorts breaths of oxygen flowing from the mask resting next to him. “Fuck that hurt.”

  “Are you okay? Should I get someone? Do you need—”

  Adam silenced her panicked words by gently squeezing her hand. “No, I’m fine. They say coughing helps. The ribs hurt like a bitch, though.”

  “What—what happened?” The question was soft, hesitant, almost like she was afraid to ask. He saw the concern in her eyes, and the worry, so he tried to give her a reassuring smile.

  “We decided to take a shortcut to the second floor.”

  “A shortcut?”

  “Yeah. The floor gave way under us.”

  “OhmyGod.” Beth clamped her free hand over her mouth, her eyes filling with horror. Adam immediately regretted telling her. He should have lied, should have made up some story.

  “It’s not that bad.”