“What…” I pull the mask off, choking on the question as another cough rips through me. “What happened?”
He gently replaces the mask, securing it back in place before adding something to the IV.
“There was a fire on the top floors. Spread fast. Too fast. You were lucky.”
His voice drifts like a dream, growing fainter even though I feel his hand still gripping my arm.
I feel—
“What the hell happened?”
A woman’s voice cuts through the fog in my mind, pulling me awake. I try to sit up, but a firm hand presses gently against my shoulder.
“Easy there.”
That voice… is that Declan?
My eyes blink into focus, and there he is, standing beside the bed, but he’s not the one touching me. I glance down at the hand holding me, then follow it up to meet Flynn’s eyes.
“This is one of our best rooms. The doctor will be right over,” the nurse says softly behind him.
Then Viviana appears. She slips past Declan and reaches for me, wrapping her arms around my body with so much force I feel every tube and wire pull against my skin.
“I’m okay,” I manage to say, my voice thin.
She pulls back just enough to look at me, and I see the tears clinging to her lashes.
“We passed by the building,” she murmurs, voice breaking. “It was hell. They’re still fighting the flames.”
Her arms tighten around me again, and this time she doesn’t try to stop herself. “When the doctor called Declan, I thought—” Her voice cracks. She doesn’t finish. Just a quiet sniff as I feel my own tears spill.
I hug her back, clinging like I might disappear if I don’t. “I’m okay,” I repeat again. Softer this time. Needing it to be true.
Eventually, she pulls back and sits down beside me. I glance around the room, taking in the details. It’s too clean. Too expensive. Pale curtains, a warm bed, real pillows. This isn’t a public room, and I’m alone in here.
“Where am I?” I ask quietly, my throat still raw.
“Still in the hospital,” Declan replies. “Just a private room.”
I glance between the two of them, frowning. “I can’t afford a private room,” I whisper, the flush already rising up my neck.
“You don’t have to,” Flynn says simply.
I turn to him, slowly. “How did you—” I stop myself mid-sentence.
“Declan called me,” he says, and now I really look at him.
He’s wearing black sweatpants and a hoodie. Not a single piece of tailored fabric in sight. I’ve never seen him without a suit before. I even joked once that the Callaghans probably slept in them. His light brown hair is a mess, like he ran his hands through it a hundred times. And his green eyes? They haven’t left me once.
“I’m fine,” I say, clutching the blanket, pulling it up to my chest. “You didn’t have to bother.”
I wish I was still asleep, still floating in whatever haze the doctor gave me.
“Mrs Callaghan. Mister Callaghan.” The doctor walks in, and I recognise his voice; he’s the one who said everyone knew the family.
He nods to Flynn. “Mister Brady,” he adds, shaking his hand.
So he knows Flynn, too.
