“Fine,” I answer automatically. It’s the furthest thing from the truth. I don’t know if I’ll ever be fine again. But I don’t have a lot of practice talking about my feelings, and if I try now, I’ll lose it completely.
“I don’t believe you, sweetheart.” He brings my hand to his lips and presses a kiss to my knuckles. “But you can be fine for now.” Checking the rear view mirror, he calls, “Isaiah? How’s he doing?”
“Not good,” he says. “I think we need to hurry.”
“Doing my best.” Austin takes the next curve so fast, I grab onto the handle over the door, and the landscape shifts again, houses replacing the brush and dense trees of the Mexican countryside.
Less than five minutes later, the Land Rover screeches to a halt in front of a squat building in the middle of a run-down strip mall. “This is the hospital?” I ask.
“It’s this, or another half an hour to San Cristóbal de las Casas. He might not make it that long,” Austin says as he jumps out of the car and races around to the passenger side to help me down. “Li, go inside and tell them you need a gurney out here right now.”
With his arm around my waist, he half-carries me to the back of the Land Rover, and my stomach flips. I don’t want to see Corey. What they did to him. As hurt and betrayed as I was, as much as I hate what he did, I would never want him dead. And he did try to save me. If I hadn’t fallen, maybe I would have been able to get away.
Corey’s so still, only weak, shallow breaths stirring his chest, and his face is covered in blood and soot, the gash above his right eye so deep, I think...oh God. Is that bone?
A pair of orderlies dressed in blue scrubs come running out with the gurney, and Austin barks orders at them in rapid-fire Spanish. I only know a little of the language, but I catch the words fire, help, and police before Corey is wheeled inside, and the rest of us follow.
The interior looks relatively modern, and the harsh scent of antiseptic fills the air. An older nurse, her face a mask of exhaustion, waves us over to the desk as Austin says something about a doctor in a tone that leaves little room for argument.
“Okay, okay,” the nurse says, holding up her hands in the universal gesture ofcalm down.“Sit.Lo ayudaremos.”
They check us very briefly for smoke inhalation, and then forms and questions and too much waiting follow, until finally, another nurse comes through a set of double doors. “Mikayla Salim? You follow me?”
“I’m going with her,” Austin says, and relief floods me, making my fingers and toes tingle. I don’t want to alone. Or anywhere he’s not right now.
“No, sir. Exam. You wait here.” She continues in Spanish, too quickly for me to grasp what she’s saying, but Austin’s body language is clear.
“I want him with me.”
“No,la póliza...”
“I don’t care about your goddamn policy. She’s mine, and until I know she’s safe, she’s not going anywhere without me.”
His possessive, growly tone should probably make the “strong, independent woman” in me angry, but it doesn’t. It makes me feel safe. Protected. Cared for. And I need that more than anything.
The nurse relents and shows us to an exam room, where she tells us that both doctors are working on Corey, and someone will be with us soon. After she hands us both gowns to change into, she breezes out of the room, and I sink down onto the single bed.
“Mik? Do you want help with this?” Austin gestures to the blue material. “I can turn around. Or close my eyes.”
“I can manage. Help me off with my flannel shirt and then, maybe…just look away.” In truth, a part of me doesn’t care if he sees everything. I trust him. But now that we’re safe—or at least not about to die—I want more. To be alone with him. Truly alone. After we’ve showered. Have clean clothes. Food. Sleep. I want to go out on our second date, figure out how deep our connection goes.
Austin eases the flannel off my shoulders, and I try not to let him see that every movement brings a new twinge, a fresh bruise or cut making itself known. Stripping off my tank is even more painful, and when the gown covers my torso, I turn my back to him. “Tie it for me?”
His fingers skim my neck, then my back just above my bra, and my body tingles all over, tiny sparks of electricity everywhere he touches.
“All done.” His lips brush my ear, and I lean against his chest, his arms gently wrapping around me, offering without another word what I need most. To feel…protected.
I still need to take off my pants and my boots, but for a few minutes, I savor our closeness, how he doesn’t pressure me to say anything, to talk about what happened at the lab, about Corey, about the men who tried to kill us and almost succeeded.
When I pull away, he unlaces my boots, then helps me up and holds onto my waist, his eyes closed, as I unbutton my pants and let them fall to the floor. The gown covers me almost down to my knees, and I curl up on the bed while Austin folds my clothes and sets them on the little table next to us.
“You’re not changing?” I ask when he slides a hip onto the bed next to me. “Your pants are burned. Your legs…”
“The rest of me’s fine.” He leans down, rips the black pants all the way up to his knees, and tears the excess material away. Both of his legs are dotted with angry splotches of reddened skin, but I don’t see any actual blisters, and I’m amazed he got so lucky.
For another hour, we wait, Austin stretched out on the bed with me tucked against his side, and I nod off from time to time, but whenever I open my eyes, he’s awake, watching the door, his body relaxed, but somehow still hyper focused.
“Doing okay?” he asks when I shift so I can meet his gaze.
