AMES
When I come to,the first thing I’m aware of is ablip, blip, blip, like a truck backing up somewhere in the distance.
The next thing I’m aware of is pain—sharp, immediate, all-consuming pain that someone should really do something about.
But when I suck in a breath to say so, it feels like the truck’s backed up onto my chest.
“Who,” I manage, “is driving the fucking truck?”
There’s a familiar huff, and then a voice I know better than my own says, “Easy, Amesie. You’re okay. Shallow breaths, yeah?”
“Mmm.” I force my eyes open despite the protest in my throbbing skull, and Robbie’s face is the first and only thing I see.
Beautiful.
“Hey,” I croak.
“Hey, yourself.” His face cycles through a bunch of emotions—fear, relief, and something else I don’t catch—before settling into neutral concern. “How’re you feeling?”
Robbie looks like he hasn’t slept in years. His dark hair’s sticking up, his jaw’s covered in stubble, and he smells like he rolled in a bonfire. But just seeing him—so fucking gorgeous, so mouthwatering, sohere—makes me suck in another breath, and?—
“Oh, fuuuuuuck,” I groan as the stabbing intensifies. “Ow, ow, ow. I’ve gotta stop doing that.”
Robbie reaches for the call button. “You want the nurse? They started dialing back your pain meds so they can do some cognitive tests, but if it’s bad, I’ll call?—”
This might get worse? Jesus.
“No.” I lick my dry lips and taste blood and dirt. “Water, please?”
He grabs a cup and pitcher from my rolling table and helps me take a sip through a straw. It’s the fucking nectar of the gods.
As I sip, memories crash through me. Vague impressions, mostly. The fire. The wind. And… oh, fuck,Greene.
“Is Greene—” I manage, when Robbie pulls the cup away. “—okay?”
“He’s alive. Hugh got him out. I haven’t gotten a full report yet. I know his leg’s pretty banged up, but he’s expected to make a full recovery. In fact…” His jaw tightens. “He’s doing better than you are.”
“Yeah?” I glance down at myself and wish I hadn’t.
Every part of me’s lit up with varying degrees ofouch, though my chest is by far the worst. I’m propped in the bed, wearing a hospital gown and covered by a blanket. My right arm’s strapped to my chest in a sling, and my left rests on a bunch of pillows. One of my ankles is encased in some kind of medical bubble wrap, and there are a millionwires attached to me, which is where thoseblipsare coming from.
I can only imagine what the bits of me I can’t see look like.
“What’s the verdict, Doc?” I demand weakly.
“Let’s see.” Robbie rattles off the list like he’s memorized it, his voice getting tighter with every word. “Collarbone fracture. Bruised ribs. Mild concussion. Swollen ankle—not broken. About a billion contusions and abrasions. And they were worried you had some smoke inhalation, so they had you on oxygen for a while just in case.”
“Oh.” I try to smile, but my head swims, so I have to close my eyes for a second. “So barely a scratch, then? Just gimme, like, ten more minutes, and I’ll get up.”
Robbie’s mouth tightens. “It’s not funny, Ames. You could’ve—” He clamps his lips shut and shakes his head.
“Rob.” I move my fingers in a gimme motion without moving my left arm. Robbie rolls his eyes but obediently lays his hand in mine, even though he has to hunch over to do it. “I’m okay.”
“Yeah,” he agrees gruffly. But when he scrubs his other hand over his face, I see it’s shaking.
“Hey. Areyouokay? How long have you been here?”
“Dunno.” Big shoulders shrug. “Since they brought you in.”
