I’m out the door before the prospect can even put the truck in park.Amelia climbs out of the passenger side, and the sight of her—alive, whole, standing—hits me square in the chest.There’s soot on her face, her clothes smell of smoke, and her eyes hold a haunted look I’ve never seen before, but she’s here.
She’s alive.
In three long strides, I reach her and pull her into my arms, crushing her against my chest.She makes a small, broken sound and collapses into me, her fingers digging into my back.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper against her hair.
I’m vaguely aware of the prospect nodding at me before climbing back into his truck and pulling away.My hold on Amelia tightens.
“Dylan?”she asks, her voice muffled against my chest.
“He’s fine.Sleeping.Picked the bedroom at the end of the hall.”My voice thick with emotion.I pull back an inch, my gaze sliding over her from head to toe.“Let’s get you inside.You need to get cleaned up.”
She leans heavily against me as we walk, and I can feel the tremors running through her body.Inside, I lead her upstairs to my bedroom, past Dylan’s closed door.
“I’ll run you a bath,” I tell her, helping her sit on the edge of my bed.She nods absently, her eyes unfocused, and I recognize the signs of shock setting in.
In the bathroom, I turn on the water, adjusting the temperature until steam rises from the surface.When I return to the bedroom, she hasn’t moved an inch.I kneel in front of her and gently take her hands in mine.
“Hey,” I say softly.“Bath’s ready.Let me help you.”
She doesn’t protest as I carefully remove her shoes, her socks.When I reach for the buttons of her flannel shirt, her hands cover mine.
“I can do it,” she whispers.
I nod and step back, giving her space.“I’ll get you something to wear.”
Instead of rummaging through the bag I packed for her, I go straight to my dresser and pull out the first flannel shirt I see.
I hear the water splash as she lowers herself into the tub, and I set the clothes on the counter beside the sink.
“I’ll be right outside if you need anything,” I tell her.
“Stay,” she whispers.“Please.”
I hesitate only a moment before nodding and kneeling next to the tub.
The water laps around her body, and I can see angry red marks on her skin where debris must have struck her.My heart hammers against my ribs as the reality of what could have happened crashes over me.
“Let me,” I say softly, picking up the washcloth and soaking it in the warm water.
She leans forward, drawing her knees to her chest, and I wash her back.The water turns gray with soot and ash.Each smudge I wipe away is a reminder of how close the flames came to taking her from me.
“Close your eyes and lean your head back,” I murmur, pouring water over her hair.My fingers work through the tangled strands, massaging her scalp.She sighs, some of the tension leaving her shoulders.
When I finish washing her, I set the cloth aside and just look at her, cataloging every feature.
“Let’s get you out,” I say finally.
I stand and grab a towel, holding it open.She rises from the water, and I wrap the towel around her, pulling her against me.For a moment, I just hold her, my face buried in her damp hair, breathing her in.
“I don’t know what I would’ve done if I lost you,” I whisper against her temple.
She doesn’t respond, and after another moment, I start to dry her off.My fingers fumble with the buttons as I dress her in my shirt.I don’t bother with underwear.The flannel hangs to mid-thigh, covering her.
“I want to check on Dylan,” she whispers.
I nod and follow her down the hall.She cracks open his door, peering into the darkness at her sleeping son, and she covers her mouth, muffling a sob.
