The scent feels like it’s wrapped around me. But past it I catch a whiff of Irish Spring soap, the fresh smell a welcome relief from the smoke. Feeling safer, I take a deep breath and immediately start coughing. The deep racking movement sends pain shuddering through my body. An arm slides behind me, lifting me against a warm chest. It doesn’t feel like Brent. It feels bigger…safe.
“Shh, Shh,” the voice whispers as the rim of a cup is pressed to my lips. I wrap my hands around the big one, holding the cup as I take a sip, then another. Slowly my coughing tapers off and I’m able to take a full breath. The arm around my back is gently rocking me now, and I calm as I listen to the warm voice near my ear. “Shh, Holly. Safe. Shh. Safe.” The words are slow and deep, and they hum through my chest.
I turn my cheek into him, letting him comfort me. Because I know who this is. I know who owns that deep, rough voice. And for the first time in a decade, I’m comforted. I let myself float in the feeling, feeling tears drip from my sore eyes. A rough thumb comes up to wipe them away, again and again, with featherlight touches. And still, he rocks me. “Shh. Safe. Holly. Ok.”
When my tears taper off, and I’ve tucked the pain away for a few moments, I open my eyes, blinking in the soft glow of the room. All I see are those rough hands, the soft white T-shirt under my cheek, and the line of Micah’s jaw. My body’s exhausted, and I can’t seem to muster up any panic at being this close to a man. Brent never held me like this. Never tried to make me feel better. No one’s ever held me, rocked me, soothed me.
I let myself soak it in for just a little while longer. I nearly drift off when memories of last night…this morning flash through my head. With a gasp, I push away from Micah. “Fire,” I say, the word traveling through the shattered glass of my throat.
Micah lets me pull away, but his arm stays banded behind me. My eyes drift up his throat before meeting his eyes. His face is so warm, so caring, my tears well up again.
He reaches up to brush away my tears again, looking pained. “Shh. Ok Holly. Shh.”
I take a few deep breaths, trying to control myself. I don’t want to think about it, but I need the confirmation “Fire, Micah?” I manage to force out through the pain in my throat.
He nods slowly, seriously. “All…gone.”
I firm my jaw, not wanting to let the sobs out. My clothes, my flowers. My blanket. Everything I’ve worked so hard for since I escaped Brent, is gone. I’m back to less than square one. At least when I left Brent, I had a small backpack of clothing. Now I have nothing, not even a pair of underwear.
Micah gently lowers me back to the bed, reaching to tuck the blanket up over me again. For the first time, I wonder where I am. The bed I’m in has railings like a hospital bed, but this room doesn’t look like it belongs in any hospital I’ve been in. There’s art on the walls, side tables and lamps, and the softest blanket I’ve ever felt covering me.
Micah steps back, calling my name. When I focus on him, he signs, “The firefighters pulled you out. They found you unconscious at the bottom of the stairs. They think you and an old man fell down them together. You’re really banged up and you have a concussion. They’re going to keep you here overnight, then you’ll be released tomorrow. All you have to focus on right now is healing.”I vaguely wonder if the old man survived, but I’m afraid to ask in case he didn’t.
Micah reaches out and gently touches my throbbing ankle. “Sprain…hurt?” he asks. I nod. God, I’m in so much pain it’s making my teeth throb. He frowns and stands, pushing a button on the side of the bed, then sits back down. He reaches out and starts stroking my arm, the movements slow and steady. I let him lull me into a peaceful detachment, riding the undulating waves of pain, until the door opens and a nurse walks in. Micah doesn’t move, other than that slow, gentle rub.
I answer the nurse’s questions as best I can, wincing every time I talk. After about the third time, I realize Micah’s wincing too. I watch him out of the corner of my eye, and yep, he’s only wincing when I do. Huh. If I didn’t know he hated me, I’d almost think he was sympathetic. But he hasn’t acted like he hates me at all in this room. And that’s …confusing. Him hating me is predictable, reliable. I need predictable.
Finally, the nurse presses a button, and a blessed relief comes over me. The painful throbbing dulling before fading away. I’m being pulled back into sleep, but before I do, I have a moment to wonder, “What am I going to do?”
I didn’t realize I asked it out loud until a soft reply comes from Micah. “Home…with…me.”
I ponder his words as I fall into sleep. They must not mean what I thought. He hates me, and I honestly can’t imagine ever living with another man. It’s too risky. Men are volatile, unpredictable, and dangerous. No, it must have been the drugs talking.
10
MICAH
“I’m not going home with you. You can’t make me.” Holly crosses her arms over her chest, huffing in annoyance. I hide my smile, smart enough to realize that any sign of amusement is going to be taken the wrong way. But, God, I’m so glad she’s feeling good enough to argue with me. She slept most of yesterday and all night, waking briefly for water or for pain management. I’m not sure she even realized it was me with her each time she woke. When I left her to meet Becca and Kade in the lobby this morning, she was still sleeping.
I press my lips into a firm line, and sign, “You’re right. I can’t make you. And I won’t. But coming home with me makes the most sense. You’re still injured. You need looking after.”
She frowns at me, tightening her arms across her chest. The little line between her eyes is adorable. I want to kiss it, kiss her until it goes away. I can’t resist dipping my eyes down to admire the way her crossed arms push her breasts up into her hospital gown. I doubt she realizes she’s doing it, so I look away. I don’t want her to stop.
“It doesn’t make any sense at all. You don’t even like me. Why on earth would you want me to stay with you?”
I exhale, relieved we can have this conversation now. It’s been sitting like a weight on my chest. “Like…you” I say. She’s not ready to know how much I do like her. If she knew, she’d probably decide living in a box under a bridge is preferable to coming home with me. “Becca told Kade you think that. I’m so sorry. That’s not how I feel at all.”
She studies me suspiciously, her arms dropping so she can pick at the soft blanket covering her. “Then why do you always look so angry with me? You smile at everyone else, then you see me and boom,” she snaps her fingers, “you’re looking grumpy.” She’s trying to hide it, but I can see the hurt on her face.
My neck gets hot. How on earth did I fuck this up so badly? I lean forward in my chair, resting my forearms on my knees. Discarding the list of excuses I’ve been practicing, I opt for the truth.
“The day we met…when you tripped. You remember?”She bites her lip and nods. “Well, when I caught you and you panicked…I’ve seen that before. Felt that before.”I resist the urge to look away as I continue. “My mom…I saw her react like that more than once. Fuck, I’ve frozen up like that too. My dad liked to use his fists…he liked to kick when we were down.”
I can’t go on, closing my eyes and letting the memories wash through me, letting them have their way with me. I learned a long time ago that pushing them away only prolongs the pain. The hurt. Better to walk through them to the other side. My eyes fly open at the gentle press of fingers on my cheek. I freeze, afraid she’ll pull away. Other than the day we met, it’s the first time she’s ever voluntarily touched me. Yes, she’s pushed me away. But this touch, this comfort? I’ve waited my whole life for it.
“You were hurt too.” Her voice is soft, sad.
I swallow thickly and whisper “Yes.” She gently scratches the stubble on my cheek before drawing her hand back. I clench every muscle in my body to stop myself from snatching it back to press against my face.
