Drew’s eyebrows furrowed together. “Youdon’t . . .Youdon’t know?Ifigured you were coming to getJack’struck.”
I pressed my fingers to my temples. “Iwas coming to see if he was still at work or something.Hedidn’t come home this morning.”
Drew looked at me likeIwas intentionally dense. “Jack’sin the hospital.”
“What?”Ishrieked beforeIcould temper the reaction.
“He said he was gonna call you.Ithought he would have?—”
“We haven’t exchanged numbers,”Isaid asIpinched the bridge of my nose.
Drew scrubbed his palms down his face. “Shit.I’msorry.Iwould have come by your place and told you myself.”
“What happened?”
He sighed. “Structurefire overnight.Wewere mutual aid with theBeaufortFD.Hewas clearing rooms when the second floor caved in.”
I stumbled back, butDrew’sarm shot out and caught me. “Ohmy god,”Iwhispered as panic began to wrap around me like a fur coat in the middle of summer.
“He’s all right.LastIheard, he had some burns and was dealing with smoke inhalation.Mighthave tweaked his shoulder.Thedumbass gave the vic his breathing apparatus.”
I was going to throw up.Themere thought ofJackdoing something so heroically reckless was nauseating.
“Where is he?”
I stared atJack’struck whileDrewplugged the hospital address into my phone.Washe okay?Howlong was he going to be in the hospital?Didhe need anything?Wouldit be weird ifIshowed up?
“I’m not sureIshould bother him,”Isaid whenDrewhanded my phone back.
“Trust me.Aftera night like we had, he’ll want to see you,”Drewsaid. “Iput his number in your contacts.Andmine.Justin case you need anything.Letme know how he really is.Thatson of a bitch will say he’s fine when he’s really on his deathbed.”
“Thanks,”Icroaked asIslipped back into my car.
Drew gave the hood a pat and waved me off as he walked back into the station.
The drive toMoreheadCitywent by in a blur.Icould have run every red light and blown through every stop sign and would have been none the wiser.Ipulled into the packed lot ofCarteretPresbyterianand jogged into the emergency department with my flip-flops snapping like a battle drummer.
I hated the smell of hospitals.Itwas probably supposed to smell clean and sterile, but it made me sick to my stomach.Ihad the distinct notion that every surface was covered in some incurable infection, and did my best not to touch anything.
I hurried up to the front desk and stood anxiously in line, trying not to breathe in the ambient sneezes and coughs.WhatwasIsupposed to say?Ithink my not-boyfriend is here?CanIsee him?Idon’t know if he wants to see me.
“Hi, how canIhelp you?” the nurse behind the desk asked.
“Um, my neighbor was admitted.He’sa firefighter.Ijust came to?—”
“Right.Iwas here when he was brought in.Giveme a sec to call back and someone will come get you.What’syour name?”
“AuroraWhitlock,”Isaid before thanking her and stepping aside to wring my hands together.
A few minutes later, a nurse poked her head out of the double doors and called my name.Ihurried through the doors and followed her through the maze of nurses’ stations and kiosks to a glass room with the curtains drawn for privacy.
She opened the door and slipped in.
“Looks like you have a visitor,” she said toJack.
The nurse stepped aside, andIsaw him.Sootsmeared his face like someone had tried to wipe it off but failed.Hisarm was in a sling, and his hand was wrapped in gauze and tape.
“Jack . . .”Hisname slipped from my mouth without a second thought.
