Once Burned (Firehouse Fourteen Book 1) (10 page)

"David—"

"Forget it. Just remember that nothing good ever comes from being a smartass. Next time, try not to use yourself as a barrier wall. You'll be better off."

Mike opened her mouth to say something then decided against it. She didn't have the energy to put up a fight, not right now, not when she knew she'd lose anyway. Her head hurt too much to argue, and her chest hurt too much breathe. Let Dave have his way on this. He was the paramedic, after all.

She finally nodded her agreement, wincing at the pain the movement caused, then closed her eyes and let her head fall against his shoulder.

Nick let a minute go by before he knocked on the door for the third time. He knew Kayla was home: her Jeep was parked next to the barn and he could hear noise coming from inside, muffled and faint. He bounced from one foot to the other and blew on his closed hands, trying to get some warmth circulating in his limbs. The day was gray and damp, typical for early November.

He muttered to himself and raised a hand to knock again, then jumped back in surprise when the door opened. Nick's mouth opened in shock when he saw Kayla. "Holy mother of—What the hell happened to you?"

She stood in the doorway, her body limp as she leaned against it and peered at him through one good eye. The other one was partially closed with swelling, the flesh distorted and discolored. The left side of her face was swollen and bruised, a mottled coloring of blues and purples edged in a grotesque green.

"Just what I needed. What do you want?" Her words were quiet and strained, like she had been forced awake after a long nap. Or been resurrected from the dead.

"What happened to you? Are you alright?" The damp air still seeped into him but that's not what caused Nick's sudden chill. He stepped forward, reaching out for her but touching only air when she turned and walked into the living room. Nick paused in the doorway, hesitating. Screw it, he thought, then boldly stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

Kayla lowered herself to the sofa, grabbing her side and wincing when she lay back on the pillows and stretched out. She shifted, slowly rolling to her side, then closed her good eye and sighed. A minute went by before she reopened it and focused a glare on him when he sat down on the loveseat. "What are you doing here, Nick?"

"Nobody showed up at the meeting yesterday and I just wanted to see if everything was okay. I guess not."

"Jay probably forgot to call. Guess you didn't think about using a phone, either."

"No, I did. I just didn't think you'd talk to me if I called."

"Hmm." Kayla closed her eye again and sunk deeper into the cushions, taking a deep breath. A brief expression of pain creased her face then disappeared when she shifted positions again.

Nick watched her for a long minute, feeling more like an intruder than he could have imagined. She looked lost and vulnerable. Fragile. But the image of fragility didn't fit her. Not now, not even all those years ago when she had been young and innocent. He shifted on the loveseat and cleared his throat. "Do you need anything?"

A shallow sigh, followed by, "No."

"So. What happened?"

Kayla mumbled something he couldn't hear then slowly rolled over and pushed herself to a sitting position, wincing again. She opened her eyes and fixed him with a cold glare that rivaled the chill outside. The silence stretched so long that Nick didn't think she was going to answer. Her words were short and clipped, tired. "I got into a fight with a patient at the scene of an accident."

"You did what?" Nick didn't bother keeping the surprise from his voice. A second went by before he realized she must be joking with him. He offered her a quick smile. "Yeah, right. If you look this bad, how's the other guy?"

"Dead," she answered, her voice flat.

More time went by, the room around them so quiet that Nick could hear her raspy breathing when she lowered herself back onto the cushions. She didn't say anything else, didn't even look at him, and he suddenly realized that she didn't look like she was joking. He leaned forward, his hand stretched out, reaching for her. He realized what he was doing and let his arm drop. "Are you serious?"

"Yes, Nick, I'm serious. Is there anything else you want? Because I've got to tell you, I really don't know why you're here, and I'd really love to be alone right now."

"My God, Kayla. What happened? Are you okay? I mean, you didn't—that is, he's not dead because—"

"I didn't kill him, if that's what you're asking."

"No. I mean, oh. Then what happened?"

"For crying out loud." She leaned up on one elbow and stared at him. "There was an accident. The guy was thrown out of the car. Major head injuries. He was combative and came after us. I was closest. He died at Shock Trauma. There, are you satisfied? May I please get some rest now?"

Her voice was worn and tired, too tight and laced with stress. And pain. Nick looked closer and realized her face was pale and sweaty, her features drawn. He stood up and moved toward her, no longer caring if she snapped at him, if she argued with him or pushed him away. She was in pain and trying so hard to hide it. From him? Or just because that's who she was now? It didn't matter, not really. He leaned over and fluffed the pillows for her, arranging them so she'd be more comfortable. The look she shot him made him feel foolish and inadequate. At least she didn't say anything, just lowered herself and watched him with a wary expression.

He reached out and smoothed a strand of hair from her face before he could think about what he was doing, before he could stop himself. Surprisingly, she didn't push his hand away. "You look like hell, you know."

"I feel worse."

Nick pulled away, a slight smile playing on his mouth as he stared down at her. "What? No sarcastic comeback? You better watch it or I might think you're getting soft."

"It's not me, it's the drugs. Being mellow is a side-effect. Luckily for my image, they're starting to wear off."

"Did you need me to get you anything? Water or something?"

"No." Kayla paused and glanced at the oak coffee table, then up at Nick. "Maybe some fresh water. I think that's probably warm by now."

Nick picked up the glass. "Anything else? Something to eat maybe?"

"Water's fine."

Nick walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, searching for a pitcher of water. All he found was a sparse scattering of left-overs, soda, and beer. Shaking his head, he grabbed some ice from the freezer and filled the glass from the tap, then returned to the living room. Kayla roused from a half-sleep and took the glass from him, taking a sip before reaching for the medicine bottle on the coffee table. Nick grabbed it for her so she wouldn't have to stretch, then fought with the top.

"How many?"

"Two."

Nick shook out two of the large pills and dropped them in her hand. Kayla popped them in her mouth and followed them with another sip of water. She handed the glass back to Nick then lowered herself again with a sigh and a muttered thanks. Not knowing what else to do, he put the glass on the table within her reach then sat back down on the loveseat, taking his coat off as he did.

A few quiet minutes went by, filled only with the soft music coming from the stereo in the corner and Kayla's soft breathing. Nick took advantage of the lull and studied her. She looked so different from when he knew her last; different, but the same. There were times when he looked at her that he saw the young girl from another lifetime.

But not the other night.

The other night he had seen the woman that girl had become. He remembered when she had walked into the nightclub, her steps sure and direct as she headed first for the bar then edged closer to the dance floor, studying the band through the crowd. He had been surprised to see her, surprised at the burst of pleasure that warmed him when he realized she had shown up. And when he got a good look at her, at the tight firm body and long legs, showcased by skin-hugging black denim and heeled boots—to deny that he had felt a surge of masculine desire and possessiveness would be a lie.

Nick didn't think that Kayla would appreciate knowing the extent of heated desire he still felt for her. If anything, it was stronger than the rampant teenage hormonal passion they had shared so many years ago. And he was pretty sure that the attraction, the desire, was mutual.

He closed his eyes and sighed. If there hadn't been so much history between them—bad history that eclipsed everything else—he wouldn't hesitate to start another relationship. Or at least try. But Nick didn't think Kayla would be open to the idea, no matter how big the attraction was between them.

So where did that leave him?

Absolutely nowhere. Because Kayla was partly right when she accused him the other week of acting out of guilt and pity. He did still feel guilty, he probably always would. And yes, a small part of him did pity her—not because of what happened, but because of what she could have been. She had such a promising future in front of her. Her music, her talent. College scholarships. A full life, just waiting. She had been bright, witty, full of life. And he had never appreciated it, not really. Even after all these years, part of him still wondered why she had chosen him to be with him, wondered what she ever saw in him. He'd been a rebel, focused on music and cars and partying. He'd been her first, and he still didn't understand why she had given him so much of herself in the years they had been together. Her innocence. Her love.

Did he pity her? Yes, maybe a small part of him did. But what Kayla didn't know was that he felt more pity for himself. It was an absolutely useless emotion and didn't say much for his character, but there it was.

And damned if he knew what to do about it.

A whimper from the sofa caught his attention and he turned in time to see Kayla try to shift position. He went over to her and leaned down until she opened her good eye, the green glazed with medication and pain.

"Wouldn't you be more comfortable in bed?"

"Hm, probably."

"Then why don't you go upstairs?"

"Too stiff, hurts to walk."

"Then let me help," Nick said. Before she could object, he leaned down and gently moved her to a sitting position so he could maneuver her into his arms. Her head rolled sideways and rested against his shoulder as he lifted her. She hissed in pain when he wrapped his arm around her and he drew back, afraid he had hurt her.

"Bruised ribs, be careful," she whispered sleepily. Nick grimaced, knowing he must have hit the sore spot dead center. He repositioned his arm and lifted her the rest of the way, moving slow as he straightened with her weight in his arms. He shifted and carefully walked to the stairs, climbing slowly so he wouldn't jostle her.

A small bedside lamp was turned on, the only light in the room. He walked over to the king size bed and gently lowered her to the mattress. She shifted with a small whimper and helped her ease under the fluffy comforter, noticing that there was a feather mattress on top of the regular one. He bit back a groan and tucked her in, trying to ignore her happy sigh. "Better?"

"Hmm-hmm," she mumbled, curling on her side so she faced him. She looked up and offered him a small smile then snuggled deeper, sighing again.

Nick straightened and tore his gaze from her resting figure, looking around the room. She had obviously finished her painting and decorating. Gauzy lace and soft muted colors, bold abstract prints in bright colors, silk flowers and piles of overstuffed pillows. The loft had been turned into a cozy romantic getaway, which only made him stifle another groan. He should probably leave, for both of their sakes, but he wasn't sure if she should be left alone. What if she needed something? Would she be able to get back downstairs if she did?

"Are you going to be okay?" Nick asked, looking back down at her. Her eyes were closed, her breathing shallow and even. A minute went by before he realized she was asleep. Nick sighed and ran a hand through his hair, wondering what he should do.

She would probably be fine if he left. After all, she had been by herself when he got here and she certainly wasn't helpless. And if she really needed something, her father was home, still living in the old Victorian a hundred yards away. There was nothing he could do for her that her father couldn't.

And he doubted if she'd really want his help even if she did need it. Sure, she had let him help just now. But Nick was pretty sure that had more to do with her medication than anything else. Unless she really was in enough pain not to care who helped.

He hesitated for only another minute then made up his mind. He would stay here a little longer, in case she woke up and needed something. If she wanted him to leave then, he would.

Nick looked around for somewhere to sit and noticed the two upholstered chairs arranged in the far corner in what was obviously a reading nook. A smile lifted one corner of his mouth as he recalled her voracious love of reading. It looked like that, at least, hadn't changed.

But then he frowned, studying the chairs, thinking they didn't look very comfortable if you planned on sitting in them for a long time. Of course, he could go downstairs and stretch out, but then he might not hear her if she needed something. His gaze moved from the chairs to the bed and he made up his mind. Hell, it was a king size bed. It wasn't like there wasn't enough room for both of them, with space to spare.

Not stopping to question his decision, knowing it wasn't a smart one and that he'd change his mind if he thought too long about it, he kicked off his shoes and took off his sweatshirt. Clad in his thin t-shirt and jeans, Nick climbed into the bed next to her, moving slowly so he wouldn't jostle the mattress. He was immediately surrounded by downy comfort and swallowed a sigh of contentment. He turned on his side to face Kayla and watched her for a few minutes, taking comfort in the even rise and fall of her chest, taking comfort in the warmth of her body next to his.