He looks at me in confusion.
“That way, if I ever lose more of my memories, I’ll never forget what you just said.”
He smiles and then moves me aside as he retrieves his phone from his jeans. He pulls me back to his chest, covers me with a sheet, and holds the phone at arm’s length before he starts recording.
“You are my future, Sara Francis. And I’ll tell it to you every single day. I won’t ever let you forget that I love you.”
“And I won’t let you forget that I love you.”
He kisses me for posterity and then turns the video off.
“There,” he says. “Recorded for all of history.”
Tears prickle the backs of my eyes. “How did I ever get so lucky?”
“I wouldn’t call what happened to you lucky,” he says.
“No, it was. It is. I’d go through it all again if it meant finding you.”
He stares at me, and I can tell he’s holding back tears of his own. He turns his phone back on and starts recording. “I definitely need that one on video.”
We laugh and joke around and record more silly declarations of love.
And I realize, three years gone or not, this is hands-down the best day of my life.
Chapter Thirty-two
Donovan wipes a tear from his eye. “That’s the most romantic story I’ve ever heard, honey. I knew he was the man for you.”
“I think I knew it, too,” I say. “I was just too stupid to listen to my gut.”
“You are anything but stupid, my girl.”
“Sometimes it doesn’t feel that way when I can’t read a magazine from cover to cover.”
He gives me a sympathetic look. “Healing can take a long time with injuries like yours. But if I had a man like that at home to read to me, I’m not sure I’d be too eager to do it myself.” He winks at me and fans himself. “Oh, that voice.”
I flush, remembering when Denver read Baylor’s book to me at the rehab center, and I wonder if Donovan overheard it.
My left leg slips off the pedal of the foot bike and I rest my foot on the floor. “Do you think I will ever have the normal use of my leg again?”
“It’s hard to say. Maybe this is your new normal. Maybe having a limp is part of who you are. That doesn’t make you any less of a woman.” He directs me to put my foot back on the pedal. “But if anyone can overcome their obstacles, it’s you, Sara. I don’t mind telling you that when I first laid eyes on you, I never imagined you’d be the person you are today. I see a lot of patients with brain injuries. And you, my girl, are a true miracle. So, limp or not, you’ve been given a second chance at life. Not a lot of people get that.”
“I know. And I’m grateful. And even if I never regain the full use of my leg or the ability to read a full Stephen King novel, I would never take back what happened.”
“Because it’s how you met Denver,” he says.
I nod.
“Girl, your story should be made into a movie.”
I laugh. “Who will play you?”
“Zac Efron, of course.”
“Wow—that didn’t take you long to answer. Obsessed much?”
We spend the rest of my session discussing which actors would portray us in our movie.
All this talk of love stories has me thinking of Baylor and her books. Since I still can’t read all that well, I bought and listened to the audio version of her book that was based on her own love story. And I’m suddenly struck with the urge to finish her painting.
“What is it?” Donovan asks. “It looks like a light bulb just went off in your head.”
“I’m just eager to get home,” I say. “There’s something I need to do.”
“Or someone,” he jokes.
I laugh. “Yeah, that, too.”
~ ~ ~
When I arrive back home at the townhouse, Denver has company.
“Sara Francis, this is Brett Cash and his son, Leo. Brett and I work together. He’s a lieutenant on Squad 13.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say to Brett, but my eyes are on his son. “Leo is adorable. How old is he?”
“Eighteen months.”
“You and your wife are very lucky.”
Brett shakes his head. “It’s just me.”
I mentally smack myself in the head. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. Long story.”
“Are you staying for dinner?” I ask. “I’m not a very good cook, but I can order some mean takeout.”
“We’d like that. Thank you.”
“Brett and I have something to show you,” Denver says, pulling me towards the basement. “Come on.”
He leads me downstairs, and now I understand why Denver didn’t go with me to therapy. A corner of the basement has been transformed into an art studio. My art studio. Right down to the old front door.
I came down here last night when Denver gave me a tour of the townhouse. The basement is huge, just like the rest of the place. It’s basically one large open space with separate areas for a home gym, a conversation corner with a couch and a chair, and a wood shop. I had never seen so many wooden butterflies in my life. Denver explained that woodworking is Sawyer’s hobby.
I cover my mouth in amazement. I knew he said I could paint here, but I never imagined him setting up an entire studio for me. “This is what you did all day?”
Denver puts an arm around my shoulder. “I told you I’d take care of it.”
“It’s perfect,” I say, turning into him for a hug. Then I look over his shoulder and see Brett looking at us sadly. “Thank you, Brett.”
“My pleasure,” he says, still holding his son. “Your paintings are amazing, Sara. You’re very talented.”
“Thank you.” I look at Leo. “You did all of this with a toddler in tow?”
“Ivy came over with her daughter. She watched the kids while we moved your stuff.”
“I’ll have to thank her, too,” I say.
“You’ve gotten close, haven’t you?” Denver asks.
I spent quite a bit of time with Ivy after my release from the rehab center. She’s become a good friend. “Yes, we have.”
“Good,” he says. “I’m glad you have friends. Real friends.”
“Me, too.”
I can’t help but think of Lydia, and I promise myself I’ll call her later tonight and catch her up on everything that’s happened in the past few days. We’ve had lunch a few times since the day she came to see me at the apartment. And I’ve painted a picture of her. Of us—the way I remember us in high school when it was us against the world. I plan on giving it to her for Christmas.
Leo starts to fuss in Brett’s arms. Brett puts him down and Leo proceeds to run into an easel, knocking over a painting. Then Leo picks up a paintbrush out of a pail on the floor and pretends to paint on the wall with it.
“Damn, I’m sorry,” Brett says, righting the painting and running after Leo.
“Don’t be, maybe you’ve got an artist in the making,” I say. I sit down by Leo’s side and grab another brush, pretending to make my own masterpiece next to his.
Leo likes that and crawls into my lap as we both ‘paint’ on the wall.
For the rest of the night, Leo doesn’t leave my side.
“He’s really taken to you,” Brett says. “I’m surprised. He’s usually wary of strangers, women especially. I think it’s because his mom was so … Well, never mind. Anyway, the only other woman he likes is his nanny.”
I feel like there’s a story there and I plan to ask Denver about it later.
“Well, you can bring him over anytime. He’s amazing.”
“We might just take you up on that,” Brett says, watching me play with his son.
You hate kids. I hear Oliver’s voice in my head.
I shake away the thought, knowing it’s just another one of his lies. “He’s wrong,” I whisper to Leo.
Leo puckers his mouth like he wants a kiss. I happily oblige.
~ ~ ~
He leans on an elbow, studying me. “Do you want kids?” he asks.
My eyebrows shoot up. “Two days together and you’re asking me this?”
“I … I …” He looks flustered.
“I’m kidding, Denver. You can ask me anything. Yes, someday I want kids. Lots of them.”
His lips curve up into a smile. “Now just how many are we talking about?”
I shrug. “I was an only child, and while my childhood was great, I always longed for siblings. So I’m thinking more than one, less than six. Does that scare you away?”
He pulls me closer. “Nothing could scare me away from you. I told you, you’re my future. And if you don’t believe me—I have video proof.”
“Thank you for what you did today. The studio.”
“You’re welcome.” He grabs my hands, bringing them to his lips. “These hands are talented. They shouldn’t have to go a day without painting.”
I wiggle out of the bed.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“To paint.”
Denver looks at the clock. “Now? It’s after midnight.”
“Something you need to learn about artists is that they paint when they are inspired.”
He sits up, a look of pride overtaking his features. “Inspired?” A smug smile creeps up his face. “Are you saying I inspire you, sweetheart?”
I throw my pillow at him. “Don’t get cocky.”
“Maybe it was my cock that inspired you.”
I laugh. “Oh, my God, you’re incorrigible.”
He lies down, still naked, and laces his hands behind his head. “I’ll be right here whenever you need more inspiration.”
I roll my eyes at him and then throw on some old clothes and walk down to the basement. I look around at all my creations. Denver doesn’t know how true his words were. He does inspire me. Everything I’ve painted since the accident is because of him. Thinking about him. Wanting him. Loving him.
I pick up my brush and get started.
Chapter Thirty-three
The past few weeks have been the best I’ve ever known. Lydia and I are like two peas in a pod, just as we were in high school, only better, because we’re acting like mature adults this time—well, most of the time, anyway. She came for a sleepover one night when Denver was working and her husband was out of town. We spent the entire night laughing and reminiscing.
Denver introduced me to his sister, Aspen, on a video chat, and she and I are becoming fast friends. She’s coming to town tomorrow with her husband’s baseball team. I’ve made sure the townhouse is spotless. I am still a guest here, after all.
I finished the painting for Baylor. She tried to pay me what she said she commissioned me for, but I wouldn’t allow it. We’ve become friends and I don’t take money from friends. At least not anymore. She argued, but I didn’t let up, telling her I’d rip up any check she gave me. Then, a few days ago, I got a notification that a rather large donation—in the sum of what the painting was worth—was made in my name to The Brain Trauma Foundation.
Something I’ve found myself dreading more and more is looking at new apartments while I try to sell the old one. To be honest, I’m not in any hurry to leave the townhouse. I love it here. And I’m beginning to understand that what I love about it isn’t necessarily the townhouse, it’s who’s in it.
Denver and I have only been a couple for a few weeks. Moving in together isn’t an option—is it? Then again, we’re basically living together now. We share a kitchen, a bathroom, a bed. Oh, the bed. My body tingles just thinking about how well we share the bed.
My phone rings and I put down my paintbrush, annoyed with the phone for the interruption. Then I see it’s Ivy calling, and I smile.
“Hey, girlfriend. What’s up?”
“Sara,” she says, followed by a long pause. “Something’s happened.”
The tone of her voice is utterly morose, and it makes my heart sink. Denver is at work today. I step over to the couch and sit down. “Is he okay? Is he …” I can’t even bring myself to say it. I’ve thought a lot about this over the past few months. I worry about him every time he goes to work. I’ve prayed I never get a phone call like this. I just never imagined it would happen so soon.
“He’s in the hospital. An apartment building collapsed during a fire.”
My hand covers my mouth as a sob bellows out of me. “Oh, my God. Is he badly hurt?”
“They haven’t fully assessed him yet. He just arrived at the hospital a few minutes ago. Bass called me from the scene and told me to call you and Aspen.”
“She’s arriving tomorrow,” I say. “Have you called her yet?”
“She’s my next call.”
“Did Bass give you any more information? Is he burned? Conscious?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know. But he sounded scared, Sara. I think you should get there right away.”
My stomach turns and I try to hold back the bile rising in my throat. Could it be that I’ve just found him, only to have him taken away?
“Where is he?” I ask, gathering myself together as I run up the stairs. I trip along the way, my left leg not able to keep up with my right. I yell out in pain when I hit my knee on the edge of a step.
“Sara, are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I’m leaving now.”
Ivy gives me the directions as I grab my purse and head out to hail a cab. I look down at my paint-spattered clothes, knowing I should change, but that would take precious minutes. And what if all I have left with him is minutes?
“I’ll call Aspen and then meet you there,” she says.
“Thank you,” I say through my tears.
She doesn’t tell me he’ll be okay. She doesn’t tell me things will be alright. I wonder if she knows more than she’s letting on.
It takes twenty minutes to reach the hospital. Twenty excruciating, heart-pounding minutes.
When I walk through the emergency bay doors, Bass and Brett are waiting for me, still in their dirty uniforms. They look awful. The looks on their faces scare me to death. I fall into Bass’s arms. “What happened? Is he dead?”
“He’s alive,” Bass says. “Injured, but alive. A roof collapsed on him. He has a few second-degree burns, but it’s his head injury that worries the doctors the most.”
“Head injury?” I cry. “No!”
“He’s tough, Sara,” Brett says. “He’s one of the toughest sons of bitches I’ve ever known. If anyone can get through this, he can.”
“Will he wake up?” I ask. “Will he walk again?” I step back and let my body fall against the wall before I ask the question that terrifies me. “Will he remember me?”
Both of them know my story. And they know what I’m asking. And I know they don’t have answers.
Ivy runs up behind me. “Sara!”
“Ivy!”
She pulls me into a hug. “What do we know, guys?”
“He’s not awake yet,” Bass says. “He got hit on the head by falling debris from the ceiling. They’re monitoring him for brain swelling.”
“Can she see him?” Ivy asks.
“He’s up in the ICU. We can go up and see if they’ll let you in.”
On our way to the elevator, I see a toddler covered with soot. There are trails of tears blazing a clean path down his face as a hospital worker tries to soothe him.
“Was he in the fire?” I ask.
“Yes,” Bass says. Then he and Brett share a look. A devastated look.
“What is it?” I ask.
“His parents were in the fire, too. They didn’t survive.”
For the second time today, I feel like I’m going to be sick. Not only did this young child lose his parents, but I now understand how deadly the fire was. The fire Denver was injured in. I try like hell to hold in my sobs as we approach the boy. No matter what I’m going through, what he’s
going through is worse.
As we walk past him—the boy whose whole world just crumbled—I feel the need to reach out to him. He’s alone and scared. I feel a kinship with him. I was younger than him when I was abandoned by my birth parents. It makes me wonder if I knew what had happened to me. Does he?
“Denver saved him,” Bass says, nodding to the dirty little boy.
I swallow hard. “He did?”
Bass nods. “And whatever happens, I guarantee you, he’d do it all over again.”
I look at the boy until we turn the corner. But even after he’s out of sight, his cries still linger. And I know I’m going to have one more thing haunting my dreams.
We go up the elevator and into a waiting area filled with firefighters. Brett motions to them. “They won’t leave until they find out about Denver.”
“But what if there’s another fire?” I ask.
“We took ourselves out of service. It’s customary when one of our own is severely injured.”
“Oh, God,” I cry. I look at all the faces of the uniformed guys in the waiting room. They are all dirty with soot. “Was anyone else hurt?”
“Just some minor scrapes and smoke inhalation,” Brett says. “The fire had gotten so bad the chief called for an evacuation of all the companies. Everyone was on their way out of the building when Denver heard the kid cry out. After the collapse, we found Denver on top of the child. He had thrown himself over him, protecting him from the fire and any falling debris.”
Tears stream down my face. “He’s a hero,” I say. I grab on to Bass’s arm. “I can’t be the woman at the funeral who gets handed a flag. Please, please don’t say that will be me.”
A doctor comes into the waiting room and looks around until he sees me; then he approaches. I wonder if he thinks I look like the saddest person here.
“Are you Mrs. Andrews?”
“I’m Denver’s girlfriend. He doesn’t have any family here. His sister is on the way.”
“Normally we only give information to immediate family,” the doctor says.
“We are his family, doc,” Bass says, motioning to the firefighters lining the walls.
The Men On Fire: A Complete Romance Series (3-Book Box Set) Page 55
