Page 7 of Vegas Baby

“I guess I never really thought about it. Do you know why?” I say, turning it back on her, somewhat bewildered by the odd turn in the conversation.

“I can guess.” I gesture for her to continue, and she smirks. “They’re hoping you’ll call them and tell them they left their things here, so they have an excuse to see you again. You still have the clothing, which means you didn’t call.” She pauses, not having told me anything I hadn’t already guessed, despite playing dumb. “It also means you probably didn’t lead those women to believe they’d get a call.”

Now I’m shocked. Not because it’s true — which it is — but because she didn’t jump to the worst possible conclusion about me. And I’m relieved she might trust I’m a good guy, and she might not be here just because I’m her only option right now.

“You’re right. I try to treat everyone with respect and honesty. Even hookups.” I consider her for a moment. “You know, if there’s anything you want to know about me, just ask. Whatever will make you feel comfortable here.”

Kira’s eyes drift to the door, as sure as her mind is drifting to fleeing. “I’m not comfortable anywhere,” she murmurs, then flicks her eyes to the bed. “But thank you. I think I’d like to sleep now.” She climbs onto the bed and sinks into the pillow, cervical collar, leotard, and all, eyes closing wearily.

I watch her for a moment. Just a moment, as I’m struck by how quickly she went from fiercely independent and teasing to this tired, vulnerable woman engulfed by the light-grey down comforter of the bed. Like a dark angel in a hazy cloud, surrendering to the oblivion of unconsciousness. I back out and quietly close the door. I lay my hand on the wood and, for the first time in years, I say the Hail Mary prayer. For her.

Though I haven’t gone to church in over a decade, being a born and raised Catholic isn’t something that ever completely goes away. So sometimes, just sometimes, when a situation seems particularly dark or desperate, I feel the urge to pray. If anyone could use divine intervention, it’s Kira.

5

KIRA

When I wake, I’m momentarily disoriented, not knowing when or where I am. While there’s no way to tell the time in the shuttered, dark room, the memories of the last day rush back hard and fast.

My fingers trace the brace around my neck. I can feel the aching, tender flesh beneath it. And for the first time, I’m glad for the reminder I’m alive, and my injuries could’ve been much worse.

I scooch up on the bed and feel for the lamp I remember seeing on the bedside table. Dim light chases the shadows away as it reveals the basic room. My eyes fall on the clothing Sebastian handed me. They look more comfortable than what I’m wearing. Only true exhaustion would allow me to sleep in the confines of my rehearsal leotard.

I peel it off and replace it with the proffered clothing. Slowly. Very slowly, as every tilt of my head or shoulders sends bolts of pain through me. But the clothes are soft and smell like spring, instantly soothing me. I stand up carefully, not wanting a repeat of the dizzy spells I had when we left the hospital. Thankfully, the only feeling I have as I rise is hunger. And the need to pee.

I open the bedroom door as quietly as I can, thankful for the bright light washing in from the main area so I can easily see to slip just as quietly into the bathroom. I have to move even more slowly, and performing this most basic of functions is almost too much. But I manage without calling for help. Pathetic though it may be, I feel like it’s a small victory toward regaining my independence.

When I emerge, I creep quietly down the short hall and am hit by a wall of aroma that makes my mouth water and my stomach rumble. It’s almost too much for my senses, and I all but collapse into the closest chair at the nearby dining table.

I hear footsteps but don’t tempt the pain of turning my head, instead waiting for him to come into view. Sebastian sets a plate in front of me, then a glass of water, then a napkin and fork before settling across from me.

“I hope you like Chinese. It’s half barbecue pork fried rice, half vegetable moo shu.”

I look up at him. He’s out of his paramedic uniform and dressed down with a white T-shirt and messy hair. Like he’d been napping on the couch. Here in his own place, he looks more relaxed. More approachable. Though still unobtrusively handsome.

“Thank you,” I say quietly. Instead of what I really want to say, which is something along the lines of, “I don’t care if it’s dog food, I’m starving.” And then I try not to inhale it like a pig. I sort of succeed, but he seems happy to see me eating either way.

“How long was I out?” I ask after my initial feeding dies down.

He swallows and takes a sip of water. “Well, we got here just before noon. It’s almost nine. So, a while.”

“You said you don’t work for a couple of days?”

“Yes,” he confirms.

“So, what would you be doing right now if you weren’t saving a damsel in distress?” I ask curiously around the last mouthful of greasy deliciousness.

“I’d probably be having a drink with my partner.”

Partner. Of course, he has someone. I don’t know why I assumed he didn’t just because the clothes didn’t belong to his current girlfriend.

“And she’s okay with you taking care of some woman like this instead of spending time with her?” I ask, looking down at my empty plate.

“My work partner. Ty, the guy who was with me last night when we brought you in.”

Relief washes over me. I don’t need to add “home-wrecker” to my list of faults. And …

“Was it only last night? It feels like it’s been so much longer,” I murmur with a sigh.

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