Page 155 of Burn

My story? Heroic. It was one night, one outcome, where everything I hoped would turn out right, didn’t. I had nothing left to give, dying, alone. Until the arms of my firefighter carried me to safety.

I remember his voice that night, his muffled pleas for me to breath under his mask and the warmth of his breath against my neck that kept me there, on the edge, with him.

I remember the air, so thick my skin felt tight, my lips and cheeks burning so much I felt them cracking.

I remember laying my head against his chest as he took quick steps and the way my arms wrapped around his neck, holding on as tight as my weak arms would let me.

I remember him begging,“Breathe, baby . . . please, just breathe . . .”and removing his breathing mask, placing it against my face, urging me to take a breath.

And that’s all I remember.

The next thing I recall is waking up in the hospital bed four days later with second-degree burns covering my chest, neck, and a third degree burn on my right arm.

I’m not concerned with any of that. I don’t care about the scars or how long it’s going to take to heal. I’ll deal with all of it because of the one holding my hand, begging me to stay strong.

“I can’t lose you,” he tells me, kissing my hand over the bandages.

There’s sincerity in his words and sadness in his eyes and I desperately want to ease his pain.

“Well, I’m kinda stuck here for a while so you have me until then because I physically can’t run away from you.” It’s meant to be a joke, one I thought maybe this guy with tormented eyes and a downturned mouth might possibly laugh at given everything we’ve been through.

He doesn’t laugh. He runs his thumb carefully over the bandage on my arm. His eyes don’t meet mine; I’m not sure they can. His brows pull together, and he takes a few breaths before he says, “This is the part where you run away, Mila.” He turns his head and looks at me with pure agony in his eyes.

His words, his warning, it feels like it penetrates my soul, and the way he looks at me, the way he’s touching me, I forget about everything else.

“No, this is the part where I stay.”

Beside me, he’s breathing heavily, and I touch his cheek, wanting to comfort him. His face crumples, his eyes squeezing shut as he nods. He knows I’m going to stay no matter what.

“Why would you want to? You’re a beautiful woman who has it all together, and I burned it to the fucking ground and pissed on the fucking ashes.” I flinch at his words and want to slap him for thinking any of what happened was his fault. It was Nixon’s, not his. He didn’t leave me to die in the flames. He saved me. How can he not see he’s a goddamn hero as far as I’m concerned?

Just as I’m about to tell him off, my heart racing with the idea that he’s pushing me away at a time like this, my dad comes in. He has minor burns, nothing like the ones I have, but it’s enough he spent a few days in the hospital as well.

Caleb stands when my dad comes in, dropping my hand from his.

“No, you stay.” He gestures to Caleb with a flick of his wrist. “What I have to say the both of you need to hear.” Tears brim his gray eyes, his chin shaking and he regards Caleb. “Thank you, Caleb. I know those words don’t come close to expressing how grateful her mother and I am for you saving her life, but it’s all I have. I know I’ve treated you unfairly and I’m embarrassed at the man I’ve allowed myself to become, but please understand that Mila, she’s our everything. From the moment she came into our lives, she’s been our world. Her whole life I’ve worried about losing her. I only want the best for her and I worry she’s making bad decisions. But she’s an adult, and I have to remember that.”

It takes Caleb a minute before he nods, reaching for my father’s hand. “There’s no reason to thank me, Mr. Wellington.” His eyes move to mine when he says, “I would have given my own life to save hers.”

Tears roll down my cheeks. He loves me. Hedefinitelywants me to have his babies.

My father moves toward me and gently kisses my forehead. “Get some rest, sweetheart.”

I stop him, my hand gently on his wrist. “Dad . . . did everyone make it out okay?”

Everything happened so fast that night I have no idea if anyone was killed.

Dad gives me a weak smile. “Yes, everyone that mattered, thanks to guys like Caleb.” My heart swells with pride that I can now call Caleb my boyfriend. Whether he knows it or not, we’retotallyboyfriend and girlfriend now. In my book, if you rescue a girl from a burning building—and stay by her side for four days even though she’s unconscious—you’re dating. Officially. And that only applies to me, not the other women he rescues.

My father’s expression darkens into what I know to be hatred. “I can’t say the same for Nixon.”

I knew Nixon didn’t make it. It was one of the first things Caleb had told me.

You’re probably wondering what happened to that sick fuck, aren’t you?

Well, I killed him. Shot him with his own gun and then burned the body.

I’m lying. None of that happened. I just wish it played out that way.

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