Page 8 of Dear Firefighter Hero
For a brief moment, I forget who I am now. I’m not the popular high school homecoming queen, dressed in a beautiful gown, who everyone knows from watching me grow up in this town. I’m the burn survivor who hides her scars away from the world out of guilt and shame.
I’m don’t realize that my shirt has lifted up to show parts of the scars on my stomach until I hear the sound of people gasping, mixed with the shocked expressions on their faces.
I throw the pancake on the ground, and my gaze swings up to Traynor. He looks just as surprised by everyone else. And for some reason, this upsets me more. I thought he knew what happened to me. I thoughtheunderstood.
I don’t wait around for more people to stare at me like I’m some sideshow in a circus act. I turn and bolt for my car, not bothering to stop when I hear the sound of Traynor running after me.
6
TRAYNOR
I can see the pain and hurt in her eyes the moment before Louisa turns and makes a run for it. I toss the spatula I’m holding and bolt after her, weaving through the crowd as they begin to stand up, finished with the pancakes and the show. I had no idea that something as simple as a pancake flipping contest could turn so quickly.
“Lou! Wait!” I call out.
She's near to her car, but my legs are longer, and I have time to get to her before she peels out of the parking lot, leaving me in a cloud of dust.
“Louisa, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen.” I tell her as she starts to open her driver’s side door, but it bounces against me and slams shut. “Please, don’t leave.”
“I knew it was a mistake coming out here. I knew that this town would never look at me as anything, but someone damaged, someone broken."
“I don’t think you are either of those things.” I grip her gently on the arms to hold her still. I want to pull her against my chest and keep her close. I want to take away the hurt and the pain she's feeling. “I think you’re beautiful.”
“Don’t say that.” She pushes against my chest, but I don’t move. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”
“You don’t think I mean what I’m saying to you? I’ve been trying to keep my brain in check the moment you showed up here. I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind.”
Louisa pauses, and I take advantage of her stunned silence to keep talking to her, to keep her here.
“I’ve had more fun with you flipping pancakes with you today than with any of the last few women I’ve taken out. You’re smart, you’re funny, and you are so stunningly beautiful I find it hard to breathe when I’m near you.”
For a moment, I think I see the mask start to slip from her face, but it’s pulled back into place before I can really see the vulnerability that she’s feeling. I want to know if I’m the only one feeling something here.
“You don’t see all of what happened to me.” She pulls on the loose fabric of her shirt, showing off the soft shape of her body beneath.
Her hourglass figure is hidden under these long, loose-fitting clothes. And I can’t stop my body from reacting to her once again.
“I know more than most the extent of your injuries,” I tell her. “I was there to pull you out of the fire. I was there when the EMTs started working on you before taking you off to the hospital. I was there that night to check on you.”
Her eyes widen in surprise at this truth. “You were?”
“I tried, but I couldn't get in despite my attempts to talk my way past the head nurse working the night shift.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“I knew you were by yourself. I didn’t want you to wake up without a somewhat familiar face next to you.”
The crowds are starting to disperse and walk in our direction to their cars. In about a minute, they are going to be close enough to hear everything we are saying.
“Any chance we could talk this out somewhere there isn’t going to be an audience that’s watching and listening in on us?”
Louisa glances back over at the crowd as they move towards us. I can see the panic in her eyes as they get closer and closer. I reach out and slip her car keys out of her hand, and she doesn't seem even to notice.
“Get in,” I tell her and open the door for her.
She sits in the driver’s side seat and doesn’t scoot on the bench seat. “I’m driving,” she says.
“Nope.” I jingle the keys in front of her. “You’re upset right now, and I don’t want you behind the wheel.”
