Page 84 of Played
Retaliation.
There’s no doubt in my mind that’s the reason behind his actions. I don’t give a fuck what explanation he gives. He purposefully left me.
Lifting the mask, I ask, “Why?”
Understanding my question, my father grinds out, “He claims he tapped you on the shoulder to let you know he was leaving because something was wrong with his mask. He thought you were behind him and didn’t realize it until too late. At least that’s what he says,” Dad reiterates. “Don’t worry, baby. He will be reprimanded and written up. And I will make sure he goes before a disciplinary panel. And no, not just because you’re my daughter. We don’t leave our partner. Under any circumstances.”
“If he makes it to the disciplinary panel,” Malcolm mutters, and Malik growls an agreement.
Usually, Dad would’ve stopped that kind of vigilante talk. But from his narrowed eyes and tight jaw, I think the fire captain is stepping back and the father is in full control.
“Don’t think about any of this right now,” Ma murmurs, squeezing my hand and clinging to it as if she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she lets me go. “Concentrate on healing and getting well. And after you’re discharged, you’re coming home with us. No argument.” She holds up her other hand as my lips part to protest. “You’ll have to forgive me for being overprotective when my daughter is injured on the job. Let me get over the fear that almost took me out of here when I got that phone call. In the meantime, you’re coming home with us.”
“Well, if you’re going to mom-guilt me ...,” I rasp.
Truthfully, I don’t want to be alone.
“Stop talking,” she orders gently and leans down, kissing me on the forehead.
A commotion of raised voices reaches through the room’s closed door, and seconds later, it opens, and Solomon charges in. His breathing is labored, and his eyes are wild as they quickly scan the room before settling on me. When our gazes connect, his body deflates likea balloon pricked with a needle. His shoulder hits the wall as he sags against it, head bowed until his chin nearly rests on his collarbone. A visible shudder ripples through his big body, and though it’s the first time I’m seeing him in days, I want to rise up out of this bed and go to him. Comfort him.
Me and my stupid, foolish, foolish heart.
Mom releases my hand and walks over to Solomon. She rubs soothing circles over his back, murmuring something in his ear. Solomon nods and, after several moments, slowly straightens, pushing off the wall. He looks at me, and though he’s composed, his face revealing nothing, pain and anxiety darken his emerald eyes.
“We’ll give you two a couple of minutes.” Mom shoots pointed stares at Dad and my brothers, and, grumbling, they back away from my bed and file out of the room.
Malcolm even pauses, lifts a hand, and after a brief hesitation, squeezes Solomon’s shoulder. If I wasn’t suffering just from smoke inhalation, I would believe Dr. Evans had given me the good drugs. Because surely I’m hallucinating that Malcolm wasniceto Solomon.
Soon, the door closes behind my family, and I’m alone with him.
We silently watch each other, then Solomon approaches my bed.
“Hey,” he murmurs.
“Hey.”
He winces at the sound of my voice, and briefly closes his eyes. A spasm of emotions crosses his face. Pain. Fear. Sadness.
All three.
“Are you going to be okay?” he asks, voice just above a rasp.
I nod. “Smoke inhalation.” I swallow, wincing at my sore throat. “Discharge in a few hours.”
This time, he nods and fists the sheet covering me.
Silence permeates the room again.
“How did you . . . ?”
Damn. My throat is on fire, and the more I talk, the more it hurts. I glance around, peeping the carafe of water and the plastic cups onthe small silver tray next to my bed. I reach for it, but Solomon beats me to it.
He quickly removes the plastic from the cup, pours water into it, and then hands it to me. Grateful, I accept the cup and force myself to slowly sip the cool liquid, even though I want to gulp it down like a person just crawling out of a desert. The water feels like heaven over my throat, and I sigh, leaning my head back against the thin hospital-issue pillow.
“Your brother must’ve found my number in your phone, because he called me,” he says, answering my previous question.
That makes sense. Especially because if Malcolm had called Solomon from my phone, he most likely wouldn’t have answered. As he hadn’t been for the last couple of days.
