Page 69 of Backdraft
"Her back?" Taylor asked.
"No burns. Some of her hair has burned and a small spot on her neck, but not her scalp. We had to cut her hair, which I hope she'll be okay with." The doctor smiled, and Taylor tried to return it. "I have her on an I.V. for pain and fluids. Give it twenty-four hours for us to see how the healing process has progressed. She may need I.V. antibiotic."
Taylor nodded and listened to Dr. Stone as he continued, "From what I was advised, there was a collapse in the building she and another firefighter were investigating. During the fall, the left side of her Tyvek suit and bunker gear were torn open, and she was burned. She was wearing a mask, so we don't anticipate any inhalation complications, but we are monitoring."
"The firefighter?" Taylor inquired.
"Broken arm. He apparently pulled her out from under the debris, which reduced her exposure to the flames. A damn good thing, or it would have been much worse."
"Did you do a CT scan to her head? Why is she unconscious?"
"We're taking her up momentarily. It's too early to say why, but once we get the scan, we'll know more. I don't want to speculate, but I suspect it's a concussion."
"Thank God. Does she have any other injuries? Internal?" Taylor couldn't pull his eyes away from Drea. She was lying so still on the bed.
"Her thumb is broken, and she could have a hairline fracture on her right fifth metatarsal. Other than that, we'll continue to monitor her for any further injuries that may present themselves."
"Thanks, Doctor. I'll be staying with her."
Stone nodded, and the nurse came back and took Drea's vitals again. She gave Taylor a smile and a nod.
"How’s she doing?" he asked the nurse.
She faced him. They probably assumed he was Drea's boyfriend. If they knew he was a doctor, it would only be a matter of time before they found out he was the medical examiner. He didn't want to play that card to ensure her treatment was the best, but he would if he had to.
The upside was the staff tended to be honest and open with him. He was thankful for that.
"She's actually doing better than I expected. We weren't sure the extent of her injuries until she arrived. She'll be going for a CT scan soon. Her burns need attention, but I've seen a lot worse. It's important they don't get infected. She will likely have scars." The nurse paused and looked at him. "Sorry, but then you know all this."
"It's fine, don't worry. I want updates as soon as you have them if you don't mind."
Taylor glanced over at Drea. Scars didn't matter to him in the least. Scars and living were better than no scars and not living. Scars were just tattoos with better stories. He did wonder if she would feel the same way and he had a feeling she would.
"I'll be here for her. Whatever treatment she needs, I will be here to make sure it happens." He didn't want to sound intimidating, but it was the truth.
The nurse smiled. "I know you will be, Dr. Peel.
She touched my shoulder as she walked out, and I turned back to Drea.
I leaned down over her so she could hear me whisper. "You'll always be beautiful to me. I just want you to wake up. Anytime now, please, just wake up."
Once they were alone, Taylor pulled a chair to the side of her bed. He let his gaze wander over her pale face. She looked small in the hospital bed hooked up to the I.V., heart monitor, finger oximeter. Her left arm was elevated and wrapped in dressing. He looked at all the machines, the IVs, catheter bag, oxygen nasal cannulas. She was covered except for her arm.
Taylor was relieved to see how extensively she was being monitored. As it should be. He was going to make sure she received nothing but the best care. Even if he had to raise hell.
She still had smudges on her face and debris in her hair. He saw where they’d cut it. It was clear they were not stylists and he smiled wryly. Another thing he had a feeling she would quickly adjust to. He didn't even want to imagine what she had gone through.
Seeing the cut and singed bits of her hair was like a punch in the gut. It was visible proof she had almost lost her life. The fear that raced through him was close to crippling. Life was fragile, and she went into situations that could take hers at a moment’s notice.
Taylor rested his palm over her right hand, careful not to jar it and injure her thumb any further. He expected it would eventually be wrapped.
He leaned over, gently wiped a smudge off her cheek, and stroked her face with his knuckles.
"Come on, baby, I want you to wake up. Okay? Wake up." He hated seeing her this way. With no life in her, no sparkle in her eye or quirky grin.
He picked debris from her hair and smoothed the strands away from her face, all the while watching for the slightest change in her facial features. Taylor memorized every curve. The way her dark lashes lay against her cheek, her winged brows, and the soft way her lips pressed together.
Just the other night, those lips had left a trail of delight as she kissed her way down his chest, belly and lower. Now they were silent and still.
