Page 111 of Ablaze

His name feels like a prayer, a plea on my lips.

Though he’s been in and out of consciousness over the past four days, the doctors have lowered his meds and are hopeful he’ll awake fully on his own soon.

I see him stirring and pick up his hand, leaning over to lay a kiss on his forehead. His skin is paler than normal, and in vast contrast with the dark circles under his eyes. Still, he’s doing better each day.

His hand tightens over mine ever so gently, as if he recognizes my touch, and I quickly blink away the tears threatening to emerge again. I don’t want him to see my tears when he wakes up; I only want him to see my smile, my reassurance that everything will be okay. That everything is okay.

There hasn’t been a single moment over the past week–eight days since the guys found out they’d be going to help fight the fire–that I haven’t prayed. I’ve begged God to keep them safe, reminded Him, in case He overlooked it, that they were risking their lives to save His other children. That they deserved just a little more of His benevolence for the work they were doing. I also promised Him I’d be a better person–more devoted, more generous, just more–if He brought them home safely.

Yeah, so maybe I was pulling out some feeble negotiating tactics with the Almighty, but I wouldn’t be the first person in history to do so, nor am I ashamed I did.

Aside from Dean getting hurt and Malcolm having to stay at the hospital overnight on account of his respiratory issues and dehydration, He came through for me.

I got them all back safe and sound, with the exception of the third-degree burn on Dean’s chest, for which he had to be airlifted to the hospital when he fell unconscious.

Dean’s lips twitch, his eyes fluttering, before he opens them and a collective gasp between me, his mom, his dad, and stepmom Karine, resounds inside the room. Karine clasps her hands, looking up at the ceiling before thanking the Big Guy in Armenian.

My smile wobbles with a mixture of relief and restlessness. A part of me wants to weep grateful tears that he’s awake–that he’ll be alright–while the rest of me wants to crawl against him and hold him until the end of time.

Dean wearily regards the faces around him before his eyes find mine. A glimmer of hope and longing passes through them and then, as if a switch has been turned off, it morphs into something else entirely.

I cup the side of his face in confusion. “Dean, what’s wrong? Are you in pain? Do you–”

“Let me call the nurse,” Karine says, jumping into action.

“No, I’m–” Dean’s voice is a coarse rasp. He takes a fatigued breath, trying to stop her from leaving, but is too late. She’s already out the door. “I’m okay. I just . . . need water.”

His mom, Jolene, reaches for the straw cup near her, handing it to him while Dean’s dad, Marvin, helps him sit up in bed. Dean takes a tentative few sips and hands the cup back to his mom.

“You know,” I venture with another shaky smile a moment later, “I get that you’re somewhat of an attention-seeker, but this was over-the-top, even for you.”

Regardless of the lighthearted humor I was going for, my voice cracks and I practically sob out the end of my sentence.

Marvin pulls me into a side hug while I quickly dab at the damn tear that escapes from the corner of my eye. So much for showing him only my smiles and reassurance.

Dean’s eyes bounce against mine as he takes in a shaky breath. His chest heaves a little before he squeezes his eyes shut, like he’s physically warding off his pain.

“Dean?” I whisper as a pang rises through my chest. Is he in pain? Why won’t he say anything?

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” Jolene asks softly, clasping a hand over his forearm. From the way her brows furrow, I know that even she can tell something isn’t right with him. “Do you need anything?”

He shakes his head and then, as if remembering something, he looks around the room, the strain in his voice only eclipsed by the concern in his eyes. “Malcolm?”

“He’s fine,” I answer hoarsely. “The doctors sent him home to rest for a few days, but he’s going to be alright. From what we found out, you saved him.”

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose, grimacing. “I shouldn’t have even asked him to follow me into that house. He was wheezing–”

I take his hand in mine again. “You couldn’t have known, Dean.”

He sighs, as if not wanting to argue with me, and slowly slips his hand from mine. “How’s Rohan?”

I swallow, trying not to glean too much from his lack of . . . enthusiasm after seeing me. Is it selfish of me to have expected a warmer reaction from him?

I quickly shake off the voice inside my head telling me something feels off . . .

I must be seeing this all wrong. The man’s just been through a horrific experience–one he’s gone through before and lost a dear friend in. And while that, thankfully, isn’t the case this time, he did just wake up in a strange hospital bed with most of his family lurking over him.

Of course, things are going to feel off.

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