From Air (Wildfire)

Chapter Thirty-Three

JAYMES

“Hey.” Melissa’s lips pull into a shaky smile while she slides from my desk chair to the edge of my bed. “Do you need more for your pain?”

“N-no.” I clear the frog from my throat. “I hate how it makes me feel.”

She hands me a glass of water and holds the straw while I sip. “I think the point is for you not to feel the pain.”

I wince, trying to sit upright. “My head.”

“It’s a miracle you only have a concussion and a broken nose. No missing teeth. No fractured skull. And you have one eye that’s not swollen shut, so there’s that.”

“I don’t feel miraculous. I feel like I’ve been asleep for days.”

“You’ve slept a lot. And they caught your neighbor late last night. I called to check this morning. His girlfriend is beside herself. She feels responsible. That baseball bat was meant for her, but she said she tripped, and you were just there.”

“Right place. Right time,” I mumble.

“Well”—Melissa’s nose wrinkles—“let’s not go that far.”

I gingerly touch my broken nose. “Let me see a mirror.”

“I think we should wait on that.” Melissa rolls her lips over her teeth.

“It’s still awful, isn’t it?”

“You’re a nurse. Do I really have to review the stages of bruising with you?”

“This is exactly why I didn’t want you to notify anyone.”

“And by anyone, you meant Calvin.”

“I meant anyone .”

She nods slowly. Too slowly.

“If you called him—”

“I didn’t call him.” She cringes. “I texted him.”

“Mel!”

“Don’t ‘Mel’ me. Do you have any idea how freaked out I was when you didn’t call me back? And the next thing I knew, the hospital was calling me because I’m your emergency contact. I thought for sure you’d been in a car accident.”

“What did he say?”

“What?”

“Calvin. Did he respond to your text?”

“He’s probably on a fire,” Melissa says, but it does little to ease the ache in my chest.

That’s code for he hasn’t responded . It’s been three days since the incident.

“Jamie, you have to tell me about the bear guy. You were in a panic the day you called me. You said he thought you’re his wife or daughter?”

“Dwight,” I murmur before inhaling and sorting through the events of the past few days. “He asked me about his sister, whom he called my aunt. After I said I hadn’t seen her, he proceeded to tell me about a scar on her face going from her eye to her jawbone.” I wait for Melissa to react.

She squints before returning a cautious nod.

“My mom had that same scar.”

“I know. But I don’t think she was the only person with a scar from her eye to her jaw.”

“He said his sister stuttered when she was younger, and their mom made her take singing lessons to help. And it cured the stutter.”

“Did your mom stutter when she was younger?” she asks, slightly laughing, like it’s impossible.

“Yes.”

Melissa’s smile dissolves. “That’s ... freaky.” She taps the pads of her fingers on her lips. “Did your mom have siblings?”

“No.”

“Well, there you go. It’s a freakish coincidence, and that’s where it ends. Again, people share similar scars. Some people stutter. And I bet singing is a common treatment for stuttering.”

“Stuttering is four times as common in men,” I counter.

“But clearly, women can stutter.”

“He said, despite the singing lessons, his sister was a terrible singer. My mom said the same thing about herself.”

Melissa drums her fingers on her legs. “Most people are terrible singers.”

“His sister’s name was Samantha.”

“Your mom’s name was Lauren.”

I relinquish a slow nod. “Her middle name was Samantha.”

“That’s—”

“Stop,” I say. “Just stop trying to pretend it’s impossible or highly improbable when the truth is ...” Swallowing hard, I look around the room. “I don’t know the truth. And I don’t know why my mom would have lied to me—no. Not just lied to me. It’s possible she made up a whole new story. And she changed her name. That makes no sense. But it also doesn’t make sense that everything Dwight said is just a coincidence. He knows virtually nothing about me, so he wasn’t intentionally doing it to freak me out. Which only leaves one logical explanation.”

“Nothing about this is logical, Jamie.”

“Was she so embarrassed that her brother did something so awful that she wanted to completely cut herself off from him and the rest of the family, if there was other family? And what about my dad? Did he know? I would have been ...” I try to remember how long Dwight has been in the psych ward. “I would have been two? Three? And my dad died when I was five.”

“What do you remember about your dad?”

I shrug. “He worked for NASA. And after he died, my mom moved us to Miami.”

“You remember that?”

“No. She told me that.”

“I don’t know, Jamie. Maybe you should show him a picture of your mom.”

I don’t relish the idea of sharing any personal information with him for many reasons. I just never thought one reason would be that I’m possibly related to him.

“What if he recognizes the picture?”

Pressing her lips together, Melissa’s eyes widen until she blows a lengthy breath out her nose in a whoosh . “I don’t know. Does he have family? Maybe you could get something from them.”

“No one’s ever met any of his family.”

“Shit.”

“The only person who knows the truth is mentally unwell. Confused. And often delusional.”

“What is his full name? I’m going to see what I can find on him.”

“I feel like I’ve already said too much. I’m going to get fired.”

“Yeah, Jamie. You should be more concerned about your job than knowing who your mom was.”

I pick at a stray feather from one of my pillows. “Dwight Keane. A bear killed his wife. He chased the bear but lost the hunt. Until ... he burned down thirty-two thousand acres of wildland to avenge her death.”

“That’s . . .” Her nose wrinkles.

“Tragic.”

She nods.

My phone vibrates.

Fitz: I’m here. Are u able to open the doors for me? Or can Melissa do it?

“Oh my god. No!” I show my screen to Melissa.

She smiles. “I knew he’d do the right thing.”

“What? No! He can’t see me like this. Please don’t let him in. I’m begging you.” Before I finish my desperate plea, she’s pressing the button to let him into the building.

“You’re not that vain. I’m sure he’s seen worse.”

I want to cry. It’s not vanity. I’m not worried about not wearing makeup or having a stain on my shirt. My nose is broken. I have two black eyes, and one is swollen shut. I’m nearly unrecognizable in the worst way.

Melissa opens my apartment door, and I throw a blanket over my body.

“Hey, you didn’t have to come, but I’m sure Jamie is thrilled to see you.”

She’s a liar. We are no longer friends.

“Hi, where is—” Fitz stops midsentence.

It’s quiet.

It’s hard to breathe because he’s here. Because I have a broken nose. Because I have a blanket over my head. If I die, so be it.

“Yeah, um ...” Melissa hums. “I might run a few errands since you’re here now. Bye, Jamie. See you after a while.”

I don’t respond. Maybe Fitz will leave, too, even though I’m dying to see him. Unfortunately, my desire not to be seen is more intense, so I stay hidden.

The door clicks shut.

It’s eerily quiet except for the air exchange.

“I should have been here sooner, but Melissa messaged me right after I jumped. And I didn’t have a good signal.”

I don’t respond.

“Who did this to you? Melissa said it was an accident.”

“Fitz, I know you took time off and bought a plane ticket to come see me. If I reimburse you, will you turn around and go home?”

“No.”

I deflate. Tears burn my eyes when I didn’t think my face could hurt more. “Fitz,” I murmur, “my neighbor’s boyfriend tried to take her out with a baseball bat, and I passed their door as she was running from him. She tripped, and he missed her and hit me. I look like a boxer who went twenty rounds.”

“Jaymes, boxing doesn’t go twenty rounds.” The edge of my bed dips.

“Please go.”

His hand slides under the blanket and rests on my foot. The first tear breaks free.

“If your neighbor’s boyfriend isn’t behind bars, I’m going to end him.”

“He’s in jail.”

“Then why are you hiding?”

“Because”—drawing in a shaky breath, I slowly pull the blanket away from my head—“I look like this.”

Fitz doesn’t flinch. Not a single muscle twitch. “Your freckles hide most of the bruising. And that eye isn’t anything that can’t be dressed up with a pirate’s patch.”

“Stop,” I say with a half laugh and a half sob.

He grins, pulling stray hair away from my face. “You’ve never looked worse, Jaymes.”

Laughter wins, but I still manage a few more tears.

Fitz’s smile wanes. “I’m just so fucking sorry this happened to you.”

“You’re not. Gary and Evette will finally think you’re hotter.”

When his smile returns tenfold, it feeds my soul, filling it until it runs over. “ Still , Jaymes. They’ll still think I’m hotter. Not finally .”

If he backed down one inch, it would break me. I need our banter.

“Do Maren and Will know?”

“Yes.”

“Does Will—”

“Will knows you can’t keep your clothes on when you’re around me. He knows you’ve violated me on countless occasions. And for that, he’s threatened to demote me to the shed. Hope you’re proud of yourself.”

Again, he makes me laugh—more of what I need. Yet, it’s more than that. I think it’s what he needs. Fitz doesn’t know how to deal with emotions.

I lie on my side. “Can I have your arms around me?”

After removing his shoes, he spoons my back to his chest and kisses my head. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” he whispers.

No sarcasm.

No banter.

Nothing made up.

Just his truth in its rawest form.

“I’m so glad you’re here, but I know this isn’t what you want.”

“A baseball bat to your face? No. It’s not what I want.”

“I mean this feeling like you have to be here for me. You don’t. I don’t expect Maren or Will to come running if something happens to me. Hell, I feel bad that Melissa jumped on a plane to come see me, and we’ve been friends forever.”

“So, who would be here if it weren’t Melissa or me? Maren or Will?”

“I can walk. In a few days, I’ll be fine driving. It could have been so much worse. Someone from work would have helped out.”

“Okay. I’ll take off then.” He releases me and stands.

I roll over. Speechless.

He slides his feet into his boots. “Tell Melissa it was nice seeing her.”

I can’t open my mouth, let alone turn a coherent thought into actual words, before he slides his bag over his shoulder and exits my apartment.

My heart shoves a flood of emotion into my throat. Trepidation propels my body out of bed, wincing once standing upright. Panic crawls to the end of my tongue, ready to scream as I open the door.

Fitz is propped against the doorframe, one ankle crossed over the other.

“You’re an awful person,” I mumble.

“Is that your way of apologizing for kicking me out?”

“I didn’t kick you out. You left. And the difference between us is I came after you. When I left—”

Shit.

I can’t say it. The emotions are too raw. Everything about my feelings for this man is too raw. Too much. Too real.

“When you left, I didn’t come after you,” he whispers.

I turn, returning to bed and sitting on the edge. “I think my mom lied to me,” I murmur, keeping my head bowed. “I think one of my patients is my uncle. My mom never wanted to talk about her family. All I knew was they weren’t part of her life, part of my life. But now I think she was embarrassed by her brother’s actions, or maybe she wanted to protect me. I don’t know.” I lift my gaze. “But I’m twenty-five, and I’ve lost my parents. My past feels like a lie. My best friend lives on the other side of the country. And I’ve fallen in love with a man who can never be mine.”

His brow furrows.

“So you’ll have to excuse me if I’m trying really hard not to need anyone. You, of all people, should understand that. However, I’m not like you. I’m not good at it. Because deep down, I do need people in my life who worry about me, who check in on me, who would feel a little empty inside if I died.”

Fitz deflates. “I worry about you.” He takes a step closer. “I’m checking in on you.” He squats in front of me, resting his hands on my legs. “And if you died”—he swallows hard—“it would fucking gut me.”

I don’t know if my head can take much more, but here I am, bleeding tears. Breathless in a choke hold.

“And I can deal with that. I just can’t handle the idea of you grieving me,” he murmurs.

I press my hand to his cheek, and he leans into my touch. “Too late,” I whisper. “Whether you choose to love me or not, whether I’m with you or find someone else who wants my heart, if I’m alive when you leave this earth, I will grieve you. Your smile. Your laughter. Your touch.” I sniffle through my stuffy broken nose with shaky breath. “But I won’t regret anything. This love is worth the pain.”

Fitz bows his head, resting his cheek on my leg, and I stroke his hair.

“Your patient is your uncle?” he asks in a soft tone, once again leaving my heart unacknowledged and bleeding out.

“I don’t know. But he shook me the other day when he told me about his sister. Everything he said described my mom. A scar on her face. A childhood stutter. And her name. His sister’s name was my mom’s middle name. Same eye color. Too many things to be a coincidence. Melissa’s going to do some research. Maybe it’s something. Maybe it’s nothing.”

Fitz blinks with a faraway expression.

“What?”

He shakes his head. “I think about my sister too. And how she didn’t want to go, but I didn’t want her to stay. I wanted my grandparents to take me to an arcade, and if she had stayed, we would have gone to a movie of her choosing instead. So she went with my parents, and my grandparents took me to the arcade. They died. All three of them just ... gone.”

My knuckles brush his cheek, and he closes his eyes briefly before lifting his head. “You should rest.”

“Thank you for telling me that.” I control my response. I have a million follow-up questions that I hold captive on my tongue. Go where? Died how? Who else knows?

“Don’t thank me.” He fluffs my pillow and straightens my bedding. “It’s really fucking depressing, and nobody should have to hear about something so tragic.”

I don’t have a response, so I lie down and take a nap, where dreams can shape reality into something different. I hope it’s something better.