For a moment, I think he’s not going to answer me at all, but then he exhales sharply through his nose and looks away toward the darkened hospital window.
“The wall outside the waiting room.”
My whole body aches painfully.
“Evan—”
“I needed five fucking minutes,” he says roughly, cutting me off before dragging a hand back through his hair. “Just five minutes where nobody was asking me questions or telling me to sit down or talking about r-reports.” His voice cracks slightly on the last word.
Reports.
Because even after everything, there were still reports. Statements and procedures to follow. Radios and investigators and paperwork while Colt’s body was still inside that tower.
The thought makes nausea roll through me. Evan must see it on my face because he moves closer immediately, his hand tightening around mine again.
“Hey.” His thumb brushes across my knuckles. “Breathe for me.”
I try, and the oxygen burns cold in my nose as I pull in a shaky breath.
“You should hate me,” I whisper before I can stop myself, and he freezes.
“What?”
“If I hadn’t gone there—”
“Don’t.”
Tears sting my eyes again. “Colt would still—”
“No.” He leans forward so fast the bed rail rattles softly beneath his arm. “You don’t get to do that to yourself.”
“But—”
“No, Penny.” His voice breaks harder now. “You thought somebody had my little girl. You went there because you thought Elle was in danger,” he says, staring directly at me. “That’s it. End of fucking story.”
Emotion lodges thick in my throat, and the room goes painfully quiet.
“He was a firefighter,” Evan continues more quietly, though grief keeps shredding the edges of every word. “Colt went up on that roof because that’s who he was. He would’ve done it for anybody in that tower.”
He looks down suddenly, scrubbing a hand hard across his face like he’s exhausted enough to collapse where he sits.
“And I should’ve got to you faster. I saw your car outside the tower.” His stare fixes somewhere past my shoulder now. “Dispatch said there was possibly a victim trapped inside, and then I saw your fucking car, and I knew.” His breathing roughens. “I knew it was you.”
My lip trembles, thinking of how panicked he must’ve been.
“I couldn’t find you.” His voice drops lower. “There was too much smoke, and then the roof started creaking, and Beck was yelling at me to pull back, and I just—” He stops abruptly, jaw flexing hard enough to tick.
“I thought I was too late.”
The words hollow something out inside me, because I know Evan. I know how controlled he usually is. How careful and logical under pressure he is.
But even through the haze and the smoke and barely hanging to consciousness, I saw him in that tower. Wild. Terrified.
My fingers tighten weakly around his.
“You found me,” I whisper.
His eyes close briefly. “I was nearly too late.”
