Page 4
My head swims as memories of disjointed scenes of my poor mangled red car, screeching metal, and a black SUV with a very pissed-off driver, all flash through my muddled brain.
Then my mind snags on one particular detail, a hunky fireman whose grip on my hand was the only thing anchoring me amid the chaos. It hardly seems real now, more a figment conjured in the midst of fear and adrenaline.
But when I blink my eyes open, the muted hues of the hospital room swirl into focus, and I'm relieved to find I’m pretty much still in one piece. To my left, the soft murmur of familiar voices reaches me.
Turning my head slowly, I see Romi and her husband, Sullivan, nestled in uncomfortable looking chairs. They’re whispering to each other, likely arguing over who gets to obsess over my health more. Romi, with her long black hair tied hastily in a bun, clasps her hands together anxiously, while Sullivan rests an arm around her shoulders in a subtle sign of support.
As I watch them without actually announcing my return to the world of the living, their voices mingle into some sort of ambient background noise.
Deciding to explore the rest of my surroundings, I shift my gaze lazily to the right. My train of thought derails when I spot him, the fireman, and the world comes sharply into focus. I blink, half-convinced this particular reality was somehow transposed from my imagination.
He’s sitting beside my hospital bed like he belongs there. Dark brown hair, tousled and adorably disheveled, crowns an obscenely handsome face. Dark eyes that seem capable of reading minds beneath a serious brow, a square jaw dusted with a day's worth of stubble. And the muscles… holy cow, his muscles. He’s like a living Michelangelo sculpture, only with clothes on.
Before I can stop myself, the word “Adonis” flits through my mind. The amusing thought coaxes a smile from me.
He notices me stirring and his gaze meets mine. A spark of recognition flares in his eyes, the kind that makes the imaginary fireman suddenly, wrenchingly real. He shifts a bit, leaning forward as if to confirm that I’m really, truly awake, and there’s more than just polite concern painting his expression.
“Hey, knockout,” he greets softly, his voice a low rumble that somehow soothes the sharp edges of my consciousness. “Welcome back.”
I attempt a verbal response, something witty or charming or, honestly, anything more coherent than a raspy grunt. But that’s exactly what leaves my mouth. The dry, gravelly murmur barely qualifies as a sound.
“Water,” he offers, reaching for a cup like he’s done this a million times. I attempt a nod, which sends shards of pain tearing through my head. I wince as he lifts the cup to my lips with care, and I sip the cool liquid gratefully, feeling it soothe and restore my vocal abilities.
Once I’m fractionally less croaky, I manage, “You’re… you’re real?”
He grins, and it’s the sort of grin that could probably light up an entire hospital, never mind a single room. “Last time I checked. I’m Banks, by the way.”
“Banks,” I repeat, rolling his name over my tongue like it might hold hidden secrets or some kind of magic. And maybe it does because there’s something undeniably mesmerizing about this man.
As I study him, trying to piece together how this fits in the grand tapestry of ‘Today In Yvette’s Crazy Life,’ I notice Romi’s attention swivel toward us. She lifts a surprised and curious brow, the unspoken question visible in the tilt of her head. “Thank God, you’re awake! How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been hit by a truck, literally,” I reply dryly, gathering my wit like a frayed yarn ball.
Sullivan offers a sympathetic wince-turned-smile. “We came as soon as we heard. You gave us all quite the scare.”
I muster a reassuring look, though I’m not fooling anyone entirely. “I'm fine. Or, at least, I will be. Thanks for being here.”
As Romi reshuffles the blanket over me with sisterly fuss, I glance back at Banks, feeling an inexplicable pull. “Thank you for… everything,” I tell him, sincere but still bewildered by what ‘everything’ actually means.
He shakes his head, dismissing the thanks casually. “It’s nothing, really. I’m going to take care of you, knockout.”
And somehow, through a tangled mess of IV lines and unfamiliar medical decor, through pain meds and residual shock, warmth blossoms. A sense of rightness I can’t explain. And I’m not going to even try.
The beeping machines and clinical setting fade into a distant buzz.
When Sullivan insists on getting a coffee and drags an unwilling Banks with him, my sister moves closer to my side. “So,” she says brightly, shaking me from my musings as if declaring today’s main event has come to light. “How exactly did you meet Mr. Arm Candy over there?”
I snort, biting back a grin. “Just lucky I guess.”
I’m gradually falling back into rhythm, and I’m grateful for the dull thrum of normalcy following the accident. I look over to see Banks and Sullivan returning from their coffee expedition, steaming cups firmly in hand. The duo looks almost conspiratorial, like they’ve just come back from plotting something nefarious or discussing the secrets of the universe over lattes.
I watch them saunter in with an ease that speaks volumes of an unspoken understanding. Sullivan gives me a small salute with his coffee cup, and Banks offers his disarming smile, and I realize I’m becoming addicted to it.
“Hope you didn’t miss us too much,” Sullivan quips, handing a cup to Romi before crossing back to his chair. Romi opts for a half-squint at her husband, playfully suspicious.
“Only a little,” I reply, technically lying but unwilling to analyze this sudden desire to have Banks at my side twenty-four-seven.
Banks settles himself down in the chair beside my bed, displaying a kind of stubborn grace. There's this steely refusal to leave my side, which throws me for a loop. The gesture is equal parts confusing and comforting. I’d imagine most adrenaline-fueled heroes bolt after their rescue shifts end, but not Banks. He seems steadfastly rooted at my side.
