Grace’s building.
I was out of my apartment in a flash.
The area was blocked off, but I found a cop and explained my wife had been in the building and I had to get to her. Something about my pleas must have resonated, and he allowed me to duck under the tape. My usual calm had dissolved the second I realized the blast had been in her neighborhood—possibly even her building. I had no idea if she was all right. Hurt. Worse. In the car, the worst-case scenarios played out in my head. I called her cell phone repeatedly, slamming my hand on the steering wheel when she didn’t answer. Fear tore at my throat, making it hard to swallow. Sweat beaded on my neck as uncertainty crawled its way up my spine.
Frantically, I searched for Grace, calling her name, my voice shaking. Her building stood, but smoke poured from some windows, and the brick was crumbling in places. Firefighters, police, and paramedics milled around, orders were being shouted, and more than once, I was told to get out. I ignored them all, focused on locating her. Finally, I found my way to where ambulances were being loaded. One helpful man told me there were buses where occupants with minor injuries were being taken to stay warm until they could be transported to the hospital. I pushed my way through the crowds and found the yellow school buses they had brought in. I boarded the first bus, calling Grace’s name, only to be met with a sea of strangers. I hurried to the other bus, my anxiety reaching new levels when she wasn’t there either.
I began searching crowds, showing the picture I had of her on my phone that she had no idea I had taken. Describing her to people, my voice getting louder, my apprehension reaching epic proportions.
Then I heard my name. I spun on my heel, and she was there. Standing by a gurney, holding an older woman’s hand, looking confused to see me. A blanket was draped over her shoulders, her hair was a mess, and soot and dirt were smeared on her face and arms. She held a cloth to her head, the blood a vivid crimson on the white. She had slippers on her feet. Her pants were torn.
She had never looked more beautiful.
I shook with the force of emotions coursing through me.
Relief, terror, anger.
I covered the ground between us, my long strides eating up the distance fast.
I swept her into my arms, holding her tight, repeating her name.
She reeked of smoke, and she shook violently. I pulled off my coat, wrapping her in it, and lifted her.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking you to the hospital.”
“Mrs. Nelson—”
I cut her off and yelled for the paramedic. He came over and told me they were taking the elderly woman to the hospital shortly.
“I’m taking my wife.”
“Sir, she’s been triaged. She can get on the bus—”
I almost snarled. “I am taking her.”
He stepped back, holding up his hands. “St. Anthony’s,” was all he said.
I turned and carried Gracie away.
I ratcheted up the heat in the car. Handed her a bottle of water. Refused to let her talk. I had to keep one hand on her at all times to make sure she was with me. At the hospital, I parked the car illegally and didn’t give a flying fuck if they towed it. I refused to let her out of my arms. When they discovered she had come from the explosion scene, I was given a lecture I ignored. The entire time, Gracie was nestled in my arms, silent, except for her hoarse breathing.
“She needs oxygen. Can we skip the damn lecture and get to helping her?” I snapped.
“Jaxson,” Gracie rasped. “Please.”
It was hard to release her into their care. In the waiting room, I paced. It seemed forever, but it was really only a short time when I was allowed back in the cubicle. An oxygen mask was on her face, the soot on her cheeks emphasizing her pallor. A butterfly bandage was on her forehead, and her arms had been cleaned and ointment applied.
“She’ll be fine. We’re going to give her some oxygen for a bit.” The doctor smiled and patted Gracie’s hand. “She’s a brave one, going in to rescue her neighbor.”
It clicked. “Mrs. Nelson,” I murmured, my voice tight. Grace had risked her life to save someone else.
“Yes. She is going to be fine too, thanks to Ms. VanRyan.”
“Mrs. Richards,” I corrected.
He frowned and looked at Grace. She blinked slowly and nodded.
“We just got married,” I said smoothly. “None of her paperwork has been changed.”
“Well, my congratulations.” He looked at Grace. “You were lucky. So was your neighbor. You rest a bit, and I’ll be back. You can go home in a couple of hours, I think.”