Until We Fly (Beautifully Broken 4)

I swallow again, trying to swallow past the raw throat.

“I don’t know,” I tell her honestly. “What happened?”

Her eyes are full of sympathy.

“You saved a bus full of kids,” she tells me. “There was an accident, a truck ran a stop-sign and slammed into an ammonia tank. There was an explosion. Do you remember?”

I think on that, and I do remember. I remember the smoke and the blood and the kids.

And then I remember the red-haired girl.

“There was a girl,” I tell the nurse. “A woman, I mean. Red hair. I was carrying her when the building collapsed on us. Is she okay? Did she live?”

God, she had to live. She trusted me. Her eyes, so big and blue, told me that. She counted on me to carry her out and I didn’t.

My gut squeezes and I wince in pain.

But the nurse is already nodding. “Everyone lived, Mr. Killien. And I think you mean Ms. Greene. She’s here and she’s been asking about you, too. Can I tell her that you’re awake? She’s been very worried about you.”

Ms. Greene?

I nod and the nurse smiles.

“I’ll tell her. She’s been waiting here for the last several hours. She was lucky- She and her parents only sustained minor injuries. She didn’t want to leave until you woke up.”

I sigh with relief. Even though I couldn’t carry her out, she’s okay.

Thank God.

I close my eyes, my mind fuzzy from anesthesia. The room spins outside of my eyelids, but inside of them, it’s black and still.

And then someone clears her voice softly.

I open my eyes.

They instantly meet the blue-eyed gaze of the girl.

Ms. Greene.

For a second, there’s something familiar there, something that niggles at me. Do I know her?

But I scan the rest of her… the long dark red hair that flows halfway down her back, her slender body, her lush chest and hips. Even through the fog of medicine, my groin registers her obvious beauty.

I’d remember if I knew her.

She smiles, a brilliant white smile. I notice she has dirt on her cheeks and forehead.

“Are you okay?” she asks, her voice as soft as silk.

I nod. “Yeah. I will be, I guess.”

She looks at my leg sympathetically, her eyes clouded. “I’m so sorry. You wouldn’t even have been in the café if it weren’t for me. It’s my fault you’re here in this bed.”

I’m already shaking my head. No way. I know what it’s like to take responsibility for something that wasn’t my fault. I won’t let this girl do it.

“No,” I tell her firmly. “I wanted to help. If I hadn’t seen you, I’d

have seen someone else, so I would’ve been in there anyway.”