“Trevor?”

The voice is so soft, I might’ve dreamed it, and then I hear it again.

“Trevor?”

Peeling my eyes open, I swallow and blink up at the nurse beside my bed. “You aren’t Genevieve.”

She points to the name badge on the left side of her chest. “Abby. I’m a student nurse. But if you’d rather have Genevieve, I can send her in,” she whispers.

Genevieve is the charge nurse. She’s also sixty-five, getting ready to retire, and told me I remind her of her son, which is why she sneaks junk food in on a daily basis for me. I’m tempted to tell her to bring Genevieve back, but Abby is a nice change of pace.

She has black hair, piercing gray eyes, and a smile that should make my dick twitch. Should being the operative word, because my dick doesn’t do a damn thing. Traitorous appendage hasn’t shown an inkling of interest toward anyone since it stood tall and proud the night I kissed Claire.

“I know your sister, Adley. We’re in school together,” she says softly while fiddling with the IV pump.

“I’m sorry.”

She laughs and then covers her mouth. “Ooops,” she whispers, her eyes darting to the side of me.

I smile. “Why are you sorry, and why are we whispering?”

She nods, and I follow her gaze. “I didn’t want to wake her up.”

There’s a big blob of someone curled up on one of those horrid hospital chairs next to my bed. Whoever it is has snuggled up in a blanket, and when he or she shifts, I see a streak of wild, red hair.

Is that…Claire?

“How long has she been here?” I whisper, because now I don’t want to wake her up either.

Abby shrugs. “I’m not sure, but you two have been sawing logs for a few hours. She looked cold, so I gave her a blanket.”

“Thank you.”

Abby shrugs. “No need to thank me. She’s been through a lot. It was the least I could do.”

She has been through a lot. More than you know.

Claire lets out a soft snore, and I can’t help but smile. She’s always so put together—dress clothes perfectly pressed, high heels, and her hair fixed in a way that makes me want to pull the little pins out and see how it looks cascading down her back. It’s nice to see her out of her element for a change. Although I could do without the circumstances that brought us here.

“I’ll leave you two alone.”

“Thank you. Would you mind pulling the blinds shut on your way out?” I ask.

Claire needs to get some more rest. She’s going to need it to heal, both physically and mentally.

Being trapped in a fire is exhausting to a person, even if there’s no physical damage. There’s something about being stuck in a burning building, surrounded by flames and smoke, wondering if you’re going to make it out, that does a number on one’s subconscious. Not to mention that Claire had her father’s death in a fire to contemplate during those tense moments, which I’m sure made it a million times worse.

“Sure thing.”

Tugging the blinds shut, Abby walks out and closes the door behind her. I’m grateful no one else is here and I have a few minutes to sit back and watch Claire.

Before the fire, I hadn’t seen her for three weeks. Three weeks of wondering whether Mo had set her up on another date. Three weeks wondering if she was thinking about me half as much as I was thinking about her, and three weeks of doing my damnedest to avoid her because I knew if I saw her I’d cave—I’d beg her to forget everything I said, just for another chance of feeling her soft body against mine.

But if I did that, I’d have to come clean.

Claire shifts around in the seat, drawing her knees to her chest. Her face scrunches up, and she lets out a soft cry, mumbling something I can’t quite understand. She rustles around again, and I reach out, resting my hand on her back. She settles under the weight of my touch, and something inside of me roars to life.

We’ve always had a connection—one I’ve forced myself to ignore—but it’s hard not to touch her when she’s this close. A couple of seconds later, my IV pump beeps, and Claire jolts awake, dislodging my hand.

Damn machine.

Her eyes dart around the room, as if she’s trying to remember where she is, and when they land on mine, the first thing I notice is how exhausted she looks. Dark circles tell me that besides the little nap she just had, she probably hasn’t been sleeping.

“Hey,” she says, scooting her chair closer to my bed.

“Hi.”

We do that awkward staring thing for a few seconds, and then Claire clears her throat. “I knocked earlier, but you didn’t answer, so I waited a few minutes and decided to let myself in.”

Well, shit. Now I’m wishing I’d let her in. Maybe I could’ve spent the last couple of hours talking to her rather than sleeping.

“I was sleeping.”

“I noticed.” She smiles. “I’m surprised I fell asleep with all the snoring you were doing.”

“Me?” I laugh, pointing a finger at myself. “You were the one snoring. If you were tired, you could’ve climbed in the bed with me. It would’ve been much more comfortable than that chair, and I certainly wouldn’t have minded.”

I shoot her a wink, and she rolls her eyes, and just like that, we’re right back to our old selves.

“Good to know your injuries haven’t hindered your personality.”

“What injuries? A bump on the head isn’t enough to keep me down,” I say, holding my hands out to the side. “Now, why don’t you tell me what really brought you by, because I highly doubt it was to take a nap.”

“You’re right.” Claire reaches across the bed, resting her hand on my arm. A familiar jolt of electricity races across my skin. It’s the same sensation I felt last time we touched. I thought it was a fluke, but I was wrong. I look at Claire, curious if she felt the same thing. Judging by the odd look she’s giving her hand, I’m going to go with yes. She watches her fingers glide over my wrist and tangle with mine, and there we go, blurring those lines again.

Swallowing, she looks at me.

I could get lost in Claire’s eyes—big, green, and always full of so much life. The long strands of her hair are piled on her head, and when she tucks a flyaway behind her ear, my eyes follow the movement. I can’t stop staring. She seems just as taken by me, her gaze roaming across my face as if she’s seeing me in an entirely new light.

Then she breaks the spell when she says, “You saved my life.”

You saved my life.

She might as well have tossed a bucket of ice water over my head. Every firefighter loves to hear those four words. Except me, from her, because this changes everything. I’ve always known Claire was off limits, and despite my wavering lately, this seals the deal. I don’t date victims I’ve saved, and that’s exactly what she is now. She isn’t holding my hand out of affection toward me, but out of obligation. I pulled her from a burning building, and now she feels like she owes me something, though that couldn’t be further from the truth. She doesn’t owe me a damn thing.

“I had no idea it was you who came in for us until I woke up and Mo told me.”

If it weren’t for my last name spelled across the back of my coat, I’m not sure my own mother would recognize me in my turnouts. Add copious amounts of smoke, and it would be even harder.

“It’s fine, Claire.” I pull my hand away from hers.

She furrows her brow, looking down and then back up. “I’m so sorry, Trevor. I’m sorry you got hurt trying to save me. I don’t know what I’d do if something had happened to you.”

Her words frustrate me. “Don’t.” I shake my head. “I was doing my job, Claire, and you didn’t have to come here and apologize for that.”

I don’t know what she was expecting me to say, but the pinched look on her face tells me it wasn’t that. I’ve always hated when victims of a fire feel the need to apologize as if they’ve somehow inconvenienced me, and it’s so much worse coming from Claire. Not only was I doing what I’m trained to do, but I could pull Claire from a hundred fires and still not make up for the pain I caused her and her family all those years ago.

My body stiffens at the memory of what I did. I should be the one apologizing to her, begging her to forgive me, not the other way around, and that makes me even more angry.

“I know I didn’t have to, but I wanted to. It was foolish of me to run into a burning building, and I put you and Mikey in a tougher spot because of it. I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

I hate hearing her talk like this. I can see on her face that she’s hurting. There are so many emotions racing through her eyes that she can barely contain them. I want to be the person to coax those feelings out and help her work through them, and I know she’d let me if I tried.

We’re connected in a way most people will never understand, but it’s a connection I’d prefer not to acknowledge—or to have at all.

“You’re right. You shouldn’t have gone back in. You could’ve gotten yourself killed.” My words come out a bit harsher than I intend. I’m not trying to be an asshole, but I’m frustrated, and it needs to be said. Her dad was a firefighter. She knows better than to run into a burning building, no matter the circumstances.

“I wasn’t thinking about myself.”

“Clearly.”

Her lips fall open, her eyes widening. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Trevor. I’ll pay for your hospital bills. I’ll come to your house and take care of you until you get back on your feet, whatever you need—”

See, this is exactly what I was afraid would happen.

“Damn it, Claire, stop. Don’t you get it? I don’t want your apology. I don’t want your money, and I sure as hell don’t need you do anything for me. What I need is for you to take care of yourself, and you can start by using your brain before making any more rash decisions.”

Claire stands up, her chair scooting across the floor. She blinks, and I expect her to square her shoulders, call me out for being an asshole, and put me in my place. Instead, she cries.

If I were standing, the pain in her eyes would bring me to my knees. I hate that I’m the one who put it there, and if I ever see that look again, it’ll be too soon. I want to beg her to forgive me for being angry. I want to tell her I’m not mad at her, I’m mad at myself because I want her and I can’t have her and it kills me to look at her and not be able to touch her the way my body craves. But the choice is taken away from me when she spins on her heel.

“Claire, wait.”

She doesn’t. In three long strides, she’s yanking the door open.

“Claire!” Damn it. “Claire, please, I’m sor—”

The door slams shut. I rip the covers off and swing my legs over the bed, intent on going after her, but a thought runs through my head, stopping me.

It’s better this way.

Closing my eyes, I drop my head into my hands and try to convince myself she’s better off without me. She doesn’t need me to help her get through this; she has her mom and Mo and a slew of other friends who are probably waiting to help her pick up the pieces. As much as I hate that it won’t be me, it’s probably for the best. And I will always do what’s best for Claire, even if it’s at my own expense.