Chapter 25

Cohen

I woke up coughing, looking around the room to see that it was glowing just outside the window. It was hot, the air filled with smoke. I got up out of bed and rushed to open the window, looked out and down to see that the fire had consumed so much of what was on the first floor. My thoughts swept to Abby as I looked down, and I didn’t hesitate then but turned around and ran flying down the flaming staircase. I could barely see anything through the smoke on the first floor, yet the bright flames guided me to Abby and Paul’s rooms, which both seemed to be completely engulfed.

“Abby!” I shouted, pausing at her door. I could feel the heat radiating off of it and knew that the room was on fire. I tried the handle to find that it was locked, panicking when I realized that the knob was too hot to hold. Instead, I threw myself against the door once, then twice before it burst open and I stumbled into a room in flames. I didn’t see Abby anywhere, scanning with my eyes through the thick smoke. I heard a noise then—faint, a cough, coming from Paul’s room. I covered my face and rushed as quickly as I could through the fire, searching for Abby and Paul. His bed was empty, and when I looked around I saw that both of them were on the floor, unmoving, only inches away from the burning fire.

“Abby,” I said, kneeling beside her. Her breathing was rough and ragged but her heart was still racing when I felt her pulse. I lifted her into my arms, trying to grab Paul as well. I couldn’t hold onto them both while moving through the fire, and I took a quick breath and made the decision in an instant. I would come back for Paul. For now, I had to get Abby out. I did the best I could to cover her body with my own, shielding her from the fire as we burst out the other door. The foyer was gone, hollowed out, still burning some. All around me, I heard the cracking of the fire, of wood splitting and breaking under the flames. I hurried toward the front door and easily pushed it open, rushing outside, a few feet away from the house. I knelt down, putting Abby in the grass.

“Gabriella,” I said, touching her cheek, shaking her gently. Her breathing was still sharp and ragged, gasping for breath.

“Come on, angel,” I said to her in a soothing voice. “You can do it. You’re OK.”

“Cohen,” she gasped, her eyelids fluttering open. She started to cough then, her body trembling. It was cold outside and she was wearing nothing but a nightgown that had been half-singed off of her body, off of her flaming red skin.

“Oh, angel,” I said to her. “God, you’re so—”

“Paul,” she rasped, looking up at the house. Her eyes widened when she saw that most of it was burning, gone up in flames. She tried to crawl to her feet but I held her wrist, pulling her back down to the ground.

“I have to go in for him,” she said desperately, still coughing, still struggling to get up.

“No, Abby. No. He’s gone.”

“No,” she said. “He was still alive when I—”

“Abby,” I said, touching her face, turning it to me. Her eyes had welled up with tears and her bottom lip was trembling.

“No,” she said, shoving me away with her weak hands, climbing to her feet. She started to run toward the house but I wrapped my arms around her waist and held her back, pulling her against my chest.

“He’s gone,” I said to her, trying to keep myself from choking on the words. “It’s over, Abby.”

“But—”

“There’s nothing we can do,” I said to her, stroking her hair as I looked up at the house. She stopped fighting me, staring up at it as well, the tears running down her cheeks in steady streams.

“The letters,” she breathed. “My mother’s letters.”

“Oh, Abby,” I said when she started to cry, putting her face in her hands and sobbing. I wrapped my arms around her, every single part of my body aching to make her feel better despite the agony of my own loss, the only father I had ever known.

It was a few moments later that we heard the sirens, and only a few seconds after that before two fire trucks raced up the drive toward the house, barreling forward. They started to work right away, and I stared in wonder as parts of the house began to cave in, the roof crumbling into pieces.

“Are you two OK?” came a voice that seemed distant. I turned my face to see a paramedic staring at me with concern on her face. Her eyes turned to Abby.

“Let’s get her into the ambulance,” she said quickly. “Are you burnt?”

“I don’t know,” Abby said blankly. “I can’t feel anything.”

“We’ll check,” said the woman. “Brett, I need a stretcher over here.”

“I can walk,” Abby protested, but when she tried, she nearly fell to the ground. I had to hold her up to keep her from collapsing, and held her hand as they put her on the stretcher and loaded her into the back of the ambulance.

“Is she going to be OK?” I asked them, but the woman didn’t respond as she closed the ambulance doors behind her and it wailed away.

“This your house?” a man asked. I turned to see that it was a policeman, holding a small notebook in his hand. “We’re gonna get you to the hospital to get checked out, but you seem capable of answering a few questions before you go.”

“Yes, I can,” I said to him. I felt numb, my mind far away.

“Was there anybody else in the house?”

“My uncle. Paul. He’s—he’s invalid. I don’t think he made it.”

The man turned around then, gestured at two of the firemen, who were preparing to go inside. He gave them a thumbs-up and they disappeared. Then he turned his eyes back to me.

“What do you think happened here, Mr. Ashton?”

“I don’t know,” I said blankly, though there was a knot of rage starting to build within me, one that told me exactly what had happened. I didn’t tell him that, though. Didn’t tell him about Bella and Gregory, although I knew I should. Instead, I played dumb.

“No idea,” I said. “It’s an old house. Bad wiring?”

“Maybe,” the guy said. “That woman—she was your wife?”

“My nurse—Paul’s nurse.”

“I see,” he said. “Do you think she had anything to do with this?”

“Abby? No,” I said. I didn’t believe it for a second. Paul had been right and I had been wrong—Abby would never do anything to hurt him or to hurt anybody, despite what I had accused her of.

“OK,” he said. “I want you to get to the hospital, get checked out. We’re sending for a couple more ambulances. Do you have somewhere to stay tonight or do we need to help you get set up?”

“I’ll find a place to stay, thanks,” I said to him in an exhausted tone. A few moments later, another ambulance arrived, and I was ushered onto the back of it even as I protested that I didn’t need to be. The paramedic only gave me a stern look and told me that I’d breathed in a lot of smoke and would need to be checked for burns, though no part of my skin was stinging.

“How’s Abby?” I asked them.

“Who?”

“The girl who was here. Abby. They took her before they came to get me.”

“I don’t know, sir. You’re going to have to find out later.”

I gritted my teeth, but didn’t argue. There were hands and eyes all over me, three paramedics who looked me over for surface wounds. Other than a burn on my palm from trying to grip the doorknob, I had gotten out mostly unscathed. They checked me out at the hospital—listened to my breathing, looked at my lungs, all while I waited impatiently for news about Abby. Nothing came. No matter who I asked, nobody seemed to know anything about her. Finally, the moment they left me alone in my room I got up and went to the nurse’s station.

“The girl who just came in. Abby. Where is she?”

“Fire? Burn victim?”

I felt myself go pale when she said it.

“Yes,” I said to her.

“You family?”

“I’m her—fiancé,” I said to her desperately. “Please.”

“She’s in room two, just around the corner. But you should really stay in your own—”

“Thank you,” I said, already flying toward the room. The room was dark when I got there, and I opened the door to see Abby sitting up on the edge of the bed, wearing a gown that left her back open and exposed.

“Abby,” I said, rushing to her.

“Cohen,” she said, climbing down from the table, wrapping her arms around me. “Are you OK?”

“Yes. They said you got burnt.”

“Oh,” she said, holding out her arm to show a vivid red section. “Just my arm.”

I held it in my hand, looking at her face.

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

“For what?” I asked her.

“I couldn’t save Paul. I tried.”

“I know you did, Abby. You shouldn’t have. Paul’s an old man—you’re more important.”

“I was supposed to take care of him,” she said, her eyes welling up with tears again. I shook my head, kissing her on her forehead as I led her back over to sit on the bed.

“Were you burnt anywhere else?” I asked her. She shook her head, turning her arm over to look at the mark.

“They said they’d come patch it up soon. It looks worse than it is.”

“But it hurts,” I said. She frowned, nodding.

“It does. But it’s no big deal.”

“Abby—”

The nurse walked in then, smiling at Abby as she approached the table.

“We’re going to give you something for pain in a few minutes, OK? You doing all right? How’s your breathing?”

“It’s fine,” Abby said. “I’m not having trouble breathing.”

“Good,” she said. “So we’ll get you some pain medication, get your arm patched up, and get you out of here.”

“Where—”

“We’ll go to a hotel,” I said to her. “Don’t worry about it.”

She bit her lip. “OK.”

“I’ll be right back,” said the nurse, patting Abby on her arm before the woman got up to get the medication. Abby’s legs swung on the table as she stared at my face.

“Are you OK?” she asked. “Paul—”

“I’m fine,” I said to her, cutting her words off. Even hearing his name struck me with a deep pain, grief, shame, and sadness all mixed together at once. It wasn’t something that I could deal with.

“Cohen,” she said in a soft voice. “It’s OK to not be fine.”

“There’s nothing we can do about Paul,” I said, trying not to snap at her. I didn’t want to snap at Abby ever again, didn’t want to speak to her in anger. The only thing I wanted was to comfort her and make her happy, though I knew I had lost my chance to do that.

“I know. But you can mourn—”

“I know, Abby. I know. I don’t want to mourn right now. I want that nurse to come back so that you’re not in pain anymore. That’s literally all I want right now.”

“OK,” she said, her gaze softening. The nurse came in then and a few moments later, Abby was patched up, her eyes distant and glazed over. She gave me a goofy grin when she turned back to me.

“Hey,” she said. I laughed.

“You ready to go?”

“I feel a little—”

“Drugged?”

“A little bit,” she said, pinching her fingers together, beginning to giggle. I grinned and helped her down off the table, and a few moments later we were headed outside to where the police car was waiting for us. The officer had told me he’d take us to a hotel, and we rode in silence, Abby’s fingers laced with mine in the back of the car. I held her hand as we got out, wrapping my arm around her waist to keep her weak legs stable so that she didn’t fall over, and led her inside, getting us a room while she stood and looked around the massive lobby.

“Come on,” I said to her.

“Did you only get one room?” she asked as I led her to the elevator. I nodded.

“You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“But the bed—”

“I’ll sleep on the floor if you want,” I said to her. “I’m not going to touch you. I promise.”

“OK,” she said, her eyes glowing as she looked at me. “But what if I want you to touch me?”

“You don’t,” I said to her. “You’re very angry with me right now, if you’ll recall.”

“I am angry at you,” she said, even as she leaned against my side down the hall, opening the door to our room. I led her in and she collapsed on the bed as soon as we were inside, lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling.

“You need some help?” I asked her.

“Can you take this gown off of me?” she asked, her eyes wide and seemingly innocent, though I saw a hint of playfulness as well.

“That’s a bad idea, Abby. You’re drugged—”

“I’m barely drugged,” she said, waving me off with a giggle. “I just need your help, Cohen. Please.”

I sighed, moving over to her, looking down at her face. The small nightgown she had worn had holes burnt in it, places where the fabric had been singed away.

“You didn’t get burnt anywhere else?” I asked her. She shrugged, a teasing look on her face.

“Can you check for me?” she asked. “After you take my gown off?”

“Abby—”

“I just want you to look,” she said with a sweet pout on her face. “I’m scared they missed something.”

I nearly groaned at that look on her face, the desire there that came from the high of the drugs. I hesitated to do as she asked me, but then couldn’t help it—I carefully undressed her, peeling the nightgown off of her body so that she was naked on the bed in front of me.

“Look,” she said, spreading her thighs, showing everything to me. “Did I get burned there? On my legs?”

“No,” I said stiffly, trying not to look at her pussy. I didn’t even want to look at it, knowing how tempted I would be to touch it, knowing that I couldn’t—absolutely wouldn’t now that she was drugged. But my eyes moved there anyway, especially when her hips squirmed upward. She was soaking wet, her pink, perfect pussy dripping with need.

“Abby—”

“Just keep looking,” she said softly, her hands running over her body, pinching her nipples, slipping between her legs. “And maybe—maybe kiss me there. Just to be sure.”

“I won’t,” I growled at her. “Not when you’re drugged.”

“No?” she asked, biting her lip, looking up into my eyes. “No, you won’t touch me?”

“No, Gabriella,” I said, taking her hand, keeping her from touching herself. “You need to go to sleep.”

“But I’m—not tired,” she said. “I just want—”

“I know what you want,” I said to her, placing a kiss on her cheek. “Go to sleep, angel.”

“Are you going to sleep on the floor?” she asked.

“I planned to,” I said to her. “Unless you don’t mind me sleeping next to you.”

“Are you going to touch me?”

“No,” I said to her. “I’m not.”

“Will you just—uh—” she said, blushing as she stumbled over the words. “Can we just be—”

She stopped speaking, chewing on her lip, scooting into bed.

“You want me to lay with you,” I said. “To hold you?”

“Just tonight,” she almost whispered. “Just tonight, OK?”

I nodded, got into bed with her, wrapped my arms around her waist to pull her close. She smelled like smoke, like fire, but like herself too, sweet and sensual.

“Cohen,” she said, her back to me. “You said you loved me.”

“I do love you,” I said to her.

“You’re drunk,” she said. I laughed, kissed the back of her neck.

“No, I’m not,” I said. “I’m in love.”

She took my hand, kissed the backs of my fingers.

“Don’t say that again, Cohen,” she said in a tired voice.

I felt something tear inside of me but said nothing, only pulled her hair back from her face, curling up closer to her as she started to fall asleep. It was then that my mind wandered to Paul and I was hit suddenly with a crushing agony, replaced only an instant later with hatred and anger. I held onto her tightly as it pounded at my brain—this was no accident. This was Gregory and Bella. They had set the fire—they had killed Paul, almost killed Abby. I gritted my teeth, taking a deep breath, trying to control my body to keep it from tensing too much beside her. I didn’t want to bother her or wake her up, though in the back of my mind I knew that none of this torment would end until she was smiling and happy with me.