Chapter 16
Colby
It’s a Thursday morning, five days since the fire. A couple hours ago, I was finally taken off the breathing machine for good following a couple-day weaning process, and now I’m in my new room in a step-down unit.
To celebrate my progress, my entire family is here plus four guys from the fire department, including my battalion chief. They’re passing around the blackened, melted helmet I wore during the fire while my chief tells everyone some stats about the fire and the turnout gear that saved my life.
And I’m silently losing my shit.
I know it’s a huge honor that my chief came here today. He’s a bigwig and he’s got shit to do. And I also know he brought that melted hat as a sign of deep respect for me and what I went through. In the world of firefighting, nobody wants to wear a fresh-looking hat. We all want to wear a hat that bears the marks of battle in one form or another. But nobody in their right mind would want a hat that looks like mine. It’s horrifying to think that thing was on my head.
“His jacket was exposed to temperatures of close to a thousand degrees,” my chief says. “The stitching actually melted, which means...”
I tune out so my heart rate won’t spike and send a nurse rushing in.
Jesus Christ. I don’t want to hear about the fire. Why would I want to do that when the fire is all I keep thinking about, night and day? When I’m plagued by horrific nightmares? Good lord, every time I close my eyes, I see that poor baby’s charred face. Or the way she looked at me when I first showed up to save the day. Or I’m in the house, surrounded by raging flames and unable to breathe. I swing at the window with my axe, but it doesn’t break because my axe is made of rubber. Or it’s a chicken. And then the baby’s flopping in my arms and I’m screaming and crying and gasping for air... and I suddenly realize the axe in my hand is wilted over like a drooping flower. And that’s when I know for a fact I’m going to die...
The beeping of my heart monitor speeds up, so I breathe deeply and force myself to think about Ralph. But flames begin lapping at my brain again, so I quickly ditch Ralph and imagine myself kissing the angel in the blue scrubs again.
And that does the trick.
Man, she’s better than painkillers.
My rendezvous with the beautiful angel with the light mocha skin and full lips and hazel eyes is interrupted by a female voice at the door. I shift toward the interruption and my heart rate spikes. It’s her. The angel in the blue scrubs! Although this time, she’s the angel in the aquamarine scrubs. But, whatever. She’s back and she’s way, way more gorgeous than I remembered her from the other day.
“Lydia!” my mother says brightly, surprising me. I hadn’t realized my entire family had met this woman. When did that happen? Mom continues, “Come in, honey. These are Colby’s friends from the fire department.”
Lydia says hello to everyone and crosses the room to me, a warm smile on her gorgeous face. “Hi, Colby,” Lydia says. “I don’t know if you remember me coming into your room the other day. You were pretty doped up.” She holds out her hand. “I’m your physical therapist, Lydia Decker.”
“Of course, I remember you, Lydia,” I say softly, taking her hand. “Although I must admit, I had no idea you were my physical therapist.”
She chuckles.
“Honestly,” I say, “I don’t remember more than bits and pieces of our conversation. But I certainly remember you. You’re unforgettable, Lydia.”
Lydia bites her lower lip and says, “I’d be interested to know which ‘bits and pieces’ of our conversation you remember. You were flying pretty high on pain meds when we first met.”
“Oh, God, I hope I didn’t embarrass myself.”
She smiles. “To the contrary, you were quite the charmer, especially right before you passed out cold. The very last bit of our conversation was particularly entertaining. Do you remember it?”
Fuck. I don’t know what she’s talking about. Is she referring to when I asked her about the baby? No, the smile on her face tells me she’s not talking about that. But that’s the last thing I remember. Did I write something inappropriate to her on the white board? Oh, shit. Was it me who drew that dick-and-balls doodle on the white board?
“I’m thrilled to see you off the ventilator,” Lydia says.
“I’m thrilled to be off it,” I say.
“Does your throat hurt?”
“A lot.”
“Yeah. That’s from the intubation. It won’t last too long.”
“Good to know.”
“You look like you’re feeling a whole lot better than the last time I saw you,” she says.
“Yeah, I am. You’re looking even more beautiful than the last time I saw you, if that’s possible.”
Keane mutters, “Go get her, Tiger.” And everyone chuckles.
Let ’em laugh. I realize I’m never forward like this—it’s just not my style. But now that I’ve been to hell and back, I’m feeling like my normal shyness is a colossal waste of time. In fact, I’m probably being too reserved with Lydia right now. I should just tell her how I’m feeling—that I’ve never been so attracted to a woman in all my life.
I open my mouth to say something incredibly charming to Lydia, I’m sure, but my plan is thwarted by a nurse coming into the room and checking my vital signs.
“Is he on a healthy dose of pain meds right now?” Lydia asks.
“Yup,” the nurse replies, and they both giggle.
“I can tell,” Lydia says. “He’s got that same look in his eye he had the other day. Like he’s sliding down a rainbow on a purple unicorn.” Lydia looks at me. “Can’t wait to find out what you’re like when you’re not high on drugs, Colby. If you’re half as entertaining as you are on drugs, you’re going to be a lot of fun.”
“He’s normally much more subtle than this with women,” Ryan says.
Okay, that comment kind of pisses me off. Is he apologizing for me? Well, fuck him. And fuck subtlety. Subtle Colby is the old me, son. The new me has been to fucking hell and back and lived to tell the tale. The new me knows in a whole new, concrete way tomorrow isn’t guaranteed. As a paramedic-firefighter, I’ve seen a whole lot of death from responding to car accidents, fires, overdoses, and various other medical crises. That’s why I got my chest tattoo a couple years ago. Here Today, Gone Tomorrow. But seeing other people die is something quite a bit different than coming face to face with my own mortality. Now that I’ve experienced the precarious thread between life and death for myself, I feel even more urgency to live my life to the fullest. Hell yeah. The new me is going to go after whatever and whoever he wants, no holding back... starting with this profoundly beautiful woman with the mocha skin, large breasts, and kind, hazel eyes.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can plainly see that my siblings and firefighter buddies are exchanging loaded smiles and looks, presumably amused at the intense way I’m looking at Lydia and plotting to make her mine the minute my body is able to do my bidding. Well, fuck ’em all. Let them snicker and chuckle like school kids on a playground. I don’t care if they all see how badly I want her. I don’t care if they all think I’m loopy because of the meds. It’s not the meds making me want her, motherfuckers. All you have to do is look at her to know that. She’s objectively perfect and sexy as fuck, even in scrubs. And not only that, she’s as sweet as can be. The woman is Mother Earth incarnate. Everything about her makes me want to ring her bell the minute my body is capable of doing it.
Oh.
Apparently, while I’ve been having a lengthy conversation with myself about Lydia inside my drugged-up head, the chief has been telling the object of my desire loads of details about the fire. Just as I’ve tuned back in to the conversation in the room, he pulls out my melted helmet again, and, predictably, Lydia gasps at the sight of it.
“Oh my God, Colby,” she breathes. She looks at me, poised to say more—perhaps to ask me a question? But when she sees my face, she stops herself. Without missing a beat, Lydia peels her eyes off mine and says, “Okay, everyone. I’m sorry to shut this party down, but it’s closing time at the bar. Colby and I have some physical therapy to do.”
Relief floods me. That’s exactly what I was wishing she’d do—clear them all out so we can be alone.
Goodbyes are said. Hugs are administered. And, finally, blessedly, it’s just Lydia and me.
“Alone at last, Mr. Morgan,” she says, taking the seat next to my bed.
I slide my hand in hers. “Alone at last, Miss Decker. There is a God.”
She smiles. “You might not say that after I get through with you. Some of what we’re going to do together is going to be extremely frustrating for you, I’m sure.”
“Bring it, beautiful lady. As long as you’re the one administering the torture, I’ll enjoy every second of it.”
She rolls her eyes. “Okay, Mr. Flirty Pants. Enough with that. Let’s get serious for a second. Okay?”
I smile broadly. “What? I can’t say you’re beautiful? Because you are. You’re drop dead gorgeous, actually. I’ve never seen a more spectacularly gorgeous woman in my life.”
She’s fighting not to smile too big and it’s adorable. “Thank you. Sweet of you to say. Incredibly ridiculous, but sweet. Unfortunately, though, we don’t have time to sit here and talk about my earth-shattering beauty all day. You’re not my only patient.”
“I wish I were.”
“So do I.”
My heart lurches.
She clears her throat. “I shouldn’t have said that. Forget I said that.” She blushes. “Momentary insanity brought on by your outrageous charm.” She takes a deep breath like she’s pressing some internal restart button. “Okay. In all seriousness. This is going to be a long, hard road for you, Colby. But I want you to know you’re not walking it alone. Inch by inch, step by step, I’ll be right here with you, okay? My job is helping you get back to being you as quickly as possible.”
Electricity surges through my veins, and not because of her words. Because of the zap I feel through the touch of our palms. Her incredible energy is physically palpable. “Thank you,” I whisper, my eyes locked with hers, my fingers zipping and zapping with the influx of her energy into my body. “I wouldn’t want to be on this journey with anyone but you, Lydia. I don’t want anyone else.”
“Thank you,” she says. She leans forward like she’s going to kiss me, like I’m the great love of her life, and whispers, “I’m going to bring you back to life, Colby Morgan.”
I’m too overwhelmed with the energy I feel coursing between us to speak, so I simply nod.
“It’s my job, of course,” she says. “But I must admit, with you, it feels more like my calling.”
Again, I nod. But this time, it’s because I feel like I’m about to cry. Again. And God help me, I don’t want to do that. What is it about this woman that makes me feel like she’s cracked me wide open and she’s peeking at my very soul? I swallow hard and then whisper, “Thank you.”
She gives me an overview of my physical therapy regimen, and I must admit, the process sounds overwhelming and fills me with dread. If it weren’t for the deep compassion I’m seeing in her eyes right now, I’m sure I’d feel downright hopeless about everything she just told me.
“Do you have any questions for me?” she asks tenderly. “Any concerns about your physical therapy?”
She’s hope for the hopeless.
A blazing tiki torch in a dark cave.
I shake my head. “I’m in your capable hands and that’s all I need to know.”
“Alright,” she says. She squeezes my hand, sending electricity coursing through my body again. “Then let’s get started, shall we?”
“I’m all yours.”