Page 22 of The Candle Palace (Jamison Valley 6)
She shrugged. “I’m fine.”
“Then would you look at me?”
Her arms fell to her sides. The corners of her mouth turned down. Then she gave me those beautiful, forest-green eyes flooded with tears.
My right hand came to my chest, rubbing at the sting beneath my sternum. As a man who’d had a swift education in the pain scale of one to ten these past few weeks, the sight of Sara crying was at least a seven.
“It’s stupid.” She swiped at her cheeks, letting one hiccup loose. “She’s on to better things. She needs to get back to being a kid again and out of this hospital. But I’m going to miss her.”
Luna had left today.
I’d met her only once. Last week, she’d peeked into my room when the door had been left open and invited herself inside. I hadn’t really wanted company but when a sixteen-year-old kid dressed like a rainbow shows up at your door with a sunshine smile, you don’t turn her away.
Luna had stayed for almost an hour, talking the entire time about her accident and her time at the hospital. She told me about her friends and the anxiety she had about returning to school.
But mostly, she talked about Sara.
Luna told me how Sara was the only nurse who always smiled when she came into a room. How Sara helped her with her homework and taught her how to play gin rummy. How just being around Sara made some of the pain go away.
She told me Sara was a hidden jewel—something I already knew.
With one hand waving and the other toying with her purple hair, Luna eventually returned to her room, and I realized she was a bit like Sara herself. When she left the room, the light faded.
Sara had been prepping for Luna’s discharge all week, spending her free time in Luna’s room. She’d stayed late last night to eat a farewell cake with Luna and her family. But none of it had made today any easier for her tender, gentle heart.
The first week I’d spent here had been a blur of pain and black, empty gaps. When I was awake, the agony was all I could think about. Not even the drugs could keep it at bay. The only other thing I felt was guilt. How many times had I wished that week that the explosion had taken me? How many times had I cursed myself for being a half-wit cop who deserved this mangled and melted skin?
How many times had I considered ending the pain myself?
Countless.
But then she came into my room. My light.
Her touch soothed the burns more than any cream or ointment on earth. Her voice was a dream, chasing away the dread and despair. When Sara was in the room, the pain was bearable. A second thought. It was easier to ignore as I studied her porcelain skin or the freckles dusting her nose. As I tried to decide if her ponytail was blond or red.
Sara. Even her name brought me comfort.
Did she have a man in her life? Would she cry when I left the hospital? Would I even be able to leave her behind?
“Want to sit?” I asked.
“Okay.” She nodded, but rather than going to her normal seat in the chair, she perched on the edge of the bed. It was an automatic, mindless move, but as she realized where she’d just sat, her eyes widened and she stood in a flash. “Oh, sorry.”
“No.” I shot out a hand, pinning hers to the hard mattress before she could leave. The movement made me flinch, the burns throbbing. “Ah, shit,” I hissed. “Please. Sit here.”
She sank down, careful not to get too close.
My eyes dropped to our hands, hers still trapped under mine. She’d touched me many times as my nurse, but this was different. This touch was charged with the electricity we’d both been pretending didn’t crackle between us when we were in the same room.
Her skin was soft, cooler than my own. It was flawless and smooth where mine was rough and broken. The burn on the back of my knuckles was hot pink. Her hand was the color of fresh vanilla ice cream.
Fuck, but she smelled good too. Like a summer breeze through a wheat field. Like sunshine and fresh orange juice, all mixed into one. I breathed it in so I wouldn’t forget when she was off shift later. The two days she’d spent off last week had been miserable.
“Your hand looks good,” she said.
“Almost back to normal.”
It was only a bad first-degree burn. A nuisance compared to the rest. But it had been tended to with Sara’s expert care like all the others, slathered with creams to reduce the chance of scarring and bandaged up until three days ago.
