Conflagration Page 3

  “You are both fucking dead to me,” he says, sounding half defeated and half in shock.

  “Knox,” I begin, wanting to explain that, while it was fucked up, nothing had happened before last night. Before they were over. But before I can continue, he has me pushed up against the wall, teeth clenched and seething.

  “Don’t say another fucking word to me. Ever again. I know we’ve never really seen eye to eye, but goddammit, man, this is so fucking low. Even for you.” He pushes off me and turns to leave, but not before giving Megan a once-over, letting out a small chuckle, and shaking his head. “Three fucking years I wasted on you. What a joke. Thanks for teaching me a valuable lesson. Trust no one. Not even family.”

  With that, he’s gone.

  I want to go after him, but I tell myself that he’ll get over it. He’s not hurt because he loves her. He’s just pissed that she came to me after they broke up. I value my goals, my dreams, my plans. They obviously mean more to me than she did to him, or else he wouldn’t have let her go so easily. On the other hand, I’ve worked my entire life for something that’s being ripped away from me and handed to him.

  So do I feel bad that I fucked his girlfriend? Maybe. That bro code was significantly broken last night. I can’t deny that. But right now, I’m too blinded by my anger to care. Right now, he’s not my brother. He’s my competition.

  Knox is gone and it’s all my fault. Or at least partially. He’d hightailed it out of my place after the showdown with Megan—who said she’d explain to him that it was a one-time thing and nothing had been going on in the past. Apparently, however, her explanation was a bit different from the truth, and now, not only is Knox gone from my apartment, but he’s departed the entire fucking state.

  It isn’t until the next day when Mom calls, crying and in hysterics, that I realize that Megan’s version of events may not have been entirely true, and Knox left before I could set the record straight. I should care. I should feel like a guilty piece of shit. But the whole time Mom’s wailing about Knox having taken off and enlisted, I feel numb. Mom tries to blame me, but somehow, she’s placated when both Megan and I tell her that we didn’t get together until after they’d broken up. In turn, it just makes her angrier at Knox.

  The more Dad roars on about Knox giving up his life’s calling—subsequently my life’s calling—the happier I am that he’s gone. Finally, Dad swears that Knox’s leaving is grounds for him being disowned, and a wicked grin forms on my lips.

  I know I’m a bastard. But right now, I don’t give a shit. I’m back on track, and if Knox was collateral damage, then so be it.

  AS THE blackness starts to fade away, I see that white light, but it doesn’t really look like that tunnel. No, it’s just a scene change, and if I could muster up enough strength, I’d groan because there are things in my life I’d rather not relive. It’s bad enough that I have the memories and have been dealing with the fallout for far too long. Reliving it all over again is more agonizing than the first time around, because now, I know the truth. I betrayed my brother in the worst possible way when he’d done nothing wrong, but by the time I found out, it was far too late.

  So why am I having these flashbacks playing in slow motion? I thought when you were on death's door, your life was supposed to flash before your eyes. So why am I replaying every single mistake I've ever made as if it were the first time—in slow motion instead of quick bursts? Maybe my life did flash before my eyes and it happened so fast that I missed it. Maybe I’m dead after all and this? This is my hell.

  Present Day

  “ACCORDING TO the paramedics on scene, he was shielding her body with his own, and he bore the brunt of the blast. It’s so sweet and sad at the same time. Hopefully his brain swelling goes down soon and he wakes up. He saved her life and kept her from serious injury. A hero like that deserves to live a long, fulfilling life.”

  The sound of voices mixed with a steady beeping awakens me just in time to hear what she’s saying. Flashes of the accident pass through my mind, and it registers that I must be in the hospital. As the realization dawns on me, I feel a throbbing pain in my head, my body aching more than I ever imagined possible. When I slowly open my eyes, I have to wince at the bright fluorescent light shining down on me—which causes my head to hurt even more.

  As I glance around the room, I take in the machines I’m currently hooked up to. My throat feels scratchy, and when I spot the two nurses going over my chart, I try to speak but nothing comes out. Just a garbled mess of unintelligible words. It’s enough to get their attention though, and they both look up at me, smiles laced with sympathy crossing each of their faces. A pager goes off, and one of the women excuses herself just as the other nurse comes over to my bed and presses a button that causes the upper part of the bed to rise until I’m in a sitting position.

  “Welcome back, sweetie. Your throat’s probably just dry. Let’s get you some water,” she says, crossing to a sink and filling a glass for me.

  When she returns to my bedside, she holds a straw to my lips. As the water slides down my throat, it tastes like heaven. The cool liquid quenches my thirst and coats my esophagus, and I don’t think I’ve ever been more grateful for a drink in my life.

  After clearing my throat, I attempt to speak again. “What happened?” I manage to croak out. Looking down at my body, I see some bruising and bandages, but the hospital gown and blankets are covering my torso and legs. I’m too scared to lift them to see what may lie beneath. “I mean, I remember the accident. Just not the aftermath. I think I passed out. How did I get here?”

  Sympathy continues to play across her features, and I prepare myself for the worst. “After the accident happened, there was a gas leak in the semi truck’s cab, and then an explosion occurred. You have some cuts and contusions, bruised ribs, and a pretty nasty gash on your head. Your spleen was ruptured and we had to do emergency surgery to remove it, but other than that, everything else is relatively minor. You had a guardian angel tonight watching over you. If you had been any closer to the blast, things could be been a hell of a lot worse than they are now.”

  Pulling my hand up to my head, I feel my forehead, and sure enough, it’s bandaged and wrapped all the way around. This must be the source of my pain, and I flinch when my fingers touch where I’m guessing the gash is.

  “And the driver of the truck? I never saw him,” I ask, almost panicking that he didn’t make it out alive. I close my eyes as I wait for her to answer me.

  “The truck driver escaped with minor burns and an ankle sprain. He was able to get away as well.”

  I’m relieved that no one was killed in the crash just as an image of a handsome man flashes through my mind, and it all starts rushing in. My seatbelt sticking. The door refusing to budge. The handsome man, the one I never imagined I’d see again, beating on the glass until it finally broke. The way he leaned in and cut the seatbelt, barely grimacing as the broken glass cut into his skin as he lifted me out of the wreckage. And then the way he tucked me into him, as if I were the most cherished cargo he’d ever held. The last thing I remember is the hissing. The awful hissing noise that must have signaled the impending explosion. Shuddering, I’m relieved I wasn’t conscious for that part.

  Shaking the noise out of my head, I open my eyes. I’m about to ask about my savior when the nurse gets a page. She sets the glass of water on the table beside me so it’s within reach and then pats my hand.

  “There are some questions I need to ask you, but we can do that in a little bit. Until then, is there anyone you want us to call? Someone on scene was able to find your purse, which fortunately hadn’t been destroyed in the blast. There was no emergency contact information in your purse, however, and you’ve only been out of surgery for a couple of hours. We haven’t been able to track anyone down as of yet.”

  The last thing I want is Victoria and William showing up here, especially with Benjamin in tow. Not wanting to worry anyone, I decide I’ll call Alyssa once things calm down. �
�No, I’m not from around here, and the last thing I want to do is worry my family. When I’m feeling a little more rested, I’ll give them a call.”

  She gives me an understanding smile, and I sigh with relief that she’s not going to push me on this. At least not yet. “Okay, Ms. Covington. I understand completely. I’ll just set your purse here, and if you feel up to it, your cell is still inside. Now, I need to answer this page, but if you need anything in the meantime, don’t hesitate to hit the nurses’ call button. You may feel a little drowsy from the pain medication, so for now, try to get some rest.”

  I watch as she leaves the room before I rest my head on my pillow, replaying the events of the past twenty-four hours. What should’ve been the prelude to one of the best days of my life has turned into a nightmare. Instead of wearing a white wedding dress, I’m stuck in a hospital gown. And even now, my fiancé—or, well, former fiancé—is the last man on my mind. No, instead, I’m thinking about the beautiful man who saved my life. Who once told me that he was beyond saving.

  The night I met Branson Wellington, he was a mess. A drunken, pitiful, angry mess. This evening, I saw no signs of that man. I saw confidence. I saw arrogance. I saw determination. But I also saw the pain, the anger, the frustration. That broken man is still in there no matter what strides he’s made since that night eight months ago. Tonight, he saved me. And even though he once said that it’s impossible, I’m making it my mission to save him, too.

  JUST LIKE the nurse said, the pain medication kicks in, because for the next few hours, I can barely keep my eyes open as I drift in and out of sleep. My dreams are plagued with images of the semi barreling towards me, but unlike reality, every time he tries, Branson’s never able to get me out of the car. I jolt awake just as the hissing sound begins. I’m a sweaty mess as I try to catch my breath. They say that, in dreams, you can never die, but I keep coming pretty damn close and it’s unnerving.

  Resting my head back against the pillow, I grab the remote and flick on the television, not wanting to close my eyes again. The local news is on, and after a couple of segments, the aftermath of what I know is the car accident pops up on the screen. Even though I know I should turn the channel, my eyes are focused on the screen, on the wreckage, and a small gasp escapes my lips at the thought that I was able to escape such carnage. It looks like a scene out of Final Destination, and I gulp hard, hoping Death isn’t pissed that he didn’t quite get me this time.

  Finally, the nurse returns, giving me her signature sweet smile as she enters the room. When she glances up at the screen, her face softens, and she takes the remote and flicks the channel until it stops on the E! Network.

  “You don’t need to be seeing all that, honey,” she says as she begins checking my vitals. “Everything’s looking good so far. How are you feeling?”

  “Like I got hit by a semi,” I respond, giving a scratchy laugh that I immediately regret due to the pain in my bruised ribs. A coughing fit causes them to hurt even worse, and she rubs my back as she hands me a glass of water, which I gratefully accept.

  She laughs at my comment. “Yeah, I imagine so. I know you’re in pain and it may not feel like it, but you really did get lucky out there. From what I hear, you had a savior, and without him, things could’ve been much worse.”

  My heart races at the mention of him, and I have to know how he’s doing. If he’s the one she mentioned had brain swelling earlier when she was talking to the other nurse and thought I was asleep.

  “How is he?” I ask meekly, almost afraid to know the answer.

  Her smile falters, but she catches herself and turns away for a moment before looking back at me—fake smile in place. “He cracked his head pretty hard on the pavement, so we’re monitoring him for bleeding in the brain. Some minor burns, a broken kneecap. His torso was pretty cut up by the glass from the window, but nothing stitches couldn’t fix. He wasn’t nearly as lucky as you, but he’s alive, and that’s what matters.”

  My heart falls. Sinks to the deepest depths of my soul. If he hadn’t been there, none of this would’ve happened to him. Yeah, Ari, and if he hadn’t been there, you’d probably be dead right now. Even though we’re practically strangers, I remember Branson telling me about his family issues, and I can’t stand the thought of him lying unconscious in a hospital bed, all alone.

  Spotting the wheelchair resting against the wall near my bed, I gesture towards it. “Can I see him? Please. I have to see him with my own two eyes. I have to know he’s really alive.” I’m practically begging, my voice frantic.

  “I don’t think so, honey,” she says softly, looking around. “In fact, hindsight tells me I probably shouldn’t have even told you his condition. Hospital policy and all. But I thought you deserved to know he was alive. And God willing—doctors and nurses, too—he’s going to be okay.”

  Before I can stop myself, I channel my inner Sandra Bullock and end up with the world’s worst case of word vomit. “Please. I need to see him. I need to see for myself that he’s fine. You see…” I pause, glancing down at my hand, thankful that, in my haste, I forgot to remove my engagement ring. Holding it up for her to see, I continue. “He’s my fiancé.” As soon as the words cross my lips, I’m mentally chastising myself, but if this is the only way I can see him, then so be it. I can’t let him be all alone. Not after what he did for me.

  Her eyes widen and soften at the same time. “Oh, honey, why didn’t you say so? Some of us were wondering, what with the way he seemed to be clutching you so tightly, even while unconscious, but that was just romantic wishful thinking on our parts. Or so we thought. In that case, let me get the doctor in here to check you over and give you the all clear to at least leave your room. I know he mentioned keeping you for a few days for observation since you’re recovering from surgery. I don’t see the harm in letting you out of this room for a visit though. So sit tight, and we’ll do what we can so you can go see your man.”

  As she flounces out of the room, presumably not only to find the doctor but to let the other nurses know that there’s a real-life, heroic love story playing out in their hospital, I groan inwardly, wondering how I’m going to get myself out of this one.

  Not caring about anything that’s on the television, I click it off and the room descends into silence. The only noises are the sound of the clock on the wall ticking as each second passes coupled with the sound of the heart rate monitor beeping continuously next to the bed. I wait as five, then ten, minutes go by without any sign of the nurse or the doctor.

  Wanting to pass the time, I decide that it’s time to get this over with. I pull my cell phone out of my purse, feeling grateful when I power it on and see that I still have at least fifty percent battery life. With a sigh, I find my sister’s number and hit the call button before I can talk myself out of it.

  It rings several times, and I think I’m about to luck out and get her voicemail when she finally picks up. “Ari? Is that you?” she asks, sounding sleepy, and I cringe when I glance at the clock and see that it’s after midnight.

  “Hey, Lyss,” I say, wishing my voice didn’t sound so scratchy.

  “Ari? Are you okay? You sound strange? And what’s that beeping in the background?” she asks, all too intuitive. All too observant. Dammit, I didn’t even think about her being able to overhear the monitors.

  “I’m okay. I promise. Look, don’t freak out,” I begin, to which she does just that. Freaks out.

  “Oh my God! Ariana Genevieve Covington! You can’t run out from your wedding, taking off to who knows where, and not answer your phone for hours only to call me and tell me not to freak out. I’ve been freaking out since you left!”

  God love my overdramatic sister. It’s a wonder she even let me leave her there to deal with the aftermath of my bailing on the rehearsal dinner and the wedding without so much as a note.

  “Calm down, Lyss. Look, I’m fine. I promise. There was just an accident and I’m in the hospital.”

  “OH MY GOD!” she shrills,
and I have to hold the phone away from my ear, her shrieks causing my head to throb even more than before.

  I wait a few beats until I hear silence before putting the phone back up to my ear. “Are you done?” I ask, trying not to chuckle due to the pain in my ribs.

  “Ari, what the hell happened? What do you mean ‘there was an accident’? You can’t just tell me not to freak out and then dump something like that on me. What the hell happened?” she asks, sounding scared.

  Tears well in my eyes, and even though I made the declaration that I need find myself and my strength, I really wish she were here with me. I wish I weren’t doing this alone. But deep down, I know it’s what I need to do.

  “There was a semi that crossed over into my lane, and before I could react, it hit me,” I begin.

  She listens quietly as I recall the accident, gasping loudly when I tell her about being stuck in the car, and Branson’s showing up. Every so often, she asks a question, but for the most part, she just lets me talk. I tell her everything I remember, all the way up to the nurse telling me about his condition, and she sits in silence once I finish.

  “And Lyss, the weirdest thing about all this? The guy who saved me? The stranger. Well, he’s not exactly a stranger.”

  “What? What do you mean? Who do you know in Nashville?”

  Letting out a deep breath, I know I need to say this out loud or I’ll start thinking I’m crazy myself. She’s the only person I’ve confided in about that night—a night and a man I’ve never been able to forget, no matter how hard I’ve tried.