Chapter 3

My head pounds, and every square inch of my body aches. I feel like I got hit by a fucking train. I look around and quickly realize I'm in a hospital. Bits and pieces of what happened to land me there in the first place float through my brain.

"About time you woke up, you lazy piece of shit."

I struggle to sit up, groaning as agony tears through my body, but I grit my teeth and manage. Darnell is sitting in a chair at the foot of the bed. He stands up and comes around to the side of the bed, then lays a hand on my arm.

"Good to see you back among the living, brother," he says.

"Good to be among the living."

"You remember what happened?"

I nod. "You get the woman out? Gloria, I think her name was."

"She's banged up but alive," he says. "Thanks to you."

"Best I recall, you were there too, despite me ordering you to get the fuck out."

His smile is wide and bright. "And let you get all the glory? There's a picture in the paper of me coming out of that fucking building with the woman in my arms. The news is calling me a goddamn hero. Can you believe that shit?"

My body seizes up in pain as I laugh. Closing my eyes, I lean back against the pillows and take short, shallow breaths, giving the pain ripping through me a few beats to subside. When it eventually does, I open my eyes again.

"Good for you, man," I say. "You deserve the recognition."

"You're the one who pulled her out. Gloria told me what went down in there," he replies. "If anybody's a hero here and deserves the shine, it's you."

"Better you than me. I hate the fucking media."

"Yeah, well, Captain Ray is going to tear you a new asshole when you're upright again," Darnell grouses. "He's spent the past couple of days giving me a verbal colon flush because you're not there, so I'm the handiest punching bag."

"Yeah, well, you blew him off and went into that building after me," I point out.

"Yeah, maybe."

"Then you deserve that, too. Can't have the good without the bad, man."

His booming laughter echoes around the room. "Go fuck yourself."

The door to my room opens, and I can't keep the surprise from my face when I see my son, Micah, step in. He stands at the foot of my bed, his hands in his pockets, looking at me awkwardly. Darnell pats me on the shoulder and gives me a genuine look of concern.

"I'm really glad you're okay, man. I'll give you two a little space and check back on you later," he says. "I'll sneak a burger or something in."

"Burger? Bring me a fucking steak, man."

He grins and pats Micah on the shoulder, then leaves the room, quietly shutting the door behind him. My son and I look at each other in strained silence for a moment, neither of us seeming to know what to say to the other. My relationship with my son hasn't been the best. We've never been close. Over the last couple of years, we've been making an effort to get to know each other better and bridge those gaps that exist between us, but we're not quite there yet. It's going to take some time.

"How are you feeling?" Micah asks.

"Like shit," I reply. "But I'm alive, so there's that."

"What happened?"

"Building came down as I was pulling a woman out of the fire."

He grimaces. "Is she okay?"

I nod. "Yeah, Darnell was able to get her out ahead of me."

He shakes his head and tries to wipe a look of worry off his face. Micah takes after me in that he's stoic and tries to keep his emotions in check. I wish he wouldn't do that. I've never been the most emotionally expressive person, which has led to more problems than it's solved. I'm not a great role model like that, and it's the one way I wish he wouldn't take after me. Maybe if I were more in touch with my emotions, my relationship with him might be better.

As I struggle to find something to talk to Micah about, the awkward, silent pressure in the room gets heavier. It feels like a pillow being pressed down over my face, making it impossible to breathe as it smothers me. I clear my throat and offer him a weak smile.

"So, how have you been? Haven't seen you in a couple of weeks," I start.

He shrugs. "Fine. I'm good. Just been busy," he says. "Speaking of which, I can't stay. I just wanted to swing by and check on you."

"Yeah. I get that. I appreciate you stopping by," I say. "Anyway, when I get out of here, how about we go grab a beer or dinner or something?"

"Yeah, sure. Give me a text."

"Good. I will."

"Anyway, I'm glad you're okay."

"Thanks. And thanks again for coming by."

He gives me a tight smile and a nod, then practically sprints out of the room. When the door closes behind him, I let out a breath of relief. It's not that I don't like Micah. And it's not that I don't like being around him. He's a good kid. He's got a good sense of humor and can be pretty sharp sometimes.

It's just that when it comes to making small talk, I'm pretty useless at the best of times. Add in the tension and awkwardness of us trying to patch up the holes in our relationship and the fact that we don't really seem to have much in common, and it makes knowing what to say to him that much worse.

Maybe one day we'll be able to move past that. Maybe we'll be able to have a better relationship where conversation and laughter come easier and more naturally to us. But we're not there. We're nowhere close to being there right now. Hopefully, though, time will help us move past our history and get to that point. Time, as they say, will tell.

Settling back against my pillows, I close my eyes, doing my best to stop thinking about it as I try to get some rest. Feeling a little muzzy, I'm starting to drift off when the sharp click of the door being opened snaps me back to the present. I open my eyes and though my vision is a little hazy, I see a nurse stepping in.

"How are you feeling today, Mr. Weston?"

"Like a building fell on me."

She laughs and her voice is high and sweet. She sounds young. I rub my eyes and take a beat to give my vision a chance to clear, then look again. When I see her standing at the foot of my bed looking down at the chart in her hands, my breath catches in my throat. I look again, sure I can't be seeing who I think I'm seeing.

"Harlow?" I ask. "Harlow White?"

She looks up from the chart and gives me that wide, warm smile that never failed to stop my heart each time I saw her when she dated Micah. My eyes drift over her curves and admire the way her full breasts strain against the top of her scrubs. Her ash-blonde hair is pulled back into a tight braid, her skin is soft and alabaster-white, and her cerulean-colored eyes are still dazzling. Harlow was always a beautiful girl, but now that she's a little older and has the petite but curvy body of a woman, she's breathtaking.

"Hi, Mr. Weston. How is your pain level?"

I suck in a sharp breath. "It's fantastic."

She grins. "I'll make sure Nurse Peters adjusts your meds. We can't have you suffering."

Seeing this girl again after a few years opens a gaping chasm in the pit of my stomach. Fire runs through my veins and my cock stirs and starts to thicken as I admire Harlow's body. I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough that it makes me wince, trying to keep myself from getting the most awkward and uncomfortable fucking hard-on ever. Unable to stop it, I shift in the bed, trying to hide it, and clear my throat.

"When did you become a nurse?" I ask.

"Oh, I'm not a nurse yet," she replies as she jots a few notes on my chart, then checks the machines standing sentinel next to me. "I'm still a student. But once I'm done with all my rotations and tests, I'll be an RN."

"Good for you, Harlow. That's terrific. You've always been smart and driven. I knew you'd do something great with your life."

Her cheeks redden, and she looks down at the chart. She looks up again, and when our eyes meet, it feels like somebody drove the breath from my lungs with a baseball bat to the midsection.

The feelings rage through my body unchecked, and I find myself fighting the desire to throw her down onto this bed and fuck her until she can't see or walk straight. As inappropriate as it was while she was dating my son, I can't deny that I've always been attracted to Harlow. I've always had my dirty little fantasies about her. And I've jerked myself off more than a few times with images of her in my mind.

"Thanks, Mr. Weston."

"Jesus Christ, just call me Hunter. You're making me feel old."

Her laughter is a sound I could get used to hearing. The flash of her smile and that glittering sparkle in her eyes as she looks at me makes it impossible to keep my dick from stiffening. The effect she has on me is primal. Carnal. This girl has fueled more than a few fantasies, which is making being in the same room with her a bit difficult.

"So, anyway," I say, trying to talk about something mundane, trying to stave off my erection. "What's the diagnosis? Are you here to pull the plug?"

She laughs again. "Fortunately, your situation isn't that dire. You've got a few broken ribs, a sprained wrist, and more bruises than we can count, but other than that, everything is superficial and will heal in a few days," she tells me. "I'm sure you feel like hell but considering the fact that a building collapsed on you, you are really, really lucky you didn't get seriously hurt."

"I guess I should go buy a lottery ticket."

"You might want to consider it," she says without a trace of irony. "I mean, it was a building that fell on you, Mr. Weston?—"

"Hunter," I cut her off. "And it was just what was left of the ceiling."

"Oh, okay. That's so much better," she teases.

"It's good to see you, Harlow."

"It's nice to see you too," she says. "And I'm really glad you're okay. The night you were brought in, it … it terrified me."

Her words linger in the air, and when her eyes meet mine again, I feel that surge of electricity fire through my veins and run straight to my dick again. Nobody has ever had such a deeply primal impact on me. Ever. The moment between us stretches out, the silence filled with unspoken words and a silent longing so powerful, it seems to make the air between us vibrate. Harlow finally looks away, her cheeks flushing again.

"Anyway, I should get back to my rounds," she says. "Let us know if you need anything, Mr. West—Hunter."

"I will. Thanks."

"Of course," she says. "I'll see you soon."

Harlow"s beautifully sparkling eyes linger on mine for several long beats, and my heart beats drunkenly in my chest. My groin tightens and my mouth is suddenly parched. I lick my dry lips and offer her a weak smile.

"I hope so," I say.

Her smile is lopsided, and her cheeks turn a shade of red I've not seen before. Harlow turns and rushes out of the room, seemingly anxious to get away from me, though not for the same reasons Micah had hurried away. It's only when the door closes behind her that I stop to wonder if she'd seen him when he was here. Or if he'd seen her. Their breakup had been anything but harmonious, and I knew, at least on Micah's end, that there were still some hard feelings.

As awkward as things between Micah and I were already, I'm reminded of the fact that they can get even more awkward if he happens to be here when she stops by.

"Wonderful," I mutter. "Just fucking wonderful."