Embers by Laura Bickle

Author:Laura Bickle
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Published: 2010-11-27T05:00:00+00:00

Anya called ahead to make sure there were no other visitors for Brian at the hospital. She didn’t relish the idea of another confrontation with Jules or seeing the hurt look in Max’s eyes. She’d eventually try to smooth things over with Katie and Ciro when she had a moment to breathe. But she was done with DAGR for good. Nothing they said would make a difference.

She had expected to feel. . . lighter somehow, after she’d given up DAGR. Instead, she felt heaviness dragging at her steps. Perhaps the weight of Brian’s condition was too heavy; perhaps the dreams of Mimi and the unknown little girl were too tightly wound in her psyche; perhaps the burns on her skin would take time to fade. Whatever the reasons, the loss of DAGR made her feel very alone.

Slipping behind the curtain to Brian’s bed, she pulled up a chair beside him. He lay motionless, the machines pressing his chest up and down. She saw Katie had been here. Though flowers weren’t allowed in the ICU, she’d left him a small carved jade statue of Kwan Yin, the goddess of mercy, on the night table. A stack of magazines suggested the others had been here, too, keeping vigil over him.

But they were alone now. Anya stroked Brian’s cheek. His stubble had grown on his face and on his head, prickly under her fingers. The stubble on his chin was lighter, redder than the hair on his head. She would have to tease him about growing a goatee if and when he woke up.. . .

When he woke up. Period. She kept that thought firm in her mind, would not consider any other alternative.

“I don’t know if you can hear anything,” she said, rubbing her thumb on the back of his hand. “But I want you to know I’m sorry. About everything. I’d give anything to have a do-over.”

Sparky crawled up on the foot of the hospital bed, curling up on Brian’s feet.

“You can’t see him,” she whispered, “but Sparky’s keeping your feet warm. He’s worried about you.”

She dipped her head, holding her breath until she steadied. “There are a lot of things I’m sorry about. I’m sorry about some of the things I did as a kid. . . you don’t know the whole story, but it’s my fault my mom’s gone.” Some detached, observant part of her mind felt how much easier it was to confess to Brian, locked in his silence, than it ever had been to confess to a priest. “I left the Christmas tree lights on. . . and the house went up in flames. I guess. . . I guess I’m still doing penance for that. The firefighter gig and all.

“I’m sorry that I took the spirit of that little girl. Hell, I’m even sorry that my electric bill was late this month. But the thing I’m most sorry about”—she leaned forward, staring at him intently—“is pushing you away.

“I was afraid,” she confessed. “I was afraid I would hurt you.

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