L.L. Foster - The Acceptance

Agony darkened his gaze. His fingers left her hair to pet her jaw, frantic to convince her. “The fire fighters will be here any minute. You can hear the sirens. If you just wait—”

“They’ll be too late.”

“Damn you,” he said, struggling with himself. “You can’t know that.”

“But I do.” Compulsion burned her worse than any flames could. “I need to go. And you need to let me.”

He shook his head. “Please don’t do this.”

“I have no choice.” And with that simple but veracious statement, Gaby dislodged Luther’s six-foot, three-inch powerful frame with remarkable adroitness. He landed on his back, stunned, and before he could recover, she’d crossed the street and broke through the crackling, blistering front of the building.

Indifferent to the smoke filling her lungs and the heat singeing her hair, Gaby wended her way through the front room. The curtains of swirling, belching smoke left her blind, but she knew right where to find the fallen body. She felt with her hands—and encountered human flesh.

The body was small, delicate—like Ann.

Knowing each second to be precious, Gaby levered her over her shoulder and ran hell-bent for escape from the engulfing fire. Wood splintered behind her. A wall crashed in.

Up ahead, a glowing egress shone among the smoke and flames. Without faltering, she sought escape.

The second she broke from the burning building and into the fresh air, Gaby collapsed to her knees, gladly relinquishing her load to waiting firemen. They moved with an economy of take-charge action. Hoses sprayed. Men issued orders. Noise escalated.

Please , she thought, watching as firemen carried an unconscious woman to an ambulance. Please let me have been in time.

Just then, she heard the woman cough—and then Luther was there, pulling her to her feet, urging her toward the open door of a cruiser. Mort hovered nearby, at the same time fretting and talking with Ann.

The pandemonium kept Gaby confused for a short time. Someone pressed an oxygen mask to her face while someone else did a cursory exam.

Shoving away the helping hands, Gaby lifted the mask. “The woman. . . . ?” Simple words left her choking, coughing and ready to throw up.

Luther stepped in front of the white-clothed man. “She wasn’t burned, but she inhaled a lot of smoke. She’s on her way to the hospital.” With infinite care, he threaded his fingers through her charred hair.

“Was I in time?”

The fingers briefly clenched. “I don’t know. We’ll find out soon.”

The paramedic spoke. “She should go to the hospital, too.”

Gaby freaked. “Fuck that. I’m fine.” Shoving aside the oxygen mask and knocking the paramedic away, she started to leave. Her reaction would only cause more alarm, but her astronomical fear of medical treatment kept her unable to temper herself.

“Gaby—”

“I said no.” She started walking, intent on leaving the scene before some damned do-gooder tried to strap her to a gurney.

The way she’d seen Father strapped down.

Cancer had stolen his thoughts, his personality, and left behind a stranger who required restraints.

Gaby gasped, and choked again.

Luther stepped in front of her. “Fine,” he said before she could draw back a fist. “You say you’re okay, then you’re okay. I believe you.”

Her chest hurt, and only part of it was from the smoke and excitement. “Do you?”

As black as a thundercloud, he dismissed the paramedic by saying to him, “We’re actually on our way to the hospital to see a friend.” His domineering attention swung back to Gaby. “If she’s not breathing easy when we get there, I’ll have her checked.”

Holding up both hands, the paramedic said, “Not what I’d recommend, but suit yourself.”

Shaken, feeling like a fool, Gaby closed her eyes and inhaled cautiously. “Thanks.”

“I need you to sit. I need you to stay.”

Her eyes snapped open again. “I am not your fucking pet.”

His left eye twitched. “Unless you want to explain what drove you to go into that building, I need to see what happened here. But I can’t do that if I don’t know you’re safe and waiting for me to finish.”

Looking beyond him, Gaby saw Mort and Ann watching. “I’m not explaining shit.”

Luther remained silent, and damn it, she felt guilty. But she couldn’t explain. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

“Fine. I’ll wait. But you could work a little on your verbal skills. Your idea of a request sucks.” Stomping despite her enervated state, Gaby left him growling and snarling, and went to Ann and Mort.

Mort stepped toward her. “God Almighty, Gaby. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” She pointed to a less-crowded section of sidewalk. “I’ll be waiting over there for Luther. You know, if he looks for me or anything.”

Ann touched Mort’s arm. “Go with her. I’ll see what I can do about crowd control.”

Still in her robe, barefoot and hair loose, Ann took charge like an army sergeant. Wasted in mind and spirit, Gaby watched her, and admired her forceful manner and deep blue aura. “You’ve got a live one, Mort.”

“I know. She’s something, huh?”

“Her aura tells me that she’s doing just what she was meant to do. That’s good. Not many people ever find their true purpose.” Together, Mort and Gaby went to the curb and sank down on their butts.

Chewing her bottom lip, Gaby did her best to keep any further thoughts of Father at bay.

Mort’s hand slipped into hers. “That was pretty damned scary.”

Looking first at his hand, then his sincere face, Gaby frowned. “What?”

“Running into a burning building? It’s not what most people would ever do. In fact, I don’t know anyone else who’d do it.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“I know that. But have you thought about how you’re going to explain it to Luther? You know he’s going to ask how you knew a body was in there.”

“I know.” After what had happened with Bliss, he was already suspicious of her. But hell, it wasn’t like she could ignore the plea of the innocent, whether Luther Cross liked it or not.

“That’s not what’s worrying you, is it?”

“No.” She could deal with Luther. Somehow.

But images, memories, kept crowding in, suffocating her. Hurting her.

“Gaby?”

Her eyes burned, so Gaby used her free hand to rub them. “I just . . . anything to do with hospitals and ambulances and all that . . .”

“Oh.” His fingers squeezed hers. “You’re reminded of the guy who raised you?”

“Father didn’t raise me.” The state had raised her—and they’d done a shitty job of it. “I didn’t even meet him until I was seventeen.” And then her life, her entire world, had changed.

Someone approached with water and a wet cloth. Mort thanked them and accepted the items for Gaby.

After a big swig of water that helped a little, she wiped her face. Soot covered her clothes, her hair and skin.

Her thoughts.

She stared off at nothing in particular. “I didn’t know him long enough, but he was the closest thing to family that I had.”

Quietly, Mort said, “Take another drink. It’ll help take the sting out of your throat.”

“Thanks.”

As she guzzled the water, Mort cleared his throat. “What Ann said . . .”

“Yeah.” She set the jug aside. “She’s right.” A trickle of water ran down her chin and dropped onto her chest. That felt good, too, cooling, so Gaby upended the jug and doused her head and shoulders. “I am a bitch, Mort. We both know it.”

“You are not. It’s just that Ann’s defensive of me.”

“She cares for you.” Using the cloth again, Gaby cleaned her face the best she could—but there was only so much she could do to put off the inevitable. She owed Mort an apology. “I’m sorry.”