Nuclear Heat (Firework Girls #4) Read Online Free PDF Page B

Sam’s been moved upstairs and out of the ICU, she’s waking up more frequently and I’m finally confident she’ll recover. I stay anyway. I accidentally stood Emily up on our date Saturday night, but she was understanding once I explained the situation. The girls and their guys have been filtering in and out of Sam’s room—Ashley’s back in town—and when they say to me “Are you still here?” I pretend I’ve been home more than I have. I’ve gone home long enough to clean up and sleep for a couple of hours, but that’s all.
    I’m not sure why.
    Even though I know Sam’s out of danger and will be okay, something’s still stirred up inside me. I can’t relax. I can’t leave her.
    It’s late afternoon now, two days after she was first admitted to the ER. Her color is starting to come back, and this time when she wakes up, she turns her head and focuses on me. For the first time, she seems to really see me. I take this improved awareness as a good sign.
    I’m right by the bed, of course, but lean in a little more anyway, giving her a smile. “Hey, you.”
    “Hey.” Her voice is dry.
    “Want some water?” A few hours ago, the nurse brought in one of those huge plastic mugs with a handle, a straw, and markings on the side measuring off CCs. It was full of ice water at the time—the ice has since melted—and Sam was still sleeping as much as ever, so it seemed kind of pointless.
    Sam weakly nods her head in answer, though, so I’m glad to have it now. After I give her a few sips, I settle back in the chair. I take her hand without thinking. She gives me a weak squeeze before relaxing her hand again. That makes the weird, pinched feeling I’ve had in my chest feel even more constricted.
    “What happened?” she asks.
    I fill her in, but downplay the whole I-was-scared-to-fucking-death-you-were-going-to-die-and-leave-me part. I downplay just how serious things got, in general. I do tell her she’s been on a heavy-duty treatment of antibiotics and has a few more days to go.
    “You’ll be okay,” I say. “The nurses say you’re one tough cookie. Little do they know this was all just one big scheme to avoid ripping out that wall.”
    She gives me a weak grin. There’s a little light in her eyes.
    “Gotcha,” she says, her voice still gravelly.
    I squeeze her hand. “More water?”
    She shakes her head no.
    “Just a little?”
    “Okay. Bossy.”
    She takes a little more this time, and the part of me that’s been cataloguing every change makes another note in the “improving” column.
    We talk a bit more and the nurse comes in to do her thing and I text updates to everyone. After about half an hour of this, Sam’s starting to look worn and sleepy again. Still, it’s the longest she’s been awake yet, and the first time she’s really been present. Before I know it, I’m holding her hand and looking at her sleeping face.
    When I first saw Sam in this hospital bed a couple days ago, I’d wanted to stroke her cheeks and kiss her forehead. She was so frail and sick. I wanted to comfort her. Now she’s starting to get her color back along with a little bit of her orneriness—a good sign—but I still have that pinched, panicked feeling. I don’t know why it won’t go away.
    Now, as I look at her, that feeling starts to take on a life of its own.
    Something warm is blooming in my heart. Meanwhile a strange, queasy sort of feeling grips my stomach. I don’t just want to pet her cheek and kiss her on the forehead. I want to pull her into my arms and cradle her head against my chest. I want to climb right into this bed and hold her against me, feeling her body against mine from head to toe. I want to kiss her on the forehead, and on her cheeks, and on her lips.
    My heart is pounding. That warm feeling is flooding my chest, my arms, my face.
    As I realize how badly I want to hold her and kiss her again and again, I feel the entire world flip over.
    Oh, god.
    Sam.
    Is this for real? Is this