Conquer the Flames (Langs Down) (11 page)

Ian stumbled into his arms. Thorne held him close for a minute as he waited to see if the hospital staff had heard him. “It’ll be all right,” he promised, moving his lips over Ian’s short-cropped hair as he spoke. “They’ll get you patched up in no time, and I’ll be waiting when they do.”

“What happened?” an ER attendant asked from behind them.

Thorne turned and helped Ian onto the gurney. “Smoke inhalation,” he said, forcing himself to take a mental step back and relate the situation in a way that would be useful for the doctors. “He was helping out at the grassfires east of here. I don’t know exactly how long he was out there, but when I found him, he was down. He hadn’t lost consciousness, but he wasn’t moving on his own. I evacuated him and provided oxygen. A cursory inspection indicated no burns of note.”

“He’s not the only one hurt,” the attendant commented as he wheeled Ian inside.

“The evacuation required being lifted out of a ravine without proper equipment for a climb,” Thorne reported.

“They tied a rope around your waists and tugged?”

“Pretty much, but I’ll take a few scrapes over dying,” Thorne said.

“You did the right thing,” the attendant said. “We’ll check him out, give him something for the inflammation, and make sure he’s not suffering from anything else. I’ll have someone come clean out your back and arms. You’re caked in dirt.”

Thorne scowled, but he could hardly argue when he’d scolded Ian the day before for leaving a nick on his palm untended. “Is there somewhere I could shower?” he asked. “I’ll let them treat the scrapes, but it would be more effective if I was clean first.”

“Wait here. Let me get him to the docs and I’ll show you where to go.”

Thorne waited with feigned patience while the attendant pushed Ian’s gurney into an exam room. He watched through the glass as a doctor came in and began examining Ian. When the attendant helped Ian sit up and began unbuttoning his shirt, Thorne turned away.

He wanted to know what Ian looked like beneath his work shirts, but not like this. He wanted Ian to show him, to peel the clothes away in an inviting strip tease or else to let Thorne unwrap him like the gift he was.

“Dr. Johnson is with him,” the attendant from before said, startling Thorne. For a moment, he struggled with himself, but concern for Ian gave him the control he needed to push back his memories.

“How is he?”

“He’s got a pretty bad case of smoke inhalation, which you already knew,” the attendant said, “but he’s conscious and coherent, and his blood oxygen levels are approaching normal, so carbon monoxide poisoning isn’t a concern. We’ll keep him here for observation until the swelling in his lungs goes down. Heparin will help with that. He’ll probably have a cough for a while, but it should fade. Smoke will always be a potential trigger for asthma after this. We’ll give him a rescue inhaler to be on the safe side. He might never need it, but better safe than sorry.”

“Thanks,” Thorne said. “He had me worried there for a bit. He never lost consciousness, but there was a point when I wasn’t sure how coherent he was.”

“He answered all the doctor’s questions with no problem,” the attendant said, “so that’s a very good sign. Let me show you where the shower is, and I’ll see if I can find a pair of scrubs that’ll fit you. Your shirt isn’t fit for the rag bag at this point.”

The attendant led Thorne to what was clearly the staff showers, but he figured maybe he’d won emergency responder status in their eyes. He hadn’t introduced himself or given any explanation for his presence. Then he remembered his ute. He grabbed his keys.

“I didn’t bother parking when I drove in,” he said. “I was too concerned with getting Ian the help he needed.”

“I’ll have someone take care of it,” the attendant promised. “Do you need anything brought inside?”

“No, I have my wallet in my pocket. Everything else is fire gear. It can stay in the ute.”

“Get cleaned up. I’ll be back with the scrubs and to take a look at those cuts,” the attendant said.

Thorne stripped out of his ruined shirt. His dungarees had held up a little better, but even they were stained with soot and dirt. He tossed those aside as well. He’d wash them and see if they could be salvaged. Fortunately his shorts seemed in decent shape, so he’d have something to wear under the scrubs until Carley got there with a change of clothes for him and Ian.

The hot water stung the cuts, making him realize how many more there were than he’d realized. Ignoring the pain, he grabbed a bar of soap and scrubbed at his dirt-caked skin. He knew the hospital staff would come after him with antiseptic wash later, and he’d let them, no matter how much it hurt, because he couldn’t risk another infection and not being able to take care of Ian, but the cleaner he got now, the less they’d have to dig and scrub at him later. He didn’t see any shampoo, but he had to get his hair clean so he lathered it with the bar as well. He’d pay for that with tangles, but he had to get the smell of smoke off him before he went to see Ian. Even if the odor wasn’t enough to affect his breathing, it would affect his mental state. Thorne knew that much from experience.

The firefighters hadn’t even let him all that close to the burned-out remnant of his house and the smell still haunted him. For Ian, who had nearly died because of the smoke, Thorne was sure it would be even worse.

Finally satisfied that he was clean enough not to set off Ian’s coughing, he shut off the water and grabbed a towel from the stack the hospital apparently provided for its employees. As promised, the attendant had left a set of scrubs in a pile outside the shower area too, so Thorne dressed and pulled his boots back on before going in search of someone to take a look at his back.

“Feeling better?”

Thorne summoned a smile for the attendant. “Cleaner, at least. How’s Ian?”

“The same as when you went to take your shower,” the attendant said.

“I guess you want to take a look at my back.”

“Since you mentioned it….” The attendant grinned and led Thorne to an exam room.

Eight

I
AN
lay in the hospital bed as still as he could make himself. Even the slightest movement would trigger another coughing fit. At least the oxygen and the medicine the doctor had given him had stopped him from coughing when he didn’t move. He didn’t know how long that would last since the drugs would wear off eventually, but he’d take what he could get.

He took advantage of the quiet to try to make sense of his memories and to fill in the gaps where he couldn’t entirely remember. He remembered feeling his body giving out even though he didn’t want to die. Then Thorne had appeared out of the smoke like some sort of modern-day knight in shining armor, swooping down on him and carrying him off to safety. A lot of things had blurred in his memory, but Ian could recall that moment with perfect clarity: the way Thorne had looked, the almost frightening determination on his face as he’d run to Ian’s side to check his pulse and breathing, the way his hair had fallen out of its usual queue to brush his jaw, a curtain of black and silver that framed his handsome face, contorted with worry. Ian had tried to reassure him, but the bloody cough kept him from speaking. For a minute, Ian thought Thorne was going to pick him up and carry him, and he had later, but Ian’s legs had held him then, with Thorne’s help, anyway. He could still feel those huge hands on his chest and neck to check his pulse and around his waist as Thorne helped him toward the ridge, could feel Thorne’s whole body cradling him as his friends pulled them to safety. He knew Thorne had borne the brunt of the injuries from the cliff so he didn’t have to. He only hoped Thorne was getting medical attention now.

Those memories were surprising enough, but it was the thought of Thorne kissing him that lingered in the forefront of his thoughts. He’d never been kissed like that. Even with the threat of the fire behind him, it hadn’t felt rushed or furtive, like so many of the kisses he’d known before deciding he couldn’t keep leading on the men he met. Even Thorne’s hands on his arse hadn’t freaked him out, and he’d never willingly let anyone touch him that way. With Thorne, though, it had just been another part of the adrenaline-fueled kiss. When he thought about it now, he felt the familiar discomfort that had haunted him every time he’d tried to go beyond kissing, but in the moment, he hadn’t felt that way. If his cough hadn’t interfered, and if they hadn’t had the fire to worry about, he’d still happily be there kissing Thorne.

He’d love to believe that meant he was past his hang-ups, but he’d never been one to delude himself. He might make it a little farther with Thorne, but before long, the clothes would start coming off or hands would start burrowing inside them, and it would be the same as all the rest. Ian would pull back and ask for more time. Thorne would call him a tease and either storm off or demand more. If he stormed off, it would be over, and Ian would be left to nurse a bruised ego and probably a tender heart. If he demanded more, Ian would be left trying to fend him off. It hadn’t worked with his foster father when he was sixteen, and he had no doubt it wouldn’t work with Thorne. Thorne had picked him up and carried him like he weighed nothing. If he decided to take Ian against his will, there wouldn’t be a thing Ian could do to stop him.

He wouldn’t do that
, Ian argued firmly.
He’s too honorable for that.

The hurting teenager inside him shot back that no one had believed his foster father capable of it either, but that hadn’t stopped him.

Ian could feel his agitation increasing and with it, the tension in his lungs. He tried to take a deep breath to calm down, but that only triggered the tickle in his throat. He swallowed, hoping to soothe it, but it had taken full hold now. He bent forward, coughing hard into the oxygen mask that covered his face. When the coughing continued despite his efforts to breathe normally, he fumbled for the panic button on the edge of his bed and pressed it hard, summoning a nurse.

The nurse came in seconds later. “I need you to breathe deeply,” she said. “I’m going to add a dose of albuterol to your oxygen flow, but you have to get it into your lungs for it to work. The faster you get it into you, the sooner the coughing will stop.”

Ian nodded to show he understood and did his best to draw air into his lungs despite their instinctive need to expel the irritants. The metallic taste of the drug hit his tongue, making him scrunch his face in disgust, but his coughing eased almost immediately.

“Feeling better?” the nurse asked with a sympathetic smile.

Ian nodded again since he couldn’t talk around the air mask and lay back against his pillows. It was going to be a long few days with nothing to do and no one to talk to, not that he could talk at the moment. He vaguely remembered Neil saying something about asking Carley to bring him a change of clothes. Maybe he could ask her to bring him a book. It didn’t even matter which one. He’d read all the books on his shelves and hadn’t had a chance to order any new ones, but he loved them all, so he’d gladly read them again. He reached for his cell phone on the table near the bed. Carley was probably already halfway to the hospital, but he texted her anyway, on the off chance she hadn’t left yet.

His phone buzzed a moment later.
Any requests?

He really didn’t care, but since she’d asked….
Dragon Prince. It’s on the third shelf on the right.

Found it. I’ll be there as soon as I can.

Ian knew “as soon as I can” was still at least four hours from now, but that was better than not having a book until tomorrow or later. He shifted on the bed, trying to get comfortable on his back since he’d already figured out lying on his side made his cough worse. He closed his eyes, mostly because he didn’t know what else to do, and tried not to think.

He heard the door open, but he figured it was just a nurse come to check his vitals or whatever they needed to do, so he didn’t bother opening his eyes, but no one came to poke at him. After a moment, he levered his eyelids open to find Thorne sitting in the chair by his bed.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,” Thorne said immediately. “I just wanted to check on you.”

Ian shook his head to say he wasn’t sleeping, but Thorne just looked confused, so Ian raised his shoulders in a shrug and held out his hand. Thorne seemed surprised but took Ian’s hand in his larger one. Ian squeezed to say thank you and then held on. It felt too good to have that contact after nearly dying. Tomorrow he’d be strong again, but today he was allowed to be needy.

Thorne didn’t try to pull away, which reassured Ian. He would have understood if Thorne was eager to get back to fighting the grassfires. It was his job, after all, not babysitting an injured jackaroo, but Ian was glad of the company, even silent company.

“You seem to be doing a little better,” Thorne said after a moment. “You aren’t coughing, at least.”

Thorne hadn’t been there ten minutes earlier to see his last coughing fit, but Ian just smiled beneath the oxygen mask and left it at that. He was doing a little better. He wasn’t actively coughing at the moment, and he couldn’t say that the last time Thorne saw him. He still had a funny taste in his mouth from the drugs they’d mixed in with the oxygen, and he’d have given anything for a drink of water to clear it away, but he didn’t know if that was allowed. He’d ask the next time the nurse came in. For now, though, he’d settle for Thorne sitting by his bed, holding his hand.