Burn For You Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  COPYRIGHT

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  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  EPILOGUE

  BURN FOR YOU

  Teagan Kade

  * * * * *

  Published by Teagan Kade

  Edited by Sennah Tate

  Copyright © 2020 by Teagan Kade

  COPYRIGHT

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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  CHAPTER ONE

  RYDER

  The smoke’s heavy, flames licking at the roof and walls.

  What the hell are you doing in here? I ask myself.

  My job, would be the typical retort, but the only reason I rushed in was because Mrs. Doubtfire next door said she never saw the girl who lived here coming out.

  Even through my BA gear the fire is a breathing, physical force, and it’s picking up speed. Another minute or two and the entire house is going to come down.

  I face the door at the back of the house. It’s locked. I pull back and drive my foot into it, a sharp crack as the wood splinters and the door folds inwards.

  Then I spot her, on the floor, lifeless.

  I crouch down and turn her over, not expecting the soft features of her face, the amber flow of her hair in my hands as I hold her. She’s beautiful, stunning, but she’s going to be dead if I don’t get her the fuck out of Dodge.

  I scoop her up in my arms. She’s light, her nightshirt billowing beneath her, a glimpse of her milky thighs.

  I can’t dwell on it. I race towards the front of the house, mindful of her head. A beam falls from the roof. I leap over it and press on, fire all around, the heat oppressive.

  It’s only when I’m outside, the house crumbling behind me, I’m able to place her down.

  Her eyes open, dimly, vivid blue under the streetlight. They fix on me and her mouth goes to open, but it closes just as fast.

  Fuck.

  I check her pulse, but it’s weak. I signal for help.

  She’s not going to die on my watch. I’ve got enough fucking nightmare material to last a lifetime. I don’t need to lose another vic.

  Paramedics arriving. Questions asked and answered. My mouth moves but all my thoughts and energy are on her.

  I realize I’m holding her hand, squeezing it as though I could somehow pass my own life force through myself and into her body.

  One of the paramedics arrives with a gurney. “Thanks,” he tells me. “We’ve got it from here.”

  “I’m coming,” I tell him, rising with the gurney.

  “I don’t think so,” barks a voice behind me.

  I turn to find the captain wiping his brow.

  “I’m going with her,” I state, refusing to back down.

  He throws his hands up. “Jesus. Fine, but I want a debrief when you get back, a full write-up at the station. I want War & Peace, you hear me? I want every damn detail.”

  “Yes, Cap,” I reply, but my mind is elsewhere. He disappears in my periphery.

  I look down at Jane Doe. Even with a bag valve mask on, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

  I lean down, squeezing her hand. “Stay with me,” I whisper. “Stay with me and I promise I’ll get you through this.”

  *

  My cell’s doing backflips in my pocket. I know it’s the captain wondering when I’m coming back to base, but I’m not done here yet. I can’t let go of her.

  I flinch when someone places their hand on my shoulder. It’s one of the night nurses. “Can I get you anything, darl? A blanket, something else to eat?”

  “I’m okay,” I smile.

  She looks at where my hand is twined with Jane Doe’s on the hospital bed. “It’s a nice thing you’re doing here, but you don’t have to, you know. We’ll take the very best care of her.”

  “I’m fine,” I reply, concentrating on those soft features again, the delicate way her cheeks meet her chin, a look of such peace and content on her face she’d give a newborn a run for its money.

  “Alright,” says the nurse. “The doctor will be in shortly.”

  “Thank you.”

  Turns out the doctor is one of my old high school buddies, Terrance Cole.

  “Rough ’Em Up Ryder,” he laughs, clapping me on the back. “The hell you doing here?” He suddenly recognizes the uniform. “Oh, you brought her in?”

  I swivel in the chair beside the bed to face him, still not letting go of Jane Doe’s hand. “I did.”

  He nods to the bed. “Friend of yours?”

  I follow his eyes. “Ah, no. Just didn’t want her to be here alone.”

  “Admirable of you, though the Ryder I remember was more of a pump and dump kind of guy.”

  “I’ve changed.”

  “Well, you still look like you could tackle a brick wall at fifty yards, so clearly not that much, but really, how you doing?”

  “Good, man. What can you tell me about her?”

  “Your comatose girlfriend here?” He checks his clipboard. “Nada. Apparently, no one can work out who she is. No cell, house burnt to hell… Neighbors said she was quiet, kept to herself.”

  “You got this from the cops?”

  “They gave me a quick rundown. She paid her rent in cash, three months ahead, so nothing there. Name she used went nowhere.”

  “What name?” I ask.

  He thinks on it. “Ah, R-something. Reanne? Rudy. No, Ruby. That’s it—Ruby.”

  I mull it over in my mouth, like the feel of it on my lips. “Ruby,” I say, looking at her.

  Her eyes flicker open, dim and unmoved before coming to life, wide and ready. They dart to the doctor and then down to me, remaining fixed there.

  Terrance rushes to her side. “Hi there. I’m Doctor Cole. Do you know where you are?”

  Her eyes don’t leave me. “A hospital?”

  He smiles. “That’s right. There was a house fire. Ryder here pulled you out.”

  “Ryder,” she repeats, eyes narrowing.

  She looks down at our hands but doesn’t let go. In fact, she squeezes tighter.

  “Call you tell us your name?” Terrance asks.

  Her eyes widen then, and I see the confusion there, the sudden horror as her brain connects the dots—or tries to.

  A single tear rolls down her cheek.

  “No,” she says simply. “I can’t.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  RUBY

  It’s a strange feeling not being able to recall who you are, where you’ve come from, if you prefer apple or orange juice. My head’s a mess, a jumble of fragmented puzzle pieces that refuse to go together no m
atter how much I force them. The only thing I know for certain, for real, is Ryder. He’s the only thing mooring me, keeping my mind from floating off into the infinite.

  I know he doesn’t have to be here, know his captain’s burrowed halfway up his ass trying to get him to leave, but he refuses. He tells me he won’t leave me until I’m ready, maybe won’t leave me at all, and the thought made me laugh—laugh for the first time since I woke up into this nightmare.

  In the absence of my own memories, I ask him questions instead. He shares his life with me, tells me about growing up in the wheatbelt as the quarterback bad boy, the inevitable injury that followed, his father being laid off, the move to the city, the academy, wanting to make a difference in the world… I take it all in, soak it up from his lips because I want to. I realize I don’t know this man, yet I feel our connection. It’s easy speaking with him. He sits there holding my hand and it’s like my own personal safety blanket—albeit a six-foot, hulking, dark-haired daydream of a safety blanket.

  I’m sitting up in bed, more conscious than ever of the paper-thin hospital gown I’m wearing. “I don’t think I ever said thank you, by the way.”

  He leans forward over the bed railing, stroking the back of my hand with his thumb. It’s such a gentle movement, so at contrast to the hardened man behind it. “Just doing my job,” he smiles, and god I’ve come to love that smile, the slight upturn at the corner of his mouth, cheeky and comforting at the same time.

  “It’s not your job to babysit me, you know.”

  “I know,” he says, his thumb pausing, “but I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

  I laugh. “You use that line on all the ladies?”

  “Works a hell of a lot better than ‘How you doing?’”

  Now I’m smiling back, an oddly familiar ball of nervous energy building somewhere deep inside me, fluttering away there waiting to unhinge itself and cause havoc. “But seriously, why are you here? Why me?”

  “Why not?” he retorts, running his free hand through unruly hair that’s somehow always perfect in its imperfection, like he could wake up and have it instantly sitting just right.

  He lets go of my hand and I gasp at the sudden helplessness I feel, but it’s swept away when that same hand reaches up to my face, cupping the side of it, his thumb sweeping my cheek, brushing away invisible tears. “I’ve rescued a lot of damsels in distress, but you,” he starts, “you’re different. I look at you and I never want to look away.” He seems to find something amusing in this. “If you think it’s some kind of savior complex, it’s not. I just want to be with you, sit with you, talk about nothing and everything, help you, care for you… Whatever it takes until you’re well and better and ready to face the world.”

  I breathe out. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to.” I tap the side of my head. “Not when I’m running on empty.”

  “It will come back,” he says, tone comforting and assured. “You’ve just got to give it time.”

  “The question is,” I tell him. “Do I want it to?”

  We look at each other, a million things passing between us unsaid.

  His cell buzzing across the set of drawers to the side of the bed breaks the spell.

  He looks over and swipes it up, his hand leaving my face, the loss deep and physical.

  “Ah, shit,” he says, reading the text. “My neighbor’s locked himself out and I’m the only one with a spare key.”

  “Go,” I tell him, even though my entire body is protesting otherwise. “I’ll be fine,” I reassure him, but my voice breaks.

  He eyes me suspiciously. “You sure? I mean I’m happy to stay. I can call a locksmith for him, maybe—”

  “Go,” I repeat, folding my hands in front of myself. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere, is it?”

  He smiles at that, nodding to himself. He sniffs under his left arm. “Guess I could use a shower. That is, unless you like your men smelling like Bigfoot.”

  “I like my men like I like my coffee.”

  “And how’s that?”

  I shake my head. “I have no idea.”

  We both laugh, but the mood quickly turns somber. He stands and reaches for my hand, holding it in the air between us. “I will be back. I promise. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

  I’m struggling to hold back tears, and I know it’s irrational, that I shouldn’t be so attached to a stranger.

  But he doesn’t feel like a stranger. He feels like someone I’ve known my entire life, the boy I grew up with and crushed on in junior high, the boy I kissed…

  I stop myself, unwilling to go where my head and heart so desperately wants to take me.

  He exhales and places my hand gently back to the waffle-weave blanket. “One, two hours, tops.”

  “It’s fine,” I repeat.

  He starts backing towards the door. “Don’t go falling for any pretty boy orderlies now, will you?”

  I cross my arms. “I can’t promise anything.”

  He stands in the doorway, my savior, my protector. “Then I better move my ass.”

  And he’s gone, just like that.

  And holy hell does the world seem emptier for it.

  CHAPTER THREE

  RYDER

  I run the spare key across to the neighbor and duck back inside for supplies, starting the shower while I pull a duffel down from the wardrobe, stuffing it quickly. I want to get back to Ruby, don’t want to leave her for a single second longer than needed.

  I strip and get into the shower. The hot water’s welcome, streaming down my back as I place a hand against the tiles. I close my eyes and she’s there in my mind’s eyes looking pretty as a peach—or as pretty as you can in a hospital gown.

  It’s so good seeing her back to life again, color in her cheeks, a smile on her face…

  I open my eyes and realize my cock’s standing to attention. I smile to myself, consider taking care of it, but that would mean five minutes delay. I shut the shower off instead and step out.

  It’s a half hour drive back to the hospital. I let the possibilities play out in my head on the way. It’s almost a golden rule: You never get attached to a vic, but what do I do? Just leave her there alone, with no one and nothing to cling onto? The thought turns my stomach queasy. No; amnesia or not, she needs me.

  You don’t even know who she is, my head questions.

  But do I have to? Do you really need specifics to get to know someone? I know that she’s warm and genuine. I know she looks at me the same way I look at her. Isn’t that enough?

  I tap my hand against the steering wheel, my head a clutter of mismatched thoughts and emotions, or maybe it’s just the sleep deprivation setting up shop in there.

  My eyes catch a strip mall out the window. My mouth curls into a tight smile.

  Because hell, I’ve got an idea.

  *

  Being a Monday, the hospital is emptier tonight. I enter Ruby’s room and hold up the roses I brought. “Seemed fitting, sorry.”

  She sits up straighter in bed. “They’re beautiful.”

  In the absence of a vase, I place them on the bedside and sit on the edge of the bed, taking her hand, and fuck me it feels good to be touching her again.

  Her entire face lights up, her eyes taking in my new attire. “Wow, you really scrub up nice.”

  I finger the lapel of the polo I’m wearing, always too tight around the arms. “Why thank you, and I see you’ve been accessorizing.”

  She holds up her other wrist, which features a new hospital band. “The other one snapped.”

  “Superwoman, hey? Have you eaten?” I ask.

  “Not yet, no.”

  “What do you say to a date then? A classic dinner and movie?”

  “A kiss in the doorway to follow?” she asks, hopeful.

  My cock tightens in my jeans at the thought. “Don’t tease me.”

  Her lips press out in a mild pout. “Who said anything about teasing?”

  Down boy, I tell myself.
r />   I drop her hand and lift from the bed, moving to the doorway. “One second, okay?”

  Sudden panic on her face. “Where are you going?”

  I don’t reply, stepping out into the hall.

  “Ryder?” she calls.

  I reenter the room with a wheelchair. “Miss, your chariot awaits.”

  Slight confusion. “Where are we going?”

  “Ah,” you’ll have to wait and see.

  I bring the wheelchair to the side of the bed and park it, pulling the blankets back and lifting her under the legs. Her arms reach around my neck for support.

  God, the bare skin of her thighs feels so good in my hands. She laughs. “I can walk, you do realize?”

  I place her gently into the wheelchair. “But why walk when you can ride in style?”

  She rolls her eyes as I push her out of the room. “And you’re not going to tell me where we’re going? Because if this is a breakout attempt, I think you’re going to struggle with that Terminator of a nurse at the front desk?”

  “Betty?” I reply. “Oh, she’s a darl. Got a bit of a thing for me, actually.”

  “Is that so?”

  “What can I say? I’m a good-looking guy.”

  “And so modest,” she trills sarcastically.

  I hit the elevator button, wheeling us in when the doors chime and open.

  The elevator lifts until we reach the roof, the doors opening. “We’re here,” I announce, unable to wipe the smile from my face.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  RUBY

  I can’t believe it. In the middle of the roof is a table, with tablecloth and candles. The lights of the city dance in the background, a waxen moon above. “H-how?” I ask, still not entirely sure what’s going on.

  Ryder wheels me to the table, helping me out the wheelchair into a seat at the table, a hospital blanket ready. He wraps it around me tightly, his hands remaining fixed on my shoulders while he crouches beside me, nodding to the table. “I found this little Italian joint next to the mall on the way, seafood marinara sounded good, so I hope to hell you’re not a vegetarian. Do you like Italian?”

  It smells amazing, laid out on real plates before me. “I don’t know,” I laugh, the joy welling up inside me, “but my mouth is watering, so I guess that’s a good sign?”