Dancing with a stranger

Chapter|22

It was midnight, and I sat in the hospital waiting room with Grace, Charlie, and Kian. My father hadn't made it out in time, but Lorenzo had offered to watch Aaliyah once he got checked out.

The firefighter told us that my mother and Sean weren't in the building—they must have escaped just in time.

"Miss De Santi?" the doctor called. I stood immediately.

"It looks like everything's going to be okay," he said. "He has a few areas with severe burns and smoke inhalation. We're keeping him overnight just to be cautious."

"Can we see him?" I asked.

"Yes," the doctor replied, "but he's resting right now."

I entered his room quietly. He was sleeping, and I settled into the chair beside him, taking his hand in mine. He squeezed back, a small gesture of reassurance.

"I love you," I whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.

He stirred slightly, murmuring in his sleep, "I love your sweet girl."

Finally, we were able to go home. Kian had a few stitches on his hand and his left eyebrow, and Charlie had managed to drag him out of the building without a scratch. The other men were fine too. But we hadn't been able to reach my father in time.

At home, I placed Aaliyah safely in her crib. I wasn't taking any chances. I went into the bathroom and stripped off my clothes, the adrenaline of the night still coursing through me. Kian followed, turning on the hot water.

He lifted me into the shower with him, letting the warm water cascade over us. I faced the water while he gently helped wash me, his presence steady and grounding.

Afterward, he wrapped a towel around himself and handed me another to dry off. I slipped into one of his oversized T-shirts, feeling comforted by his scent and warmth. I hopped onto the counter to help him change the bandages on his hand and eyebrow. Once I finished, he kissed me softly.

"Thank you," he whispered into the kiss. Then, lifting me, he carried me to the bed, slipped on his shorts, and checked on Aaliyah before settling beside me. He pulled me close, the weight of his body against mine a shield from the chaos of the past hours.

The quiet of the house enveloped us. Aaliyah was safe. Kian was safe. And despite the grief and fear of the day, there was this—this moment of peace we could hold onto.

His hand slid over my waist, pulling me even closer. His breath was slow and steady, almost as if he feared letting go of the moment. His fingers traced gentle circles on my skin, sending warmth through me.

"I should have gotten to him sooner," he murmured, his voice low, distant with guilt. "I'm sorry... about your father."

I squeezed his hand, holding it to my chest. "You did what you could. You saved me... you saved us."

He said nothing, but I could feel the tension in his body, the lingering guilt beneath the surface. He held me like he was trying to protect me from more than just danger—he was shielding me from grief, from the things we couldn't change.

"We're here now," I whispered softly. "That's all that matters."

Kian nodded, pressing his lips against my temple. "I'm not letting go of you. Not ever."

I smiled, feeling the warmth of his words settle into my chest. "I wouldn't want you to."

We lay there for hours, wrapped in each other's arms. The chaos, the fear, the grief—they all felt distant, like shadows fading with the night. For the first time in a long time, I allowed myself to believe that, for now, everything would be okay.