Chapter 4 - Ofelia

Waking up in a hospital room had never been part of my plan. Not today. Not ever, really. But here I was—wrapped in a scratchy blanket, head pounding, throat dry, and the lingering taste of plastic clinging to the back of my tongue like regret.

I blinked slowly, letting my vision adjust to the cold white ceiling tiles and the dull beeping of some machine off to my left. The smell of antiseptic and hand sanitizer confirmed what I’d already suspected. Definitely a hospital. Again.

The last time I woke up in one of these beds, I was sixteen and dramatically unconscious after fainting during the high school blood drive. One second, I was trying to impress my lab partner by being brave; the next, I was face-planting into the linoleum with a juice box in my hand. Needless to say, it cemented two lifelong truths: I wasn’t cut out for medicine, and I was definitely pursuing psychology instead.

A throat cleared near the foot of the bed.

I turned my head and found a man sitting in the corner chair, looking entirely too large for the delicate hospital furniture and far too familiar. It took me a second—hazy memory spinning slowly into place—but then I registered the dark brows, the strong jaw, the smudge of soot near one temple he hadn’t managed to clean off. Zach.

The firefighter.

He was still in his uniform pants and a navy blue t-shirt, arms crossed loosely over his chest, watching me with an expression that was somewhere between relieved and deeply uncomfortable.

I frowned. “What—why are you here?”

My voice came out scratchy, like a broken record spinning underwater. I winced.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You passed out. They said you were dehydrated, and your oxygen saturation dipped after the smoke exposure. They’re keeping you a little longer to monitor things.”

I squinted at him. “No, I mean… you. You weren’t in the ambulance. You weren’t here when I got brought in. How did you—?”

He shrugged a little, sheepish. “I followed up. Wanted to make sure you and the cat were okay.”

Right. The cat.

My head turned slowly to the side, and there—exactly where I should’ve expected—was Spitfire’s carrier on the counter, her amber eyes locked on me with the kind of scathing feline judgment only a very pregnant tortoiseshell could deliver. She didn’t meow. She didn’t blink. Just glared.

Yep. I was still on thin ice.

“I felt fine. I don’t remember anything after that,” I murmured, more to myself than to him.

“You collapsed,” Zach said, his voice softer now. “Your vitals tanked right in the ER. Oxygen levels dropped, blood pressure was low—they had to move fast.”

I blinked. “I… I did?”

He nodded slowly. “You were trying to convince the nurse to let you leave. Said you were going to take Spitfire to the vet. Then you just… went out. They got you stable, but it was close.”

I glanced at the IV in my arm, the tightness in my chest suddenly more noticeable. The memory was hazy. I remembered sitting up. Talking. Then...nothing. Just a blank.

“Oh,” I said faintly. “That’s worse than a high school blood drive collapse.”

Zach gave me a dry half-smile. “I wasn’t there for that one, but yeah. Probably.”

I sank back into the pillow, letting my eyes close briefly before flicking them open again to look at him.

“Is it… normal for firefighters to come check on people they rescued?” I asked.

His mouth twitched like he wasn’t sure if he should smile or pretend it was standard protocol. “Not really.”

I stared at him, waiting.

He shifted slightly. “You said her name was Spitfire. That she was due soon. I figured… anyone who’d stay behind for a pregnant cat was worth checking on.”

That shouldn’t have made my throat tighten, but it did.

Zach was still sitting there, looking like he’d just walked out of a firefighter-themed calendar shoot. Emotional vulnerability in front of a man like that? Hard pass.

Instead, I cleared my throat and tried to pivot. “So… my apartment?”

His expression shifted instantly. “Yeah. About that.”

Oh no.

He stood and crossed to the foot of the bed, bracing one hand on the railing like he was trying to soften the blow with body language. “The fire started in one of the corner units. Spread faster than expected. The walls… they were older. Dry. It went up quick.”

I held my breath, waiting.

He exhaled. “We got it out before it hit the other wing, but your side? It’s not livable. Between the water damage, the smoke, the busted wiring—”

“So, it’s a loss,” I said flatly.

Zach hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. It’s a total loss.”

And just like that, the tightness in my chest had nothing to do with smoke inhalation. I stared at the wall, trying to blink away the sting behind my eyes. My entire life had fit into that studio apartment. The too-small couch. The hand-me-down microwave. The thrifted bookshelf I’d nearly died assembling. All of it was gone in a blink.

He seemed to sense the shift because his voice was gentler when he added, “I’m sorry.”

I nodded stiffly, jaw clenched.

“Do you have somewhere you can go?” he asked.

That question shouldn’t have made me flinch, but it did. I counted off my options in my head like a grim grocery list.

Option one: A hotel. Expensive. Temporary. The last one I stayed in gave me a rash and cost more than my entire weekly grocery budget.

Option two: My brother Ace’s couch. Also known as The Pit of Despair. He loves me in his chaotic way, but his apartment smells like Hot Pockets and unwashed ambition, and I’d likely be sleeping beneath a mounted sword and two vintage Halo posters.

Option three: Going home.

I physically recoiled at the thought.

“My mom would be thrilled,” I muttered. “She’s been trying to get me back under her roof since I moved out. She’d see this as divine intervention. Call it a sign from the universe and guilt me into bunking in my old room next to her Virgin Mary nightlight.”

Zach looked alarmed but also vaguely amused. “So… no on the home front?”

“Hard pass,” I said. “She already thinks I’m taking too long with my degree. If I show up on her porch with a pregnant cat and fire trauma, she’ll insist I move home indefinitely and maybe work with her friends to set me up with one of their sons to ensure I stay close.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Damn.”

I gave him a half-hearted smile. “Exactly.”

He leaned back, folding his arms again. “What about friends? Siblings?”

“I mean, I’ve got both,” I said with a sigh. “But my sisters both live in NYC with their men and dogs. Dogs are the bigger issue because Spitfire would not be okay with that. And then there’s my brother. He’s local, but I feel like I’d need a tetanus shot to crash with him. So, not a place for Spitfire to have her kittens.”

Zach looked like he wanted to laugh, but wasn’t sure if it was allowed.

I rubbed my temples. “I’ll figure it out. I always do.”

He nodded, though his gaze lingered on me like he didn’t quite believe I should be left to “figure it out” on my own. The thing was—he wasn’t wrong. I was that kind of person. The figure-it-out girl. The glue. The one with the plan. Except right now, I planned to leave the hospital, get Spitfire to the vet, and… what? Sleep in a Starbucks?

God, I hated this.

Spitfire let out a low, throaty mrrrow from her carrier like she agreed.

I looked up, made brief eye contact with Zach, and attempted optimism. “At least we’re alive.”

He gave me a small, crooked smile. “Yeah. That counts for something.”

Only it didn’t feel like enough right now. Not when I’d lost my home, my sense of control, and my backup tampons in the same night.

I sighed again. “Maybe Ace’s couch isn’t the worst idea. I can probably sleep through the sound of him yelling at twelve-year-olds in Fortnite if I find enough Tylenol.”

Zach didn’t offer a solution. Just watched me like he might. And for the first time since waking up, I didn’t hate the idea.

I was still trying to convince myself that sleeping under Ace’s “Live Fast, Respawn Faster” poster wouldn’t be soul-crushing when Zach pulled something out of his back pocket.

“Here,” he said, unfolding a slightly crumpled sheet of paper. “It’s not much, but it might help.”

I blinked. “What is it?”

“Some short-term housing options,” he said. “A few hotels that are pet-friendly, a couple of extended stay places that don’t charge a fortune for furry roommates, and one woman in Ironbound who rents a finished basement to grad students and rescue animals.”

I took the paper slowly, brow furrowed. The list wasn’t long, but it was typed—complete with bullet points and notes in the margins —alongside phone numbers. One said: There is no weight limit on pets, but they charge extra for shedding. Another: Close to campus, but small. Like really small. And near the bottom: Takes cash, probably off the books—maybe don’t ask questions?

My heart squeezed.

“You… made this?”

Zach shrugged as if it were no big deal. “We get a lot of pet owners caught in building fires. I figured having something ready might help. Dez thinks I’m turning into a cat lady by proxy.”

Despite everything, I laughed—a weak little thing that felt foreign in my chest but also… good.

“I don’t even know what to say,” I murmured, glancing at the paper again. “Thank you?”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said easily. Then he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a small business card, sliding it across the tray table. “Also, just in case. One of the better vet clinics in the area. They’ve got emergency hours, and the receptionist owes me a favor.”

I eyed the card. It was simple—cream background, green paw print logo, and embossed text that read “Hobson Animal Health Center.” Tucked just beneath the printed phone number was a handwritten one with a name: Jules – tell her Zach sent you.

My fingers closed around it before I could think better of it.

“I hope I don’t need this,” I said honestly.

He smiled, warm and lopsided. “Me too. But just in case.”

There was something about the way he said that—just in case—that hit harder than it should’ve, like he didn’t expect anything back. Like this wasn’t a setup for a favor owed or a ‘call me maybe’ wink in disguise. He just… cared.

I glanced over at Spitfire’s carrier. She was still glaring, but her ears were less pinned now, her breathing more even. If cats could begrudgingly approve of someone, I had a feeling she was hovering around that line.

“She’s not great at thank-yous,” I said, nodding toward her.

Zach chuckled. “That makes two of you.”

I rolled my eyes, but it lacked any real heat. “Seriously, though. Thanks. I didn’t realize they made firefighters who do follow-ups and homework.”

“We’re rare,” he said. “Endangered species, even.”

“I’ll put in a request with Fish and Wildlife to protect you.” I joked.

That got a real smile out of him. For a moment, the hospital room didn’t feel quite so sterile. The IV in my arm didn’t tug so heavily. And the weight in my chest eased, just a little.

Zach stepped back toward the door, thumb hooking over the strap on his gear bag. “You’ll be okay, Ofelia.”

“You sound pretty sure about that,” I said.

“I am,” he said. “You ran back into a fire for a pregnant cat. That takes guts.”

“Or stupidity.” I sighed.

He shrugged. “The line’s thin. But either way, you’ve got more fight in you than most.”

With that, he tapped twice on the doorframe and disappeared down the hall, leaving behind a printed list, a vet’s card, and a warm ache I wasn’t prepared for. I stared after him, heart thudding.

Spitfire let out a soft, unimpressed chirp from her carrier.

“Yeah, I know,” I muttered, leaning back into the pillows. “Don’t get attached.”

But maybe… maybe it wasn’t the worst thing if I did.