The urge to cry surges like a wave. I swallow it down, blinking rapidly.

“I broke my laptop,” I blurt out lamely.

He doesn’t stop until I’m wrapped up in a giant hug. “Honey,” he says in my damp air.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

I lean my head against his crisp suit jacket and draw in the scent of wool and soap. He’s so warm and solid, the ice around my heart instantly starts to thaw. He strokes my hair and then eases back to look me in the eyes. The compassion I see in his twists my battered heart. “You all right?” he asks.

No. Not even a little.

“Fractured wrist. I’ll live.”

I just don’t know where.

Finn touches the temporary cast they put on me, then his fingers drift down to skim across my knuckles. “It hurts, I know.”

“How did you know I was here?”

Why is he in a suit? God, he looks good in a suit.

“Someone started watching the evening news when we landed.” Finn’s expression turned haunted. “They were covering your building.”

“Ah.” I don’t want to relive that picture.

His fingers tighten on my shoulders. “Scared the shit out of me, Chess. I didn’t know if you were in there…” He trails off and gives me another hug. Fiercer this time. “Your neighbor, some guy named Fred, was still outside. He told me where to find you.”

I guess I have something to thank Fred for.

Finn peers down at me when I give a small huff of laughter. And his mouth tightens. “You should have called me.”

“I forgot to grab it when the fire started.” I laugh again, but it doesn’t feel good. “I don’t know a single fucking number. Isn’t that pathetic? Couldn’t even remember James’s number, and I’ve known him for ten years. Not that it would matter since he’s in New York right now.” I bite my lip to keep from babbling any further.

A sympathetic smile tilts Finn’s mouth. “I’d be fucked without my phone.”

I snort, fighting the burn behind my lids. “Well, I’m certainly fucked.”

He grimaces, ducking his head. “Shit. I’m sorry. I’m crap at this.”

Personally, I think he’s pretty perfect right now. “It’s okay. I know what you meant. I’m just wallowing.”

“No, honey,” he says with force. “You say whatever the hell you want.” He looks like he wants to say more, but simply rests his massive hand on my shoulder, engulfing it with warmth. “You all clear to go?”

I nod toward the clipboard on the rolling table. “I have to fill out some forms first.”

He glances at my hand, half encased in the cast, then picks up the clipboard. He rests his butt against the bed, pen at the ready. “Give me the answers.”

A lump rises in my throat, and I swallow with difficulty, tasting ash. Slowly, I answer the questions and he diligently writes them down.

The next thirty minutes swirl like a fog around me: Finn going off to talk to the nurse, give her my forms; Finn collecting my broken laptop, his hand at my lower back, guiding me out; the slap of fresh air when we leave the ER; Finn opening the door of his SUV and helping me climb in.

It isn’t until we’re driving, my bruised body softly embraced by luxury leather seats, that I find it in me to talk. “Where are we going?”

“Home.” His grip tightens on the wheel. “My home.”

I nod, not knowing what to say. I’d planned to go to a hotel. A small voice inside me cries that it wants to go home. I’ve never been homeless before. It feels like I’ve lost a huge piece of my identity. I take a deep breath and focus on the road before me. If I don’t, I’ll think about all my things now burnt or water logged, and I will lose it.

Once we’re in the French Quarter, Finn pulls up before a converted factory building that overlooks the Mississippi. A doorman hurries over, and Finn hands him the car keys.

By the time we get to his condo, my wrist feel like it’s being crushed in a vise. I hold it against my chest and follow him in. Finn’s apartment reminds me of mine, exposed brick, wide and worn floorboards, and high ceilings. But where mine is—fuck, was—a loft, his has been divided up into rooms.

With a hand on my lower back, he guides me down a wide foyer into a living area. It’s a man cave, but refined: reclaimed wood coffee table, big leather club chairs, a gray couch you could swim in, and a massive TV with what looks like three separate gaming systems. Arched windows frame the river, glinting with moonlight.

“Are you hungry,” he asks, pausing.

“No, just tired.”

He nods as if he suspected as much, and leads me down another hall. The first door opens into a bedroom. At first glance, I think it’s his because it’s so large and it’s fully decorated. But there’s a slightly feminine touch in the lacy white duvet and multiple throw pillows on the pretty carved mahogany canopy bed that I just can’t see Finn choosing for his bedroom. Nor can I imagine him sitting on one of the delicate little linen covered armchairs set up before the fireplace.

He sets my busted laptop down on a sideboard. “My mom uses this room when she visits. There’s a bathroom here.” He opens a door, and I get a peak at a clawfoot tub and more exposed brick walls. I’m suddenly aching for a hot bath.

Finn clearly notices the direction of my gaze because he gives me a small smile. “Want me to start a bath? It’ll take a bit to fill.”

“Okay.”

While he fiddles with the taps, I stand in the middle of the room. I want to sit, but everything is so pretty and clean, and I stink of soot and smoke.

Finn bustles back in, full of nervous energy that makes me want to hug him. “Right, so there’s a coffee maker.” He opens the doors of the sideboard and pulls out an automated espresso maker on a tray. “And a fridge as well.”

The small fridge is stocked with cream and juice and bottled waters. Just like a luxury hotel. I blink several times and nod, as he looks over his shoulder at me to see if I’m getting everything.

“It’s perfect,” I assure him, my voice thick.

He stands and shoves his hands in his trouser pockets. He seems larger in this room, his masculinity somehow highlighted against all the frilly touches. An elegantly dressed bruiser with a sensitive heart. “Towels and a robe are in the bathroom… And, right…” He moves to the tall dresser by the closet. “Clothes.”