Bryant Quotes

“Tell me what happened.”
“He was here,” I said, hoarse. “He lit the can on fire and took the extinguisher nearby. I ran to the back to get the other and he pushed one of the shelves over on me.”
The muscles in Holt’s jaw clenched and flexed beneath the stubble that lined his face.
“Do you ever shave?” I wondered out loud.
He smiled and rubbed at the gruffness. “I just trim it.”
I nodded.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
Once again, I touched him, brazenly running my hand along his jaw. It was soft and rough at the same time—the perfect balance. “Yeah, I do.”
“Good to know,” he said, taking my hand, linking our fingers together, and then his face grew serious again.
“Obviously, I avoided the shelf.”
“Did you get a look at his face?” I cringed at the hopefulness in his voice.
“No,” I admitted. “I tried, but he kicked me.”
His eyes went murderous. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.
“He. Kicked. You,” he ground out, making each word into a pointed sentence.
This time I kept my mouth shut.
“Where?” he demanded.
I wasn’t going to reply, but his eyes narrowed and I knew he would eventually make me tell him. I was going to have to tell the cops anyway. Weariness floated over me at the thought of enduring yet another one of their hours-long interrogations.
I lifted my wrist, the bandage just dangling from the area now, not covering or protecting a thing.
The waves of hatred that rolled off him made me sincerely glad that all that emotion wasn’t directed at me. He stared at my delicately injured skin (some of it had gotten torn in the struggle and was slick with some sort of puss… Eww, gross), and I kind of thought the top of his head might explode.
I was going to reassure him that I was okay, but the police rushed inside, followed closely behind by a medic with a first aid kit.
“She needs medical attention,” Holt barked, authority ringing through his tone. The medic hurried to comply, slamming down his kit and springing it open. Holt dropped his hand onto the man’s shoulder and squeezed. “Bryant, I don’t even want to see a flick of pain cross her face when you touch her.”
Bryant looked at me and swallowed thickly. “Yes, Chief.”
“Chief?” I said, looking up at Holt.
“I’ll be right back,” he said to me in a much gentler tone and then moved away.
Bryant was fumbling with his supplies, Holt’s words clearly making him nervous. “Relax.” I tried to soothe him. “He’s just on edge about what happened. I’m fine. I promise to smile the whole time you fix me up.”
“But it’s going to hurt,” he blurted apologetically.
“Yeah, I know. Just do it. I’ll be fine.”
That seemed to calm him a little, and he got to work. It did hurt. Incredibly. I felt Holt’s stare and I glanced up, giving him a fake smile. He rolled his eyes and turned back to one of the officers.
“Hey,” I said to the medic. “Why did you call him chief?”
He gave me a quizzical look. “Arkain’s the Wilmington Fire Chief.”
My eyes jerked back to Holt where he stood talking to the police force and the firefighters that responded to the call. His firefighters. “I didn’t realize,” I murmured.
Bryant nodded. “I guess I can understand that. He’s a humble guy. Doesn’t like to throw his position around.”
I made a sound of agreement as he applied something to my wrist that made my entire body jerk. I bit down on my lip to keep from crying out.
“I’m sorry!” he said a little too loudly. Holt stiffened and he turned, looking at me over his shoulder.
I blinked back the tears that flooded my eyes and waved at him with my free hand.
He said a few more words to the men standing around him and then he left them, coming to stand over poor Bryant.
I never realized how intimidating he was when he wanted to be.”
― Cambria Hebert, Torch