"I'm fine. Just a few burns." The pain was more bearable now that it was muted by the bandages.
He shook his head and the same stubborn lock of his hair brushed across his forehead. "That's not what the nurse told me. You got some serious burns on your arm."
"You talked to the nurse about me?" Should she be offended or touched?
"I was concerned."
"How can you be concerned about someone you haven't seen in years?"
Heat narrowed his eyes. "Whose fault is that? You were not only my best friend's wife—we were friends... then you disappeared without a trace. What were you thinking, living in a shelter, when you could have come to me for help?" A vein throbbed in his jaw.
"I'm not your responsibility. I never was. I'm a grown woman. I can do whatever it is I want."
"Looks like you still have your stubborn streak. Well, it won't get me off your back. Right now, I'm making you my responsibility. You clearly need help if you're sleeping in a shelter. And as your friend, I'd like to help."
Anger coursed through Melisa's body. Not necessarily directed toward him, but at the situation. The fire and seeing Heat brought back memories she'd worked hard to repress, and those memories were making it difficult to be grateful. "I was doing fine all by myself, thank you." She turned her head to the window.
"Can you even afford to pay your medical bills?"
Melisa looked down at the bed and said nothing.
"That's what I thought." Heat’s eyes were the color of thunderclouds as he stood. "You stay in here as long as you have to. I'll handle it." He paused, his dark gaze piercing the distance between them. "And when you leave this place, you'll move in with me until you get back on your feet."
Before Melisa could respond, Heat marched out of the room to handle it, leaving her staring at the door, seething with rage. She felt like throwing something. Maybe the vase of roses?