Read Stronger for Free Online Page B

his fan club. Bryant. I twist my head, but can only see rubble. His shoes shift shards of glass as he nears me. “A Deb is a human. When did a human life stop mattering?”
    “Barely human,” the other says before walking away.
    Bryant’s face appears above me. It’s the most beautiful thing in the world. He rolls the dead Val off of me. Breathing becomes easier, but the sudden cold makes me shiver. Bryant moves more rubble from off my legs and starts to say something, but cuts off when a metal support shifts and groans above us. Hanging by a thin strap, the heavy beam starts to fall slowly, creaking in its descent, heading right for me. I struggle, trying to free myself before I’m pinned again, but a blur of color throws itself on top of me. I feel the rasp of a deep breath, warm air hitting my face, a chest heaving above me.
    “Are you okay?” Bryant asks.
    I can’t breathe. I’m no longer being crushed, but I might as well be. Bryant is touching me. Practically lying on top of me.
    He lifts up on his hands a little and his blue eyes stare at me. “Did I hurt you?”
    My mouth is dry. I can’t talk but I manage to shake my head.
    He gives me a quick smile. “Good. Give me a minute and I’ll get you out of here.”
    “You will?”
    He gives me a strange look. “Of course.”
    “But I’m a Deb.”
    “Right,” he says slowly. “And I’m a Val. It’s my job to protect you.”
    I know that’s how it’s supposed to work. I’ve rarely seen it in action, though. I’ve heard tales of his and Ty’s kindness to Debs, but I’d been afraid to believe it.
    He heaves himself up, straining against the heavy beam, and gets his feet underneath him. Lifting and shoving the support aside, he stoops again. Before I even know what he’s doing, I’m in his arms being carried, my head resting on his chest. His heart beats against my ear. Am I dreaming? How often has this very scenario played through my mind? Bryant saving me, holding me close. It’s my dearest dream coming true and if I have only moments to live, at least I’ll die with a smile on my face.
    He carries me away from the wreckage to a stone bench. It’s chilly and I grimace as he lowers me onto it. His firm hands quickly run over me, warming my skin. A blush stains my cheeks.
    The corner of his mouth lifts. “Just checking you for injuries.”
    I can tell that now. His touch is impersonal, searching for cuts or broken bones. There is nothing intimate about it. And yet it still makes me flush. While he continues to look for wounds I shake out my hair and clothes, shards of glass and dust fall all around me. It makes me feel better. Still sticky with blood, but better. Bryant wipes away some of the blood with snow, making my skin prickle.
    His touch slows, becomes lighter, the rough pads of his fingertips trailing along my now bare shoulder. “Your skin is so smooth. Not the least bit scarred.”
    I duck my head in shame, leaning away from his touch. The reminder that this moment won’t last is harsh. He’s a Val; I’m a Deb. He’s strong. I’m weak. He’s a masterpiece of scars showcasing his valor and courage, while a nosebleed has the power to kill me. I let my hair curtain my face.
    “The blood doesn’t seem to be yours,” he says, moving his hand.
    I’m not bleeding? At all? I remember the pain of glass slicing my skin. And my nose. It should still be bleeding. My fingers go to my nostrils. No blood.
    How did I survive? I remember touching the statue, the agony of it. How do I even still have hands? They aren’t even burnt. I’m exhausted, drained but I feel… good. Healthy. What happened? I should be dead several times over.
    “You’re very lucky.” Bryant crouches beside me. He lifts my hand, bending over it and for a second I picture him giving the back of my hand a kiss like in the old movies they sometimes play in the dorm, but instead he scans my wrist ID. “Your signacom’s not working, probably damaged in the explosion.