A/N: Hello everyone! So, with both Explosive and Easy coming to an end soon, I thought it would be a good time to share some of what I've been working on lately. :)

This chapter is just the prologue, and the official first chapter will be up right after this, so you won't have to wait for it.

I hope you all enjoy!

I opened my eyes as I heard someone enter my room but quickly squeezed them shut again when the sunlight that streamed through the large window threatened to pierce my brain with its intensity. I hadn't gotten any sleep the night before, because the hospital nurses kept coming in and waking me up to check my vitals.

At first, my brain had been foggy about the details of the incident that had put me in the hospital, but the nurses explained that I had been injured in a fire at Russo's, the restaurant that my twin brother's husband, Giovanni, owned and that I had required surgery on my arm. They wouldn't tell me anything else, insisting that the doctor would go over everything with me during his morning rounds.

I was exhausted, I didn't know what was wrong with my arm, I had a pounding headache, and my body hurt all over. If they hadn't reminded me about the fire, I would have assumed that I had been run over by a large truck. Needless to say, I was in a very foul mood by the time the older gentleman, wearing a white lab coat and a stethoscope around his neck, walked into my room.

"Hello, James. My name is Dr. Henderson. How are you feeling this morning?" I looked at his gray hair and kind, brown eyes that crinkled at the corners as he smiled at me.

"I'm pretty sore and my head is killing me, but mostly I want to know what's going on with my arm." I tried to control the nervousness in my voice, but the compassionate way he looked at me, told me that I had failed.

Dr. Henderson pulled a chair over next to my bed and sat, leaning forward with his arms resting on his knees as he looked at me seriously.

"You were in bad shape when you got here last night. From what I was told by the emergency personnel who brought you in, a large beam fell on you, and you ended up hitting your head and landing on your arm. You suffered from smoke inhalation and a concussion. The beam laying on your arm cut off the blood flow for an extended period of time, which resulted in some nerve damage to your lower arm and hand."

My eyes darted down to the splint on my arm. I couldn't see what damage had been done because of the layers of bandages that covered me from my shoulder to the tips of my fingers. I felt my heartbeat speed up in my chest as I became more anxious.

"How bad is it?"

Dr. Henderson looked at me with a sympathetic expression on his face. I imagine working in a hospital emergency room had taught him how to deliver bad news to people in a gentle manner. Unfortunately, I didn't want gentle; I wanted answers.

"We needed to do emergency surgery to try to keep the damage to the nerves from becoming permanent. We were able to successfully restore blood flow to the entire limb so the prognosis is good."

"Will I get full use of my hand back?" I didn't recognize the sound of my own voice as panic began to set in.

"I can't say for sure, James. I'm sorry, I wish I could give you a more positive answer, but at this point you need physical therapy and time to heal. Those are your best options for regaining full mobility of your hand."

I felt a flash of anger. "You don't understand, I'm a musician. I have to be able to move my hand to play my instruments."

I watched as he stood and moved the chair back to its original position. "I know you're very disappointed that I don't have better news for you, but I really think that physical therapy will help you regain at least some of your mobility, if not all of it. You're very lucky to be alive, James. From what I understand, you were trapped in that fire for quite a while." I visibly flinched as his words brought back memories I wasn't prepared to deal with yet.

"Do you have any questions for me?" He asked kindly. I stared straight ahead, not trusting myself to speak. After a few moments of silence, he patted my shoulders. "Okay, well, I have to finish my rounds, but I'll stop by later to get you set up on a physical therapy schedule."

I didn't wait for him to leave the room before turning my back to him. I curled up into a fetal position on the bed as I tried to swallow down the panic building inside of me. I bit down on my uninjured fist as I fought against a scream that threatened to burst from my throat.

Music was my life, my love, my passion. Being a musician was the only thing I had ever wanted to do with my life and I might have lost that dream. What the hell was I going to do if I couldn't use my hand? My head throbbed as the intensity of my headache surged forward once again with my building anxiety. I had never felt so angry and so utterly lost in my entire life.

I heard the door open again and glanced over my shoulder, hoping to see the nurse. I needed her to give me something for my head before it exploded. Instead, I saw a tall, gorgeous man with blond hair and a lean frame.

Something about him was familiar, but I couldn't place where I knew him from. Most likely I had seen him at the bar where my band played regularly. He stood nervously in the doorway, one hand gripping the door handle and the other holding a bouquet of flowers.

A sudden wave of nausea rolled through my stomach as the pain in my head washed over me. I didn't have time to deal with a band groupie, no matter how gorgeous he was. My whole world had just imploded.

"Unless you're here to suck my cock, you can get the fuck out because I don't have any other use for you." I turned my back to the door, but not until I had seen him throw the flowers on the floor in disgust, a sneer marring his perfect features.

"Figures you'd be a total asshole."

I heard the door shut and breathed a sigh of relief. I had never treated anyone so terribly in my life, but I just couldn't make myself give two fucks. I had bigger problems at the moment than worrying about hurting the feelings of one of the many bar flies that circled around me and the other members of the band, just trying to get a taste of us so they could tell their friends about it. We may not have been famous around the world, but we had acquired a pretty good amount of fans in the Chicago area.

Usually I loved meeting my fans, but not when I was lying in a hospital bed and certainly not when I was in the middle of a personal crisis.

An angel, disguised as a nurse, came in and injected something in my IV, which immediately began to take the edge off of the blinding pain in my head and downgraded it to a dull ache.

"There you go, sweetie, that should help with your pain." I didn't respond, instead, I curled up into myself as I tried to block out the rest of the world.

I closed my eyes and flashes of what happened the night of the fire danced behind my lids in jumbled pieces, as my mind tried to make sense of it all. The images became clearer and I was able to make out a wall of flames through the smoke-filled room. I'm sure it was only the medicine that now ran through my veins that kept me from feeling the sheer terror I had experienced that night.

As I sifted through the memories, I recalled a man wearing a fire suit who lifted me in his strong, sure arms. I had felt the smoke burning my lungs and then I felt the gentle press of warm lips against my own. My eyes had fluttered open to see a man bent over me. He had beautiful green eyes, soot smeared across his cheeks, and his blond hair was soaked with sweat.

My eyes popped open, horrified, as the memories came back in full force and I realized that the man I had just treated like a bar whore was the same man that had saved my life.

I groaned loudly.

Fuck my life.

Done! So, like I said, this was just the prologue. The next chapter will be up momentarily!