Chapter Eight

 

“Hey, Chief?”

Wade blinked fast as he realized someone was calling for him, and probably had been for more than a minute, given the raised, frustrated sound of the voice. He cleared his throat, shook his head and attempted to focus on his job—not the looming date that evening.

“Yeah,” he barked out, trying to act like he’d just been contemplating next month’s scheduling dilemma and not mooning around like a love-struck pre-teen girl.

Cal Morrison stood there, studying him a little too closely for Wade’s taste. “Whaddaya want, probie?”

As Cal was about to open his mouth to respond, the alarm clanged at the exact moment Wade’s phone buzzed and the scanner beeped with an incoming call. Wade sighed in relief. He was not up to dealing with Cal at that moment, mainly because the kid had been the procuring cause of Sam’s drunkenness at that fateful barbecue.

The main firehouse where his EMT division was housed had gone from the dead stop of a hot mid-morning Wednesday to full on action. Wade caught sight of Jax and Dane, Skye’s brother, running full tilt toward the big ladder rig. One glance at his phone screen confirmed they had a messy interstate pile-up on their hands. Although legitimately worried about the souls that may have been injured or killed, Wade’s relief ramped up along with his adrenaline level at the thought of the distraction.

“Come on, junior,” he yelled to Cal. “I’ll ride along and watch you work.”

Cal nodded, cool as a cucumber as he slammed the back of the EMT rig shut and headed around to the passenger’s side. After he had jumped behind the wheel, Wade waved one of his crew over to the open window.

“You goin’ out on this one, Chief? I thought you were on desk duty today.”

“I got bored. And I need to see our new young stud at work. Hold it down for me.”

“Yes, sir,” the man said, backing away as Wade flipped on the lights and sound and tore out behind the line of firetrucks making their screaming way towards the accident.

Four hours later, Wade had to admit his new knucklehead Cal Morrison was a class-A paramedic. His cucumber coolness went a long way towards calming the various screaming, terrified people dragged away from the tangle of metal and fire in the median at one of Dallas’ most dangerous, multi-lane junctions.

The guy moved with a swift efficiency that matched his demeanor. He and Wade had stabilized two teenaged girls and sent them off to the hospital in one of the many ambulances that had shown up at the crash. Then they had to tend to an utterly hysterical young woman who’d been able to crawl out of her open, driver’s side window but had to be pulled away from the car as it was rapidly engulfed in flames.

“My baby!” she’d screamed and clutched at Wade’s arms. “Please . . . don’t leave him.”

He’d motioned for Jax, who’d come running with the jaws of life. Between them, they’d pried the kid out of the slowly melting backseat, car seat and all, and managed to singe their eyebrows in the process. But thankfully, the little boy was fine after a bit of oxygen once he’d been reunited with his mother.

It’d been a real shit show of an accident, though, with four DOAs, and four others, who’d been trapped so long in some kind of a minibus thing before they could be reached, Wade wasn’t sure they’d last the trip to the hospital. He and Cal managed the minor injuries once they’d triaged all the serious stuff out to various hospitals. Finally, Wade stood, swiping at his grimy face and watching the firemen continue pouring water on one part of the stubborn fire, and some chemicals on a tanker that they were all very, very lucky had not gotten its outer shell pierced.

“Not bad, probie,” he said as they were cleaning up and piling all the stuff back into their vehicle. “A little wobbly on that first IV, though.”

Cal shot him an arched look. Wade shrugged. Cal hadn’t been wobbly on a single treatment, but he had to criticize something. They drove back to the station in silence, both men filthy and reeking of smoke. Cal’s shirt was smeared with blood from one of the teenaged girls’ ripped scalp. When he noted the time—almost four-thirty—he closed his eyes, marveling at his own level of anxiety over a simple date. Something about taking Sam out tonight had him nervous beyond all reasoning. He had to get a grip. As he parked the rig, Cal turned to him.

“I’m sorry, Chief,” the young man said.

Wade frowned. “For what? You’re better than half the assholes on my crew.”

“I didn’t realize she, Sam, was your, uh . . .”

Wade sighed. “She wasn’t. But if I have anything to do or say about it tonight, she will be.” He lowered his brow and gave Cal his best, alpha-dog glare. “Got that?”

Cal grinned, his face so boyishly relieved it made Wade want to laugh. “Got it.”

“You did good today, kid,” Wade said before he climbed out and dropped wearily to the concrete floor of the main garage. He made his way toward the locker room, figuring he’d shower the worst of the stink and dirt off here, then head home once he’d filled out his accident reports.

When he emerged from the shower, feeling ever so slightly revived, he threw on a fresh uniform and made his way to the desk at the corner of the main garage floor. Cal sat there, tapping away on the main computer. Wade leaned on the cubicle divider, amused in spite of himself.

“Can I help you?” he asked, making Cal jump and turn around, his face reddening under the scrim of soot and whatever else on his face. “I mean, I hate to interrupt . . .”

“Oh, sorry, Chief . . . I thought I’d just get going on the reports for you, I mean, so you can, um, get going. You know, on your date.” Cal ran a hand around the back of his neck.

Wade stayed silent, unsure whether to berate or thank him. Cal grinned.

A hand smacked Wade’s shoulder. “Better get going, Chief,” one of his crew said. “Hot date tonight.”

Wade frowned. “Is anything in this fucking place ever a secret?” he asked, honestly curious. “You got this?” He pointed to the computer screen. “Something tells me you do.”

“Yeah,” Cal admitted. “I do.”

“Fine, I’m out. All you dickheads can keep your noses the hell out of my business.”

Jax passed by him, reeking of smoke and chemicals, his face barely recognizable through the filth. “Got your condoms all packed, Wade-y?”

“Fuck you and the horse you rode in on,” Wade muttered, his face heating up at the concept of condoms and why he’d need them.