Chapter Five
Emily
Four Years Later
“There’s an injured child at Whispering Pines Park. Please be advised, an officer is on site. A Caucasian child, approximately six years of age, wearing a red shirt and blue shorts. Possible head injury and broken arm,” says the police dispatcher over our radio frequency.
I glance at Dale, my partner. “We’re only five blocks away.” Not that anyone else is on call during our shift.
“Got it.” He grabs his radio mic and presses the button. “Officer Sanders, we’re three minutes from the location. Over.”
I fasten my safety belt and give a longing glance at the front window of Brookhaven Market. We were ten feet away. I sigh. Another day. My attention shifts to my black polyester pants that stretch tightly over my thighs. Not that I need one of Jolie’s desserts anyway.
When the owners of Jolie’s closed the café due to health reasons earlier this year, they continued making their famous desserts and selling them at the grocery store. It was a blessing for me because I never stepped foot in the café again after that day.
That day that we never speak of. Or that guy that we never think about.
But I sure missed their triple chocolate cake, something terrible. I tug on the fabric of my pants again. Maybe it’s not such a blessing that they’ve kept selling their desserts.
“Copy that. Please proceed to the identified location.” The dispatcher’s voice is calm and unhurried.
Ora is one of the best at her job. You can’t find someone who’s better than her at speaking clearly while calming a frantic caller.
Of course, she’s been on the job since I was in grade school, so she’s had years of experience.
The front door of the grocery swings open, and the sight makes my stomach grumble. I was so close.
“Sorry, Em, we’ve got work to do.” Dale shifts the ambulance into reverse, flips on the lights so the traffic will stop for us, and eases into traffic. His pale green eyes twinkle with mischief. The tint of his eyes is gorgeous with his tan complexion.
The man is fifteen years older than me, with a wife who adores him and two teenage sons in high school. We’ve been partnered up since I graduated from EMT school a year and a half ago.
“I know.” I sag back into the black cushion and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, deciding not to bother with redoing my ponytail. “But I didn’t eat anything this morning.”
“You should’ve gotten up earlier.” He flicks on the blinker, whips around a stopped car that’s pulled over for us, and moves effortlessly through traffic, slipping back into the driving lane.
“I got up just fine.” I slide back into my seat as the movement of the ambulance shifts me from side to side.
“Besides, I know you were only going in there to get a piece of Jolie’s famous triple chocolate cake. That’s not a proper meal for an adult.”
“Shut up.” I glare at him out of the corner of my eye as I cross my arms over my chest.
The corner of his mouth twitches upward. “I got up in plenty of time to stop and grab something to eat.” He rubs his belly with that annoying smirk plastered on his lips.
“Yeah, a donut.”
“You’re wrong,” he says with a chuckle while bypassing another stopped vehicle with a slight squeal of the tires. “I had two donuts.”
I’m positive the only reason Dale became a first responder was to drive like a maniac. He always drives, and I make the initial patient contact.
“Thanks, Dad,” I say the word laced with the sarcasm he deserves.
“But my mom called about her upcoming shoulder surgery, all stressed out over who’s going to help her after she comes home and kept me on the phone for twenty minutes.
” Both my brother and I have reassured her countless times that we’ve got everything covered.
“Seriously, people, we have the lights on. We have somewhere to be,” Dale mutters as he flips on the siren for two seconds and then switches it back off as the black car in front of us keeps pace with the established speed limit. Unless it’s a life-threatening emergency, we leave the sirens off.
The woman driving the black vehicle twists her head around, blanches, and swerves to the shoulder, bouncing off the curb. Her passenger slaps her hand over her mouth and sits straighter in her seat. I don’t recognize either of them, so they must be from out of town.
“Watch out, ladies, or we’ll be here for the two of you.” Dale shakes his head, causing the tight curls on the top of his head to sway with the movement. The sides and back of his head are shaved close to his skin.
Dale’s hands are in the perfect driving position as he lifts a finger to wave at them. They both sheepishly return his greeting. My partner wears the same uniform design I do–a white polo shirt and black pants. And it doesn’t look any better on him than it does on me.
Who thought polyester pants were a good idea? They’re hot, scratchy, and not the least bit flattering. Now the police department…. They’ve got it good. They get to wear those black cargo pants that make everyone look like a badass. Why couldn’t we get those?
The next time we have a team meeting, I’m proposing cargo pants. It only makes sense. We’d be able to store more PPE in cargo pants.
He flicks on the blinker to Beacon Street.
The park is the pride of our town, with its up-to-date playground equipment, secured through a grant two years ago, and plants and flowers strategically placed throughout the space to make everything bright and cheery.
The area has a scenic feel that attracts not only parents with children, but also the lunch crowd.
“Your mom is lucky to have you and your brother. Well,” he chuckles softly, “she’s lucky to have you. I’m not sure your brother is as on board as you are with jumping in and sacrificing your personal life to take care of your mom.”
“Thanks.” He’s not wrong on that front. My brother grumbled more than once about having to check on her every day and assured our mother that most of the responsibility would fall on me.
‘Because Emily doesn’t have a life.’ Those were his words. ‘Outside of pretending to have a life by volunteering for everything.’ Those were also his words.
Sadly, my brother is not wrong about that either. I don’t have a social life. And I do tend to overdo it in the pitching-in department.
Of course, it’s all his fault for always telling me that I couldn’t do anything on my own without someone needing to jump in and rescue me. It’s made me want to prove myself that much more.
I study the parked cars as we drive through the park entrance.
It’s a slow winding road that goes from one end of the park to the other.
There are multiple playgrounds, open-air and covered picnic tables, and game areas spaced throughout the several-acre plot with the baseball fields and swimming pool at the end.
Dale switches off the lights so that people don’t freak out unnecessarily.
Louise Walker’s white sedan pulls up a safe distance behind us. I shake my head. Louise likely closed the library and picked up Rosemarie Martin from the flower shop, the second she heard the accident on her scanner.
By a set of six swings, a group of people is clustered around an officer who’s crouched beside a small child. The kid is wearing a red shirt and blue shorts.
“There’s our victim.” I point in the direction of the crowd.
“Got it.” Dale pulls in front of the police cruiser and shifts the gearshift into park. “Grab your gear.”
“On it.” As I grip the door handle, the police officer glances over at us and meets my gaze through the closed window. Jake Thompson. My heart flips in my chest as I choke on my spit and cough until tears fill my eyes. Do not throw up. Whatever you do, do not throw up.
“Is everything okay?” Dale quirks his eyebrows while yanking the driver’s side door open.
“Perfect,” I sputter as I regain my breath and straighten my shoulder. Perfect? How can I be perfect? Jake Thompson is back in town.
When the girls told me that he was back, I thought they were lying. Or it was a cruel joke. Well, it might be a cruel joke, but it’s real.
I unclench my hands, not realizing I’d curled them into fists, climb down from the cab, and yank open the ambulance doors. I’m no longer a na?ve little girl. I’m a grown woman. I have my own place. I have a career. I don’t drool over asshole guys.
Especially guys like Jake. Those that think they have the world by the tail.
“I’ll get your stuff.” Dale places a hand on my shoulder. “Go on ahead and see how our patient is doing.”
I stare at him, searching for signs of pity. Surely, he didn’t realize why I gasped. No, there’s no way. He wouldn’t suspect anything. He’s years older than us, and our falling-out happened four years ago.
Everyone’s likely forgotten. Just like I have.
The second the vision of Jake and Amanda, naked and fucking each other’s brains out, enters my head, I shove it back into a box, fling the lid closed, and snap a padlock over the latch.
And then another one. And another.
“Sure.” I step over the chain that separates the park from the street. Blood whooshes in my ears, blocking out the sounds of the children still climbing on the jungle gym.
You can do this. He’s nobody.
The crowd of mothers, kids, and a couple of concerned fathers step apart to allow me access to the injured boy.
Jake rubs the kid’s shoulder in reassurance from his squatted position beside the boy’s head. “You’re doing fantastic, sport.” He glances up as my shadow passes over the two of them but doesn’t meet my eyes.
“Emily, this is Clint. Clint, this is Emily. It looks like she’s going to be your EMT.
” His jaw flexes as he rotates his head from side to side as if he’s trying to relieve neck pain.
“She’ll get you all taken care of, and you’ll be back on the swings in no time.
” He keeps his attention on Clint like I’m the one who’s nobody.
That realization hurts more than I thought it would.
“I’m not ready to get back on the swings.” The little boy’s face pales as if he’s envisioning falling to the ground in a heap again.
Jake chuckles as a fraction of the tension eases from his jaw. “I hear ya, buddy. When I fell out of a tree at your age, I didn’t climb another one for a couple of years.” His eyes finally rake over me. “I’m surprised to see you in a paramedic’s uniform.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The profession calls for people who don’t make rash and reckless decisions.”
“I’m not an eighteen-year-old kid anymore.” Why in the fuck did he have to come back here? We were fine in Brookhaven without Jake Thompson. No one missed him. Okay, his mom probably missed him. And my stupid ass brother did. But I didn’t.
His eyes sweep over me again before darting away again. “I guess not.”
The quicker he realizes I’m not the same little girl that gushed over him, the better. I’m a professional woman who takes her job seriously. “This isn’t the time or place for small talk. Let’s focus on the patient.”
“For once, you’re right.” His voice is as clipped as mine as he shifts his attention away from me, sending a chill along my spine.
“What’s the extent of the injuries?” I run my hand along the boy’s head and neck, feeling for lumps or any signs of extensive damage. The boy’s face is splotched and covered with dirt. On one cheek, there’s a light streak going down the dirt. Tough kid. Only one tear streak.
Jake rocks back on his haunches. “He fell from the second swing, landing on his right hand with his wrist braced, and then smacked the side of his head on the ground. I believe he has a fracture. Likely involving his growth plate, and at minimum a mild concussion.”
I work my fingers along his body inch by inch. “And what makes you qualified to give that diagnosis? Did you also get a medical degree while you were gone?”
Our voices remain low enough that only the boy can hear, and luckily, he’s not old enough to understand what we’re talking about.
“I’ve had training in rendering medical aid, just like you have.” He arches one eyebrow. “And I earned a four-year degree. I guess that makes me qualified to give an on-the-spot analysis. Maybe more qualified.”
My teeth gnash together. “Why don’t we leave the medical side of things to me, for now?”
“Sure thing.” He lifts one shoulder. “Just don’t screw it up.”
I’m going to grab his taser and shoot him in the chest with it. “I could’ve gotten a four-year degree if I wanted to.”
“I…. I didn’t….” he sputters as if he didn’t realize what he said. But I’m not going to forget.
“Is he okay?” A woman’s panicked voice comes from behind me.
“We’ll do everything we can for him here and then transfer him to a hospital for further testing and observation.” I smile at the boy without looking up to anyone in the crowd. “But you’re doing great.”
“Thank you.” Clint quirks a smile, but his brown eyes remain pain filled. “My mom’s dramatic.”
“I see that,” I whisper and give him a conspirator’s wink as the kid’s eyelids droop lower.
He’s a tough kid. I’ve seen grown men sobbing over a broken wrist. “Although I understand where she’s coming from.
Most moms lose their minds a bit when their kids get hurt, so we’ll have to make quick work of things. ”
“I’ll hold his head while you check his other extremities.” Jake nods toward his swollen arm.
“Thank you.” I put my irritation with Jake on the back burner. This child and his mother deserve my utmost professionalism.
“Ma’am, he’s in good hands,” Dale says as he squeezes the mother’s shoulder.
They must be new in town because I don’t recognize the mom or her son. They probably live in one of the apartments at Eden Heights. Their ‘Apartments for Rent’ sign has been pulled.
“Emily is a top-notch paramedic, and Jake Thompson was an Eagle Scout.”
I swallow my surprise. I hadn’t expected Dale to know Jake since he was so much older than the two of us.
“He was also the QB on the team when they went to state.” Someone else in the crowd pipes up.
“Mr. Perfect has a cheering squad,” I growl under my breath.
The boy’s eyes snap open and focus on Jake, even though there’s a hint of haze in them, he gawks. “You’re Jake Thompson?”
Peachy. I glance over my shoulder. Let’s get this over with so I can get out of here before I vomit on my polyester pants. “Dale, give me my kit. Let’s get him wrapped and ready for transport.”
The last thing I want to hear is how wonderful Jake is. Not when I know the real guy.