Chapter 4Cade
Cade
“Can you step aside, sir?”
Red and blue flashing lights poke the corner of my eye, propelling my head to the side. The paramedic’s navy uniform sharpens into focus, and I swipe my jacket from the woman’s thighs.
I stand just as the medical professional slides between me and her. A tiny draft nudges my legs, the small chill blatant enough for me to take a step back.
But nothing more.
My eyes bolt to her shuddering form beneath the crouched paramedic, and a fat knot lodges in my chest. I silently replay my actions, considering that maybe I indirectly harmed her. Maybe I was too caught up in serving justice to her assailant. Too reckless.
No.
Please, no.
Fuck.
Just as another paramedic invades the scene, the thud of a car door sounds off in the distance.
I trek along the blacktop to round the dumpster, only to be approached by two cops.
One parks himself in front of me, and his partner travels to her limp attacker.
To my displeasure, tiny grunts signal the piece of shit is beginning to come to.
“Officer Peter Bellmont,” the policeman says, a stern gleam knitted in his hazel eyes.
“Cade Owens.” I nod my head in acknowledgement, pressing my right palm into my left forearm.
When he catches my wince, he rotates his head to the focal scene behind the dumpster. “I need a paramedic over here too,” he requests.
I offer a tight-lipped smile, the ache intensifying as more attention shines on it. But within a few seconds, there’s a woman slipping beside me to release my forearm from my grip.
My brows crease when she bunches my sleeve up, the thermal texture grating the wound. I hug my coat against my right pec from where it’s draped over my shoulder, fingers digging into the leather.
The woman leads the three of us to the ambulance, only for me to sit on the rear step between the open doors. Flickers of red and blue light form an umbrella over us, and my left forearm is now nestled in a latex palm.
My paramedic reaches her free hand behind me, shuffling it inside the medical box just as Officer Bellmont keeps us company. “Can you tell me what happened, Mr. Owens?” he asks.
I’m sure they see crazier shit all the time, so this scene isn’t much of a distraction at all for Peter.
I grimace when the cold antiseptic spray licks my skin, only to briefly gesture toward the dusky parking lot.
“I was about to hop on my motorcycle when I heard noise coming from behind the dumpster. I heard this woman plead with someone not to hurt her, so I checked out the scene. This man was holding her against the building with a knife, and I stepped in. He cut me with it. I acted in self-defense.”
“Found the weapon!”
Officer Bellmont’s head whips to the sound of his partner’s voice, and my throat rolls as I digest his apprehensive expression.
Does he not believe me?
Does he think it’s my knife?
Is he just taken aback?
“Okay, bear with me a little longer. Almost done.” I look over to the woman wrapping the gauze in place around my forearm. Her black hair is fastened in a tight bun, as sturdy as her demeanor, and I quietly thank her for her attentiveness.
My eyes find Officer Bellmont again. “She could hardly move when I tried to comfort her. I think she’s in some sort of shock or something,” I explain.
“I’m going to need you to file a report, Mr. Owens. Can you do that?”
The woman discharges my left arm as I say, “Sure. I can do that.”
Bustling sounds by the dumpster throw our attention, and the other paramedic makes his way over. My butt slides off the rear step of the ambulance, and I meet him halfway.
“Is she going to be okay?” I ask quickly.
His brown eyes flick over my shoulder to peep inside the truck where his partner is.
“Amy, we need to unlock the stretcher. Start unlatching.” Then his gaze greets my impatient stare.
“She seems to have hit her head. There was a small cut there, and we just want to rule out a concussion. Other than that, there were no signs of assault. At least that we can see for now. But that will be confirmed at the hospital.”
He drifts past me to unload the stretcher with Amy, and the weight of my thoughts drags my gaze to the blacktop. I wander to the side, just enough to offer the medical professionals and policemen room.
Wafts of latex and alcohol linger around the steel frame of the rattling stretcher. Navy-decorated bodies start to blend in my periphery, the rustling of their movements muting gradually.
No signs of assault.
I don’t even know what she looks like besides what I think was blonde hair under the dusky sky.
I don’t have a face to a woman I’ll surely think about for a very long time—maybe for the rest of my life.