12. Adam
CHAPTER 12
ADAM
“Never better?” I grumble and catch Markus when he passes out. Christ, he’s heavy, like a full metric ton of dead weight hanging from my arms.
I knew he was big. I’ve watched the way his muscles stretch and bunch when we run together. I’ve imagined those muscles stretching and bunching as he moves against me, beneath me, more than once. But right now—with all his weight hanging from my shoulders as I try to hold him up so his knees don’t hit the ground—he’s really fucking heavy.
Fortunately, the ambulance was right on our ass as we arrived on scene, and the first crew has a stretcher out and is rolling it my way. With a little help from Jared and Mason, the paramedics, we manage to get Markus onto his back on the stretcher so they can assess his condition.
He’s bleeding profusely from a cut on his forehead, and I don’t think he even realized he was injured. Ah, the power of adrenaline. But when he saw me, all of his energy drained, causing him to collapse. I’m just glad I was here to catch him.
Now, EMS stabilize his c-spine and record his vitals as they assess his head injury. He’ll probably need a few stitches, nothing terribly bad given his strong pulse and respiration, but head wounds are tricky, and they bleed a lot. And Markus’s injury is one hell of a gusher.
As the paramedics secure him to the gurney and get an IV line started, I know I still have a job to do here. I can’t just stand around worrying about Markus anymore.
Turning my attention back to the scene, I remove my soiled gloves and pull on a clean pair as I approach the tangled wreckage. I easily recognize the other driver of the accident from her car. Mildred is the only person within thirty miles of this town who drives a bright orange Kia.
Sure enough, as I get closer to the driver’s side, I see Mildred behind the wheel. She’s a chatty woman, and the accident doesn’t seem to have adversely affected that. She’s peppering my team with questions as Probie pries a gap into the door seam at the hinges with a Halligan bar, and Drew maneuvers a hydraulic spreader into place to force the door out of our way.
Dee has stabilized Mildred’s neck—despite the woman’s protests that she’s “perfectly fine”—and outfitted the librarian with safety goggles and a light blanket to keep the glass and other debris off her as Drew starts the machine.
Metal twists and groans, and the spreader roars with power as the car door curls back like the lid on a sardine can. Drew stops for a moment while Probie ties off a rope to the top of the door. When Drew starts the spreader again, Probie keeps tension on the rope, pulling the crumpling metal away from the passenger compartment.
Since they seem to have that task well covered, I turn my attention to Rufus. The poor dog is clearly upset by everything that’s happened on this stretch of county road. Usually, he wags his tail furiously when I approach him—though it could be because he usually sees me accompanied by his favorite girl, Drusilla.
Now, however, he stands at the side of the road, pacing and whining and huffing at the chaotic scene. His tail is tucked between his legs, and his ears lie flat on his head. He doesn’t bear his teeth or growl at me, but he does anxiously lick his chops a few times as he watches me approach.
I don’t bother to put on my new gloves, instead stuffing them into my pocket. Watching him, too, I move slowly, angling my body and my gaze so I don’t come at him with any aggressive energy. When I’m close but not looming over him, I stop and quietly speak in a calm, kind tone. “Hey, Rufus. How are you doing, buddy?”
Slowly, Rufus takes a step toward me, sniffing at one of my hands, then he sits down in front of me. I take that as an invite to pet him, so I crouch and give him some love, gently massaging his neck and chest. He sniffs and licks my arm, and I give him both of my hands, really massaging him now. “That’s a good boy, Rufus. You’re okay, aren’t you? And your dad’s going to be okay too. We’re going to take good care of him for you.”
Rufus leans his head into my palm, finally seeming to relax his posture so I can scratch him behind the ears. When he lets out a sweet little sigh, I completely fucking melt for the gentle giant. My presence in this stressful situation seems to soothe him, and his trust is truly humbling.
Over Rufus’s head, I wave a hand in the air to get the attention of Mason, who’s packing up some of the compartments on his ambulance rig. I holler for him to bring water and something for Rufus to drink from. He quickly comes to us with a water bottle and pours its contents into an emesis basin. We both pet Rufus for a moment while he sloppily laps up the water with his big tongue.
“Any injuries on him?” Mason asks.
“Not that I can see, but I’m going to call my mom to take him in at her refuge for the night. She can give him a full once-over. I’m worried about his paws with the glass on the pavement.”
With a nod, Mason crouches and makes nice with Rufus before gently lifting and feeling the pads of his paws. The dog seems calm now, never nipping or yelping, and there’s no blood on his feet, a small miracle considering the state of this road.
My sister Ava pulls up in her sheriff’s deputy cruiser, and she agrees to let Rufus sit in her back seat while she works the scene. Later, she’ll take him over to Mom’s to board. When the dog is safe and secure, I step away from the noise of the running rigs to call my mom and let her know the plan.
“How’s my boy?”
I can’t help but grin at her usual greeting to me. “I’m good, Mom, but I need a favor.”
I haven’t even finished explaining the situation when she agrees and starts hollering at my brother-in-law Clint to prep a kennel for a last-minute guest.
Time is like taffy. It stretches and stretches and stretches some more. I’ve never had such a long shift. Not that it’s actually longer than any of my other twenty-four-hour shifts, but this time I have somewhere else I need to be: the hospital.
We haven’t had a callout since Mildred and Markus’s collision on Route 10, so I’ve sat around the station, fretting and worrying and twiddling my thumbs. I’m desperate to know how Markus is doing, but the nurse on duty isn’t telling me anything, and after my fifth call last night, she asked me, quite sternly, to stop calling every twenty minutes. And so, time has stretched all out of shape as I wait none too patiently.
Just after noon, the moment the chauffer for C shift turns up to relieve me from duty, I’m in my truck and racing over to the hospital. Once parked, I hustle inside, aiming for the front desk but take a quick detour into the gift shop for something to bring with me. Mom taught me never to arrive at a hospital room empty-handed, so I buy a stuffed animal. It’s a little yellow labrador wearing a white lab coat, and there’s a Get Well Soon balloon tied to its leg. The balloon bobs through the air as I return to the front desk to get directions to Markus’s room.
“I’m sorry, but there’s no patient here by that name,” says the woman at the desk.
“What do you mean he’s not here? I was on scene at the accident. Jared and Mason indicated they were bringing him and Mildred here.” I irritably shove the perky balloon out of my face as I lean over the desk, trying to get a glimpse of the nurse’s computer screen over the counter.
She frowns at me and angles her monitor away, but taking a bit of pity on me she shares, “He checked out last night at about midnight.”
He checked out? At midnight? That was twelve hours ago. He’s been alone for twelve hours? “He has a concussion. Why would you let him leave?”
Her expression speaks volumes without saying a word, and instantly I know: he checked himself out against medical advice. Of course they would never have advised he leave their care so soon after a head injury. That stubborn?—
“Son of a bitch!” I shout far too loudly and wince with apology at the nurse and the few people sitting in the lobby. Turning on my heels, I march out of the hospital. The Get Well Soon balloon bounces with my stride as I go to my truck, toss the plush puppy into the passenger seat, and aim for downtown, to the apartment above the vet clinic.