Chapter 28
Tristen
Running on adrenaline is so much different than being fueled by pure anxiety.
I’m jittery. My skin feels too tight.
“Get your head in the fucking game, man.”
Exactly.
I spent all day trying my best to wear Emmett the fuck out and not in the fun way.
Instead of experimenting with him, talking about what happened last night, or hell, even acknowledging that it happened, we spent the day fucking around with Envy.
Every run to the junkyard, Em went with me. Every grease stain I found, he was there. Every busted knuckle and bloodied curse, he was right by my side.
He promised we could try to ride again after work. And fuck, I’m looking forward to it.
Which means I got no sleep for our shift tonight and I am running on fumes that may not get me to after work.
I already feel like passing out from worry.
“He’ll be fine, bro. You need to chill.”
I crush the downed energy drink can, my third, and toss it to the floor at my feet.
“I can’t.”
Gripping the door, I hang on tight when Hatley banks a corner a little fast.
My uniform feels too itchy. My hair is out of place. Nothing is sitting right. Not even my fucking underwear.
“You know I love you, right?”
Oh, God. Here we go.
Talk about not talking—Hatley and I haven’t fucking discussed anything about last night either. And I feel like we should … right? I mean, it’s not like we’re strangers. We’ve fucked in the same room before. That’s nothing new. But what was new?
Him knowing what I needed and directing Em on how to do it.
It felt way too good to be in the middle. To be watched. To not have to make a single goddamn decision or be in control.
I was able to turn my brain off for once.
That never happens.
Not to mention how my mostly straight flag flew right out the window the moment that Em touched my leg.
It shouldn’t be that easy, should it?
“1-2-2–”
“Choo choo!” Hat and I both call out to the windshield.
“—fire is on scene. Requesting ETA.”
“Tell ’em to look up,” Hatley snarks into the radio and pulls the bus over behind a water truck.
Armed with our go-bags, Hatley and I both start the trek through the waterlogged grass and flowing puddles.
“He promised you’d go ride after work, right?” Hatley asks me, barely sparing me a glance as we walk.
“Yeah, but—”
“He wouldn’t have made that promise if he didn’t intend to keep it, Ten. He’s not the same as us.”
My jaw grits and though I want to dispute it, I can’t.
Addicts have a tendency to lie. Steal. Cheat. Anything to get a fix. And the two of us know that all too well.
My fingertips tingle and I clear my throat.
“Yeah. I’m just worried.”
He hikes his bag up higher on his shoulder and tosses me a look. “Then I’ll give him my phone when we get home.”
“I’ll get him one, man. I just gotta wait until payday.”
Hat rolls his eyes.
“Yeah, all three fucking days’ worth thanks to me? He can have mine. I don’t fucking need it.”
I sigh, and though I wanna argue with him, we’re cut off by the fire captain barking orders the second we’re in earshot.
***
The night goes on much like that. Small snippets of conversation between me and my best friend interrupted by long stretches of hard fucking work. Blood.
Vomit on my goddamn boots.
And it was a rookie fire douche!
I guess scraping the two halves of a biker from between the concrete barrier and destroyed semi weren’t in his training manual.
It’s a tragedy that the guy died, don’t get me wrong. But judging by the skid marks left behind and the story the semi driver swore by? Sounded like our motorist played a stupid game and won a stupid prize.
Bikes are way too dangerous to do dumb shit on public streets, and without protective gear, nonetheless.
Not that I have any room to talk after what happened at the track.
At least he was already gone when we got on scene. It’s the worst when they’re still alive and we have to figure out how to tell them to call loved ones one last time.
How they ask what the fuck they’re supposed to say.
Those get my stomach rolling.
But this?
“Bro, you owe me new fucking boots,” I snap and yank my bag from the back of our bus with too much umf. It swings back and smacks me in the knee, making it buckle.
“That’s what you get for being a dick.”
“Noah-all didn’t know it all tonight, now did ya?” I yell the last part to his back, his retreating middle finger grating on my nerves.
I miss station four, goddammit.
Grumbling, I go through my after-shift checks, counting bottles and supplies and marking up all the shit we used tonight.
I’m not supposed to do all of this. The meds and shit are normally done by the certified paramedic on shift, but Hatley fucked off somewhere the second we parked. And to be honest? I’m nervous to leave him alone with the shit.
He never did talk about the night he relapsed. I still have no idea what he took, what he did, or where Lemon went. How he ended up at that house, alone and OD’ing.
I’m just glad I fucking found him when I did.
Blowing out a breath, I replace the stock in the bus and replenish the extras in my bag. I must’ve miscounted because there’s an extra vial still in my hand. It makes my palm itch, and my throat go dry.
God, I’m so fucking … tired.
“Ten, Cap wants to see you.”
I jolt at the slap on my shoulder and jerk around to find Hartley’s tired eyes staring back at me.
My stomach rolls with uncertainty and I lick my lips. “Why?”
Hat shrugs and picks up where I left off without even asking.
“Probably that scholarship thing you applied for. Unless you been fucking up when you’re not in my bus?”
I snort. “I’m always a fuck up, bro.”
“Well at least you know Station 4 is an option.” He’s snickering distractedly, double checking the clipboard I left on the fender, and fucking humming.
Glad to see he’s at one hundred.
Puffing up my cheeks, I cross the clean concrete floor with my hands in my pockets and a black cloud hovering over me.
I just wanna go home. Check on Emmett. Take a fucking nap for the next twelve days.
God, a fucking bender sounds so good right now.
My fingers tingle when I step into Cap’s office.
The man is domineering, already standing behind his desk when I walk in and flop into the chair across from him.
“Sure. Have a seat, Ten.”
I snicker and pat the chair arms. “What’s the damage, Cap?”