Chapter 9
Braxton
“Tell me again what we have,” Asher orders from the driver’s seat, expertly maneuvering the rig around the slow-moving traffic. He lays a heavy hand on the horn when one car doesn’t move to the side despite the flashing lights and siren.
“One vehicle crash. Single female driver, possible infant,” Theo recounts from the passenger seat.
I knew that. The chief told us before we rolled out, but a cold sweat still slips down my spine, my shoulders rigid under my bunker gear. I can feel Marco looking at me from his seat behind Asher. I keep my head down, focusing on locking those memories back into the vault they’re seeping out of.
Across from me, Harrison’s focus is out the window, his brows drawn low. He’s not usually on our crew, but he’s covering for Ryan today. A little older than me. I don’t know much about him except that he’s a good guy and damn good at his job.
“Dispatch didn’t get a lot of details before the caller hung up,” Theo continues. “Injuries are unknown. A patrol car is en route to direct traffic, and the paramedics are coming from Ashland. They’ll be another twenty minutes.”
We fall quiet at that, and I don’t have to guess that we’re all thinking about the last serious crash we got called to.
Twenty minutes wasn’t fast enough…but even ten would have been too long.
Suburban streets give way to empty space and pastures just as Asher curses. “Got a visual. The car is smoking from the hood.” He parks the rig a safe distance away, all of us piling out.
Harrison grabs the Halligan bar before we all pause, critically taking in the scene.
The green hatchback is sitting nose-first in the ditch on the side of the road, the front crumpled, and the driver’s side tire angled wrong.
There are thin tendrils of black smoke curling up from where the hood has cracked open, and the breeze is tainted with the smell of burnt rubber.
My fingers tremble, but I clench them into fists inside my gloves, relieved no one can see them.
Asher talks into the radio. “Engine 3 on scene. Single vehicle in a ditch, smoke showing. Crew heading in on foot.” There’s a crackled response, but I can’t make it out past the whooshing in my ears.
Marco moves first, rounding to the other side of the car, his eyes focused on the back window. Harrison goes for the driver’s side, and I inhale sharply before moving in behind him.
The window is down, the woman inside conscious. Curly blonde hair is in disarray around her head, and there’s blood trickling from her nose. Dazed eyes shift toward us, widening as Harrison crouches beside the car, setting the Halligan bar down.
“Ma’am, my name is Harrison. We’re here to help you. Can you tell me where you’re hurt?”
Two patrol vehicles have pulled up, but I keep my focus here, knowing Theo will handle it. I quietly step to the side of Harrison, peering into the car. Her airbag deployed on impact, which explains the blood and stunned expression
“I d-don’t know what happened,” the woman mutters, her voice almost inaudible. Metal groans as the car shifts, seeming to settle further into the ditch. The woman winces, eyes flaring with panic, her head turning forward, and giving me a glimpse of dark discoloration around her neck.
“Stay calm for me, okay?” Harrison says, voice unwavering. “We need to assess your injuries, and then we can get you out of here.” He looks up at me, and I nod, letting him know I see it too.
Marco calls my name over the hood of the car. I glance at him before checking back with Harrison. “You good here?”
He nods, never taking his eyes off the driver, and I hoof it over to where Marco is peering intently into the backseat. I catch a glimpse of an infant seat and the small baby strapped inside. “Shit.”
Going off the pink woolen hat and flowery blanket, the baby is a girl. From out here, it looks like she’s sleeping peacefully, but there’s no way to tell for sure until we get a closer look—something I know all too well.
“We can’t assess her in the car,” Marco says quietly. “Not with the—”
“Smoke. Right.” I look over the vehicle just in time to catch Harrison’s eyes, and he leans down into the window.
“Ma’am, you’ve got a baby, huh? What’s her name?”
There’s a pause, and then the woman lets out a sharp cry. “Oh, God…oh, God…” She’s twisting wildly, fighting against the belt still strapping her in. “Is she okay? Is my baby okay? She’s not crying! Oh my god. Hannah!” A choked sob escapes her.
Harrison leans in the window. “Hannah,” he says reassuringly. “That’s a pretty name. Now, my friends over there are just going to take Hannah out of the car and give her a check-over, okay? But I need you to stay still while that happens.”
The woman doesn’t seem to register his words, still trying to reach her baby, her cries getting louder and more shrill. Marco opens the door just as the baby’s eyes flutter open. Hannah’s pink lips are trembling as her dark eyes fill with tears.
“Ma’am, you need to stay still,” Harrison says, voice gentle but firm.
“I’m going to reach in and put my hand on your sternum, okay?
” Without waiting for more than a nod, he moves, hand steady, anchoring her against the seat without pressure.
“I can see you’re having a little trouble catching your breath.
Let’s slow it down together. Big breath in.
That’s it. Count of four, and then hold it.
Good. Two, three…four. Okay, now blow it out. ”
Marco has the car seat unbuckled, and I step back, giving him room to pull it from the vehicle just as Harrison tells her, “Perfect. Let’s do it again, okay?”
The baby—Hannah—gives up her fight, a loud wail escaping from her little mouth, eyes wide and wet as she looks around, searching for her mama. A band around my ribs loosens fractionally, the fear that the baby might not be okay finally dissipating enough to let me breathe.
Marco softly coos to her before looking at me. “I’ll take her to the back of the rig and check her over there, but going off that noise, I think we’re okay.”
“You hear that?” Harrison is saying. “Your girl has some lungs on her.”
A watery chuckle escapes the woman, but it’s still breathless and edged with panic. “C-can I see her? I need to…I have to see, to touch her. I need to make sure she’s okay.”
“I understand, but we need to check Hannah over first, and we need to get you assessed as well.”
“B-but—”
“You know, I’ve got a boy of my own. Nothing like having a kid to teach you fear, right?” Harrison says conversationally, but I can see that he’s still got one hand on her sternum and the other on her wrist. “I promise that as soon as the paramedics arrive, we’ll get you reunited with your Hannah.”
It’s another fifteen minutes before the paramedics arrive, but both mother and baby are responsive, alert, and showing no obvious signs of major injuries.
I approach Harrison just as he’s giving the handoff to one of the paramedics.
“…collar just in case. She’s alert and denying she’s in pain, but she winces when she turns her head.
Possible whiplash, maybe a mild concussion from the impact and airbags.
” He pauses, eyes shifting to me and then back to the paramedic.
Then he lowers his voice, “There’s a bruise on her throat. Distinct. Shaped like fingers.”
The paramedic’s eyes flare before they harden. “It was there when you arrived?” Harrison nods. “But no one else was with her?”
“No, she was alone.”
“Sterling Creek is small. You don’t recognize her or the car?”
Both Harrison and I shake our heads. I add, “No one on our crew knows her.”
“We’ll have to take the two of them to Ashland General,” the paramedic determines, looking at his partner over his shoulder. “Sterling Creek’s emergency clinic won’t have what they need for an infant.”
Neither of us disagree, knowing it’s the right call, especially if there’s more going on here than a car crash. I turn back to look at the crumpled vehicle.
“They’re lucky,” I say grimly. “It could’ve been a lot worse.”
The chair squeaks under the chief as he resettles his weight, shrewd gray eyes pinned on me from across his desk, seeing far more than I want him to as I finish debriefing him on what happened this morning.
Monroe Shepard might be in his mid-forties, but there is no denying that he’s earned his position as the Sterling Creek Fire Chief. He’s damn good at his job—one he’s held for just over five years now.
Monroe and my father worked close together for years before Dad retired, and have maintained that friendship since.
It means the line between personal and professional blurs more than I’d like, and it’s how I also knew Monroe would be pushing at those boundaries as soon as he called me into his office.
“Braxton,” he says, exhaling deeply. “There’s a lot we see in this job that stays with us for a long time. Even if you don’t believe it has a lasting impact, it does.”
“I’m aware.”
“And I am aware that you haven’t spoken to anyone, even after I told you to.” His eyes never leave mine, his expression severe.
I slouch in my seat, picking at a loose thread on the seam of the sweatpants I changed into when we got back to the station. “I don’t need to talk to anyone.”
Monroe leans back, running a hand over the short beard covering his square jaw, the bristly hair more salt and pepper than the dark brown covering his head.
“We all need to talk it out sometimes.” A shadow flickers through his eyes, like a painful memory is rearing its head.
His lashes lower, and when they lift again, that darkness is gone. “And what you saw—”
I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m fine, Monroe.”
“Are you?” The two words are filled with doubt. “Have you told Gracie about the accident?” At the look on my face, his frown deepens. “She must have heard about it?”