Chapter Twelve Among the Wreckage #2
Liv crouched low by the patient, checking the carotid pulse, tilting her head to listen for any sign of breathing. Then she glanced up at Ahmed and gave a tight shake of her head.
Her voice came clear and calm, cutting through the chaos. “Time of death, sixteen forty-two. Discontinue CPR.”
Ahmed sat back on his heels.
Trent stiffened in Reece’s arms, body rigid before he shoved back into Reece’s chest and broke himself free.
“ Fuck! ”
He then stormed off without another word, fighting through the downpour as he disappeared towards the waiting ambulance.
And Reece wondered how he was supposed to let this go too.
* * * *
The drive to the hospital was a blur.
Trent gripped the wheel, manoeuvring the ambulance through the rain-slicked streets under the howl of sirens.
His focus stayed locked on the road, the wipers battling to keep pace with the downpour, and every time the vehicle hit a pothole, or the back end shifted on the standing water, his stomach clenched.
Behind him, Liv was soothing the patients.
“Stay with me, love… You’re doing great. Kids, you’re so brave, we’re nearly there now…”
Trent took a corner too fast, the ambulance tyres skidding before gripping again, and he eased back on the accelerator, hands trembling on the wheel.
Get them there.
Don’t mess this up, too.
When they reached the hospital, the trauma team rushed out to meet them, and Trent was on autopilot. He couldn’t remember killing the engine. Nor recall how he got out of the driver’s seat. But somehow, he and Liv got the kids and the mother out of the ambulance, and he slammed shut the back doors.
The handover was a blur of bright lights and shouted medical jargon.
Trent stood numbly outside Resus, the critical area of A&E where the worst cases landed. Behind the glass doors, the trauma team swarmed the mother’s trolley and whisked the kids behind curtained bays further down the ward, their thin voices fading into the chaos.
Liv approached him, pulling down her mask, brows drawn tight.
“You’re done, Trent. Go home. ”
He opened his mouth to argue, but the look she gave him froze the words in his throat.
“I mean it.” She wrapped her gloved hand around his arm. “You’ve done more than enough today. Go clean up, yeah?”
It wasn’t a request. It was the same voice she used on scene. Direct, no room for debate.
So Trent made it back to the ambulance station and into the crew room where high-vis jackets hung over the battered radiator, wafting the stale scent of damp.
Mismatched chairs surrounded a scarred table littered with half-empty mugs and energy drink cans.
The whiteboard near the door listed rota gaps and shift changes, a reminder that even when the world stopped for someone else, the job never did for them.
His supervisor, Station Officer Karen Weller, stood near the doorway, arms crossed, her face set in that careful balance between concern and professional detachment.
“Lawson,” she called as he dragged himself inside. “Debrief, now.”
The conversation was short, clinical.
“You’re a good medic, Trent. But you have to know your limits. Liv said she ordered you to swap out. You didn’t. That’s a problem.”
Trent swallowed hard, gaze fixed somewhere over her shoulder.
He nodded, because what else was there to say? He couldn’t explain how it hadn’t felt like a choice. How stopping had felt like giving up.
Karen’s expression softened.
“Go home. Take tomorrow, too. That’s an order.”
He left without another word.
By the time he changed out of his uniform, his fingers were clumsy with exhaustion.
His soaked T-shirt stuck to his skin, and his head pounded, body wrung out and aching in a way no pill could fix.
There wasn’t even any point trying to take one.
Nothing could numb this. So he stepped out into the biting cold air, the storm finally breaking, leaving behind a sky scraped clean.
The bus stop was half-lit, the timetable scrolling mockingly through its one-an-hour night service schedule, and he slumped onto the bench, his damp uniform stuffed into his bag at his feet and dropped his head back against the glass.
Everything pressed down on him.
Those kids’ faces.
When Liv called the time of death.
The look on Reece’s face as he pulled him away.
He’d known this would come, eventually. They’d warned him in training. That first fatal RTC would wreck him if he let it. He’d sat through those lectures, nodded through the counselling prep, ticking that box. But this… this was the one he’d been dreading.
Because some things hit too close to home.
Metal twisted around flesh. A life snuffed out in front of children. And no matter how hard he tried, how long he fought, that heart wouldn’t restart.
He’d told himself for years he could handle it when this day came. That he’d buried the past so deep it wouldn’t matter. But it had risen anyway, raw and vicious, right there on the side of that road.
Because he hadn’t saved him.
The bus shelter felt like purgatory. A half-lit glass box on the edge of nowhere, where nothing moved but the flicker of the battered timetable screen and the occasional hiss of passing tyres.
Then a low rumble broke through the quiet .
Trent opened his eyes as a motorbike rolled out of the darkness, headlight cutting a sharp, blinding path across the rain-slick pavement.
The machine pulled to a halt in front of him, the rider’s boot stamping down hard onto the kerb.
Then the visor lifted, and familiar green eyes pinned him in place as if he was the only person left in the world worth seeing.
“Heroes don’t get the bus,” Reece said, voice muffled by the helmet and the steady growl of the idling engine. He nodded towards the back seat. “Get on.”
Trent let out a shaky breath, dropping his head into his hands.
“I’m no hero.” He swallowed. “He died, Reece. And those kids…”
Reece swung his leg off the bike and strode towards him, then crouched in front of him. “You did everything you could.”
Trent shook his head, his vision blurring as he stared down at the cracked pavement. “It wasn’t enough.”
A gloved hand lifted his chin, forcing his eyes up.
And Christ, the look on Reece’s face, soft but fierce, that maddening, impossible mix of control and care that always seemed to knock the air clean out of him, had Trent rooted to the spot.
“Let me take you home,” Reece said. “That’s all. Let me get you out of this.”
Trent couldn’t fight anymore. Couldn’t even pretend he didn’t want this.
So he nodded.
Reece took his hand and pulled him to his feet, steadying him when his legs threatened to give out.
He popped open the storage box on the back of the bike and pulled out a spare helmet, fitting it onto Trent’s head, securing the strap with fingers lingering too long under his chin.
Then Reece swung his leg over the bike and reached back without looking, offering his hand.
Trent took it, letting Reece guide him onto the seat behind him, limbs heavy and useless.
The engine rumbled beneath them, a deep, soothing vibration feeling almost like safety.
And for a moment, Trent hesitated, but then he slid his arms around Reece’s waist, resting his forehead against the solid strength of his back.
Where he could breathe again.
The ride through the town was a blur of cold air, streetlights streaking like smudged stars, and the solid weight of Reece in his arms. By the time they pulled up outside his flat, the adrenaline had long since bled out of him, leaving nothing but numbness and bone-deep fatigue.
Reece killed the engine and climbed off first. “Come on.”
He helped him off the bike as Trent swung one leg over and nearly lost his balance, then he fumbled for his keys in his jeans pocket. But his fingers were useless.
“Hey…” Reece stepped in close. “Let me.” He dug his hand into Trent’s pocket and pulled out the keys. “Which one?”
“Silver,” Trent said. “Top floor.”
Reece unlocked the door and pushed it open, bracing Trent with an arm around his waist as he all but folded in on himself at the threshold.
“I’ve got you.” Reece guided Trent up the stairs to the top flat, where he then opened the door and let him in. “Let’s get you to bed, eh? Which room is yours?”
Trent gestured towards the hallway and his bedroom beyond. He knew Dev wasn’t in, as the flat was dark. His bedroom door open. He was at work or out. Wherever. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t Dev he needed right then .
Reece staggered with him towards his room, where he shouldered open the door.
The bed inside was still neatly made. Trent hadn’t let himself crawl into it properly for days.
And right then, he wasn’t sure he could go in it alone now, either.
But Reece guided him to the edge of his bed and helped him out of his rain-soaked coat, the fabric peeling away with a miserable, sodden sound.
He then hooked it over the radiator, and when he turned back, his gaze locked onto Trent’s and his lips parted.
Trent swallowed. Because it was all there, written in every tense line of Reece’s body.
The silent fight. Stay or go. Take a step forward or walk away for good.
But Trent couldn’t bring himself to decide for either of them.
So, as if the choice physically wounded him, Reece stepped in, closing the last sliver of space between them, and he brushed his forehead to Trent’s, a barely there touch more intimate than any kiss. He fluttered his eyes shut.
“You’re impossible to figure out,” he breathed, his voice a ragged thing torn straight from his chest, each word drifting warmth across Trent’s lips.
Trent couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think past the delicate press of Reece’s forehead and that broken whisper sinking through his skin like a brand.
He should say something. Should pull away before this turned into something he couldn’t undo. But nothing came out, words swallowed by the closeness between them. And when Reece stroked his thumb over his cheek, Trent forgot every boundary he’d drawn.
Because he was weak. Right now, vulnerability felt safer than the crushing pain of his own memories. So maybe it was better to fall. To let this man ruin him completely, rather than keep breaking apart alone .
Reece’s nose touched his. A soft, accidental nudge, and his shaky breath spilled across Trent’s waiting mouth. And if Reece moved even a fraction closer, Trent wouldn’t have the strength to stop him. He’d fall and wouldn’t find his way back.
But with a ragged breath, Reece pulled away, as if he’d wrenched himself free from something brutal. He turned towards the door. “I should go. Get some sleep.”
Trent grabbed his wrist. Held him there. “Stay.” He closed his eyes to limit the vulnerability in his plea. “I need to sleep, and I don’t think I’ll be able to.” He forced his eyes open to hold Reece’s gaze as he let the whole truth out. “Unless you hold me.”
Slowly, cautiously, Reece stepped towards him, eyes soft and storm-dark all at once.
“Okay. Let’s get you warm.” Reece’s touch was impossibly gentle as his fingers found the hem of Trent’s damp T-shirt.
Trent didn’t resist. He lifted his arms in silent surrender, the world narrowing to the slow drag of fabric over his skin, the soft rasp of Reece’s calloused fingers along his ribs.
His breath hitched when Reece worked his way lower, unfastening his belt, his fingers trembling as he eased Trent out of his jeans, leaving him in nothing but his underwear.
Reece stood then, stepping back enough to strip his own soaked clothes away, piece by piece, down to his boxers, bare chest rising and falling in time with Trent’s uneven breathing.
And for a moment, Reece looked at him. Tracing the length of him, with a slight tilt of his neck, a flash of desire in his eyes, but also mixed with something close to appraisal.
As if the sight of Trent’s body was enough to rob the air from his lungs .
Then he reached for Trent’s hand and guided him beneath the covers.
The sheets were cold at first, but Reece slipped in behind him, pulling Trent flush to his chest with such care it nearly undid him completely, and he wrapped his arms tight around Trent’s waist, his breath warm at the nape of his neck.
No words. No more battles to fight tonight.
Just warmth, and the steady thrum of Reece’s heartbeat against his spine, and the quiet promise in the way Reece held him, as if Trent was something precious.
Worth fighting for.
And as Trent lay there, eyes burning, soft rain once again pattering at his windowpane, he realised it was the first time in a long while that he didn’t feel alone.