Trapp #3
He barked out a laugh, a sneer instead of one of his script-approved smiles taking up residence on his face.
“This is urgent care, Adi. There’s no attending here.
You’re a shift employee, no different than the maintenance crew.
The vitals have already been recorded in the chart, which you’re free to look at, at any point. ”
She stepped closer, invading his space as she glowered, bringing with her the faint scent of rain and sun-warmed cotton.
When she spoke, it was through clenched teeth.
“What I care about is professional competency. If this is your trainee, have you bothered to instruct him in the proper hand-off procedure? Or were you too busy practicing your hair flip for the pin-up calendar?”
Oleg was gaping, his head swiveling between them as if it were on a stick. This was how she’d always been, Trapp remembered. Fiery, argumentative, striving to beat him any way she could.
“Is someone in this place going to help me take a piss?” the old wolf in the bed raged.
“Eighty-two, male, werewolf, unwitnessed mechanical fall in garage on a concrete floor at approximately eleven hundred hours. Patient spent approximately thirty minutes on the ground. Suspected hairline fracture of the femoral neck.” Trapp’s voice was a pitch-black growl as he relayed Mr. Rudolph’s vitals, watching the slow spread of scarlet temper across her cheeks.
He’d forgotten that her grey eyes were haloed in gold, like an eclipse, and wondered how it could have slipped from his memory.
“I didn’t push him into a standard traction splint because it’s an intracapsular injury, but if you want to yank on his heel and override my field stabilization without taking a single plain film first, be my guest, Doctor Brunelli. Because this is a contest, after all.”
The automatic doors slid open as he and Oleg returned to the ambulance, his heart hammering against his ribs. Trapp had a feeling this was probably what Grayson would have classified as making it worse.
By the time they made it back to the firehouse, the claustrophobia of the ambulance was suffocating.
He wasn’t sure how Julia leaving him was suddenly the unexpected high point of his month.
It was foolish to have been as upset as he was, upset for all the wrong reasons, realizing Gray had been right about that as well.
He never should have reacted the way he did with the two-day bender and subsequent flings.
He could, it turned out, handle being dumped.
This, on the other hand? This was the foundation of his entire life being chipped away with an ice pick.
He had spent years scrubbing the failure of his medical residency off his name, replacing it with being the Hemming everyone admired, the sterling, unshakeable reputation of a wolf who saved lives and helped his neighbors and never, ever asked for anything in return.
Trapp pushed through the bay doors, for once needing the mindless distraction of cleaning the trucks.
In the dayroom, the television was blaring a ketterling match, but the assembled crew wasn’t watching it.
Vinlop and Drig were huddled near the water cooler, and the second Trapp’s boots hit the linoleum, the conversation died.
Vinlop looked everywhere but at Trapp’s face, suddenly fascinated by the label on his energy drink. So much for brothers in uniform.
“Hemming.” He turned, the voice of Rosh, the captain, making him stiffen. The demonborn’s features were uncomfortable. “Come sit for two minutes.”
“I’m good, Cap. Hosing down the box,” Trapp said, his voice tightening. He could feel his mask slipping, the polished, easygoing persona he affected day in and out fracturing at the edges.
“Cleaning can wait,” the captain said, gesturing to the office door. When Trapp didn’t move, he sighed. “Hemming, it wasn’t a request.”
His feet were made of lead as he shuffled into the small, even more claustrophobic office.
“Look, I just got off the phone with the clinic manager over at urgent care.”
A red mist settled over his eyes. “Cap—”
“A Dr. Brunelli filed an incident report regarding unprofessional conduct during your handoff this morning. She claims you were insubordinate, aggressive, and that you compromised patient care by arguing over the handoff in front of said patient.”
“That is bullshit,” Trapp snapped, his voice defensive and raw, no hint of everybody’s favorite fireman to be found. “She was the one who ignored the vitals! Oleg was trying to give her everything she needed. It’s not her place to chastise him. She’s just trying to pull rank because—”
“She’s the MD, Trapp,” Rosh interrupted, his voice firm.
“She has rank. The medical director will review the run sheet. If your charting holds up, the protocol will back you up. What I care about, what the chief cares about, is the fact that she’s the MD, and you do not get to engage in a pissing contest with an attending physician in front of a civilian. Period.”
“She’s not an attending physician,” he spat, knowing the distinction meant nothing here, but for the captain to be saying it, Adriana had repeated the claim in her report against him. “She’s an urgent care employee. She’s not even the managing physician of the clinic!”
“I don’t really care what you want to call her, Trapp.
She’s the doctor, and that means on that floor, she has the final say.
” He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing.
“Go home. I’m relieving you of duty for the day.
We can’t give you a pass just because of your name.
If the chief disagrees, well, we’ll see you tomorrow.
If he agrees with my call, we’ll see you for your next shift.
From what I’ve heard, it sounds like you could use the time off to get your head on straight. ”
He was on his feet before his brain could fully process the movement, hands still clenched in fists at his side. Trapp knew it was an aggressive posture, and he could tell from the way Rosh stiffened that he read that way as well.
“I’ve never asked for special treatment. I’ve never performed as if I expected it, either. I was under the impression I earned my position here, but I guess it’s good to know where I stand.” It’s called healthy boundaries, Trapp. You should try it sometime. They had been right about that as well.
He didn’t relax his posture when he stalked out of the firehouse, eyes trained ahead.
Trapp was pretty sure adrenaline and muscle memory drove him home, for he had no memory of getting behind the wheel.
Once he was in his own driveway, he barely had time to step from his truck before he heard the voices.
His neighbor, a kitsune around his age, muttering with the gnoll from across the street.
Unlike Jackson and Gray, he hadn’t felt the need to build himself an edifice to block out the rest of the community.
He’d purchased a modest home in one of the town’s oldest neighborhoods, close to the university, because he wasn’t concerned with reminding his neighbors of who he was, who his father was, didn’t need to put on airs or ensure space .
. . and now his yard felt just as claustrophobic as the firehouse had, his neighbor too close.
He could see the gnoll’s frown, and a moment later, when his attention was caught by the mothperson delivering mail across the street, he was certain he detected a scowl in his direction.
“You know, Trapp, Lyla is a good friend of mine.”
He glared at the kitsune, and the absence of a smile on his face seemed to shock her. “Who?” he asked patronizingly, deciding it was too fucking late, there was no way to get in front of anything, and if his reputation was going down, he may as well drag it to hell.
The kitsune huffed a second before he slammed the front door, shutting them all out.
He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t be trapped indoors for the full four and a half days he would be off, and he was inevitably suspended for the entirety of his shift, so there would be no returning to the station in the morning.
He’d been back in Cambric Creek for a decade, ten years of devoting himself to the firehouse and the community center, ten years of being helpful and friendly, of showing up where he was needed, and never expecting to be treated differently.
Ten years of being the Hemming everyone liked, and it had all been erased in the space of a week.
Because of those fucking sheep at the coffee shop.
Because of her. Fine. Give them what they want.
Grayson’s brows were drawn when he answered his door a short while later, confusion over why Trapp was out of uniform on the first day of his shift.
“Hi, Trapp,” he could hear Vanessa’s voice from inside the house, as Gray’s eyes narrowed, moving from Trapp’s face to the laundry basket of clothes and provisions he’d hastily packed, stepping aside a beat later to let him in.
“When do you play racquetball with Shay next?” he asked in a tight voice, as Grayson shut the door with finality, not even questioning what Trapp was doing.
“Shay doesn’t play racquetball. He golfs.”
“Perfect. Then why don’t you order us up a tee time? I think there are some things he needs to know about his new hire.”