Chapter 10
Tristan
Captain Hyun shows me around the fire station. The second floor almost feels like a loft-style apartment, rather than a place of work, and I like it. It feels immediately homey.
It’s almost enough to distract me from the stomach-churning shock at seeing Nick here.
Evidently, it’s not a prank, and there are no hidden cameras. We really are coworkers, and we really will be sitting in an ambulance together, racing around the city and saving lives.
What sort of wild coincidence is that?
I don’t have any time to ponder divine will or the whims of fate or the plausibility of coincidences, or any other light and breezy topics like that, because there’s a lot that I need to learn.
After Captain Hyun shows me around the station, shows me which bunk room is mine, shows me where everything is stored, kept, cleaned, repaired, and logged, Nick shows me the ambulance.
It’s strange being alone with him.
Surreal.
I try not to stare at him, at the sculpted angles of his face, the smooth curve of his muscles.
Medic 27 is state-of-the-art, the newest model with all the newest life-saving gadgets. Its red coat is perfect and spotless, and you could definitely use the chrome to inspect your pores.
When Nick gives me the rundown on the ambulance, he is absolutely unflappable. He doesn’t show any signs that he even remembers our conversation from yesterday.
So much so that I begin to wonder—does he remember the conversation from yesterday?
Did that conversation even happen?
Am I crazy, and is this a completely different Nick Gutierrez?
Does he have a doppelg?nger with the same name?
No. That can’t be.
We’re alone in the ambulance. This is my chance.
Sure, the doors are open, but I doubt anyone is listening—or could hear us, if they were listening.
I interrupt him while he’s going over the different controls. “Sorry, am I going crazy or something? We met last night, didn’t we? You gave me your number, right?”
Nick hesitates, barely, and then says, “Let’s not talk about this now.”
His voice is soft, deep, and fully in control.
“Later,” he continues. His dark, intense eyes rise to meet mine. “Later. Is that okay?”
The idea of “later” makes me anxious, but because Nick asked, it somehow feels better. Feels easier. Like I can trust him with this uncertainty and with my anxiety.
“Sure,” I say. “Later.”
“I still owe you that coffee,” he says.
Even that slight acknowledgment of our texts makes me breathe a little easier.
I attempt some humor. “Bet you didn’t expect me to show up here, did you?”
“Almost pissed myself back there,” he says glibly.
We share a smile.
“Well,” he says, and by his tone I can tell we’ve switched topics. “Do you feel oriented at the station?”
“More or less. It’ll take some time for me to feel used to it, you know?”
“I do. Before you know it, you’ll be responding to calls like a pro.”