Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Spencer
Iguess I’m a criminal now.
Operation Get-Grinder-Back is a whole-ass thing, and because Parker came up with the plan, almost every facet of it has something illegal peeking out.
Between the trespassing, the alarming number of weapons—military grade, of course—and the destruction of property, I refuse to do the math on the number of years I could face in prison.
And I haven’t even touched on my favorite crime…a class H felony. I wish it stopped there but alas, if I’m caught, I’d be facing up to twenty-five months in prison.
Me. The guy who wants to save lives is about to flush all of his dreams down the toilet because he’s in love.
Of all the dumb reasons in the world, it had to be the cliché.
It doesn’t matter though because I’m doing it. I’m stealing an ambulance from the station, then transporting illegally obtained weapons with known felons. Fun times.
The club assured me they’d have my back and I believe they mean it. That’s not the problem. My worry is that shit never goes to plan, not in my world.
Maybe this time it’ll be perfect. After all, these guys know what they’re doing.
“Condom for your fantasies?” Salem’s ridiculous question snaps me out of my inner musings.
“What?” I can feel the deep frown in my forehead as I give her a quick glance.
There’s a big softball game tonight and traffic is horrendous. UNC-Rockford Beach is having an amazing start to the season so people are showing up in support of the team. It’s great for them but sucks for us.
“Just trying to get your attention. You’ve ignored every single one of my questions.” She’s right, I’m so far into my head that I didn’t even realize she was talking, let alone asking me anything.
“Sorry, just thinking about our last pick up.” It’s my go-to response when I zone out.
“The guy who called 9-1-1 because he thought his dog was depressed?” Shit. Was that our last call?
“Yeah, you know, that’s a misdemeanor misuse of the 9-1-1 system. It’s illegal.”
Salem scoffs at me, clearly not impressed.
“The guy was like a hundred years old. If they charge him, I’ll protest.” Again, she’s not wrong.
“Okay. That still doesn’t explain your whole condom thing.”
The entire time we’re talking, she’s on her phone, typing and smiling.
It’s like she’s doing three things at once, not missing a single beat.
As a late millennial I can appreciate the way this rising generation is dealing with the world.
Hell, we’re not that different, Salem and me, and knowing that multitasking is a viable soft skill means we’re winning on all fronts.
“Shock factor.” Two words. That’s all it takes for me to laugh and forget the fact I’m about to fuck up my life forever. Unless, of course, I get shit done right.
“I guess it worked, then.” I turn into the station, the clock on the dash signaling twenty-five minutes before the end of shift.
By the time I get the paperwork done, it will probably be closer to half past, given the sheer number of calls tonight.
On the plus side, the roads won’t be so crowded since everyone will be at the actual game.
Once we park, Salem places one hand on my arm and waits for me to give her all of my attention. “You’re okay, right?”
Ugh, I hate lying to people. Not just because I’m horrible at it, but because it feels horrible to deceive those I care about.
“Yeah, just…” Screw it, I’m going to give her a nugget. They always say that lying is best when there’s truth to it. “I’m in love. It’s a whole thing.”
I can feel my cheeks blushing and I realize it’s the first time I’ve actually said those words out loud to another person.
“I love that for you.” Salem squeezes my arm, then hops out of the rig. That’s it. That’s the entirety of the conversation. Quick, easy, and painless.
Now’s the hard part.
Salem sits with me as I do the reports, helping me with the finer details since my brain was clearly checked out for most of our shift.
“Don’t forget the lesbian couple.” I nod at Salem and start the report. “They were my favorites.”
“We don’t do favorites on call. Every life counts.” And blah blah blah. “But yeah, they were my favorite, too. Did you see how pristine their house was?” Nobody needs that much white in a home.
“Yup, I kinda wanted to mess it all up. Give it some color. But their vibe was vibin’ and I was there for it.”
Thirty minutes later, Salem says goodbye but I stay behind, claiming to need the bathroom.
Choosing the latrine farthest from the communal room where everyone is taking a break before the next call, I quickly change into dirty clothes, a tattered wig with long hair, and dark glasses to hide my face.
Oh, yeah. And let’s not forget the fucking beard Parker told me would hide my gorgeous face. Her words.
Hiding in the bathroom, looking like I’ve been living in the woods for the last decade, I check my watch and curse.
This is so bad. So, so bad.
With my hands clutching the sink, I raise my head and stare at my reflection in the dirty, scratched up mirror.
“What the fuck are you even doing?” I don’t dare speak, just mouth the words, shaking my head at how incredibly stupid this is.
Then I remember it’s for Grinder. Our Grinder. Our Diego.
The familiar shrill of the alarm accompanied by the intercom calling out both the on-duty EMTs and all firemen on shift for a full station response sounds and it’s my cue to get ready to run.
The chaos outside the door isn’t surprising, considering we don’t often get a high-rise fire with people trapped inside. At least that’s what I told Parker to say on the burner phone. Now, all I have to do is steal a fucking ambulance.
As soon as all of the commotion is gone and the coast feels clear, I slowly open the door and look around. It’s dark, with the only people here either sleeping or hanging out in the commons. That’s when I run out to the back where our old ambulance is parked, retired from daily use.
The keys are in the ignition. I know because I preemptively put them there this morning when I arrived.
The entire time I’m committing this crime, it feels like I’m living outside of my body. And this isn’t even the worst part.
I drive to the compound, taking as many back roads as I possibly can, and once I’m with the brothers, I feel a little safer.
Parker jumps in my arms and hugs me so tight I’m afraid she’ll pop my lungs.
“You did so good, Spenny! See? Easy peasy!”
Yeah, that’s how I’m about to lose my career too…easy peasy.
Again, I remember why I’m doing this. It’s not like I haven’t already broken the law before. It occurs to me that the women in my life are trying to send me the message that I’d look spectacular in an orange jumpsuit and behind bars.
The brothers load the ambulance, a couple hiding in the back while Parker and I change into real EMT uniforms for the second part of our show.
Trespassing. Then breaking—literally—and entering.
By the time we reach the location, I’ve turned on the red and blue lights and show the guys at the gate my ID. The fake one.
“Who called you?” The big burly guy with a mustache stolen straight out of the eighties is staring at me, waiting for an answer. It feels like he just knows I’m lying, which, in turn, makes a thin layer of sweat build on my upper lip.
“Sir, I don’t know. I just get the addresses with the description of the situation and the name.
I’ve got a Mr. O’Malley with possible cardiac arrest.” I don’t know what I was expecting, but being this calm when out right lying to a couple of thugs with big guns isn’t it.
“Look, I can leave, I don’t care but, someone in there is dying and every second counts. ”
The clean-shaven guy who decided his balding up top could be compensated by growing out his hair waves us in. We don’t have long, this was always the plan. Go in quick and make an explosive entrance.
Then wing it. Again, Parker’s words, not mine.
“Go over there, to the left. See that small entrance? The Reapers’ tech dude said that’s the basement.” Parker is pointing to a side door at the bottom of exterior cement stairs. It makes sense, I guess. In any case, it’s not like we have many options.
I pull up and the guys get out, arms full of weapons.
“Ride, die, and bleed for speed.” Sledge gives us a weird rock’n’roll sign with his fingers and his tongue out like he’s auditioning for a Kiss cover band role.
For a brief second, I wonder if all British people are this weird or if we just got lucky.
“Wish me luck, Spenny. Operation Get-Grinder-Back is full on. Now, run! The car will be parked on the other side of the property.” Then she quickly kisses my cheek and grins. “Love you”!
I don’t even hesitate. “Love you, too, Parker.”
Then I run. Full-fledged sprinting through the woods with only one aim: get to the car so I can drive my couple back home and be a family again.
I’m a few hundred yards away when the explosion happens. The plan said to keep running.
Keep running and never turn back.
But I do. I turn back and what I see brings me to my knees. The entire side of the building is on fire, part of it collapsing like a fucking sand castle at high tide.
Shaking my head, I tell myself that they’re fine. This was the fucking plan, right? Explosion. Get out. Drive away.
With tears in my eyes and a concrete ball in my stomach, I pray to a God I haven’t spoken to in two decades that the two most important people in my world will be running out and jumping into the get-away car.
Like a robot, I go through the motions.
Run to the car.
Wait for Parker and Grinder.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
Then I pray—again—that I haven’t lost the loves of my life.