by Jen Talty
I will defend my brothers & their women,
With honor and duty, I will defend my country,
I will remember that freedom isn’t free.
Quiet professionalism rules the day.
He stood in front of the microwave at the Patrick Air Force Base only a few miles from his home in Indian Head Acres. It had been a busy day of calls. As a paramedic, he only went out when the ambulance did, and today, it had gone out five times. He checked the blinking digital clock flashing in front of him while his dinner heated.
Five thirty.
He wouldn’t be off until seven in the morning. Not that he had anything he needed to do.
“What are you going to do during our vacation? I hear there is going to be a big party on Hunter’s boat to kick things off,” senior firefighter Zach Santora said.
“I don’t plan on attending, you?” Gunner asked.
“Too many kids and not enough single women.”
“There won’t be any single women on that boat,” Gunner said.
Damn his captain, Ace Anders. Or maybe it had been his crew chief, Hunter Jackson, who required him to take a week off work. They even had the nerve to call the local chief informing him of their decision to force Gunner into a so-called much needed break; otherwise, he would be spending this week working at the 118-fire station instead of twiddling his thumbs.
Seven days of doing nothing might be some people’s idea of heaven.
For Gunner, it only gave him time to think and contemplate his life decisions, and it was during those idle times that she would creep into his waking thoughts. It was hard enough that she haunted his dreams most nights. He had thought the more time and space that was between them the more he’d be able to forget.
But he never could.
Just like he could never forgive himself for what happened in the past.
“That’s why I’ll be fishing during the day and barhopping at night. Care to join me?” Zach asked.
“I might just do that.”
“I’ll text you tomorrow afternoon. There’s a great band at Roady’s. The guitarist is phenomenal.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Gunner didn’t spend too much time with anyone but preferred the single men over the married ones. Not because he didn’t like the men on his team that had spouses or children, but because it just reminded him of everything he walked away from.
“Do you need me to pick you up?”
“Nope. Got Marthy back yesterday. The shop did a bang-up paint job. Thanks for the recommendation.”
“That’s the dumbest name for a vehicle I’ve ever heard. Normal people name them Betty, or Betsy, or Beast, or something.” Zach slapped him on the back. “But you’re not normal.”
“Neither are you.” Declan, one of the senior firefighters, said as he breezed by with a sandwich in his hands. “What’s cooking?”
“Ravioli.”
“From a can, no doubt.” Declan shook his head. “You eat like shit.”
Gunner wasn’t about to argue that point, but who didn’t like Chef Boyardee? Okay, the stuff tasted like cardboard doused in ketchup, but it had calories, and it would stop his stomach from growling.
“Did you read Ace’s report on the fire over at Wendel Lawrence’s place?”
“It made for some interesting reading, especially when you add in the fact Harper thinks Wendel is guilty of raping and murdering three women on base.
“She also believes he destroyed evidence in the fire, but she can’t prove it, nor does she even have enough on him to bring him in for questioning at this point.”
“If anyone can nail Wendel, Harper can,” Gunner said.
No sooner was dinner ready than the alarm went off. Quickly, he covered his plate and shoved it back in the fridge before making a beeline for the garage.
“We’ve got a jumper with a therapist sitting on the ledge with him,” Becca Rivers, the dispatcher and Declan’s wife, said. “The therapist has herself strapped to the jumper.”
“Why are we going and not the locals?” Gunner’s heart sank. This was the one call that made him question his choice in careers. They didn’t happen often, but once was too many, and he’d seen a few dozen too many.
“Jumper is an Airman.” Becca cocked a brow. “We take care of our own.”
“That we do.” He snagged the ambulance keys from the desk and settled in behind the steering wheel.
“I got the address; let’s roll.” Noah Hale, fellow paramedic, hopped into the passenger seat. Immediately, he strapped himself in, then went for the GPS.
Hunter Jackson, the crew chief, jogged in front of the ambulance, tapping the hood with his helmet before shoving it on his head. “Move out,” he commanded.
Gunner hit the sirens and pulled out onto the street.
“Only five miles out,” Noah said. “I’d rather go help a six-hundred-pound person up off the floor or help them get out of bed than sit and cross my fingers that someone doesn’t decide to go splat on the pavement.”
Gunner cringed. Not a single person he worked with knew that his ex-girlfriend had committed suicide. He did what he could to bury the memories of that part of his life so deep in his psyche that even he had a difficult time finding them.
Only today, it found him.
Pumping the brakes, he eased through the gate of the Air Force Base and headed south, following Ace, his captain, who was part of a joint tactical team with the locals that worked together on many projects, including dealing with these types of calls.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Noah said.
“I hate these calls too.” Gunner loved his job more than anything. When he’d first enlisted, he’d been worried he was going to hate every second. All he’d ever wanted to do was help people. He had spent two years in nursing school and had every intention of getting his four-year degree and becoming an emergency nurse, but Courtney’s death changed everything.
Gilmans Road was blocked off. Only emergency vehicles were allowed.
A local policeman moved the barricade and waved Gunner through. He parked the ambulance. As soon as his feet hit the concrete, he glanced up. The building was ten stories and at the very top stood two people.
He snagged one of the emergency bags and made his way to where the rest of the team stood at the street corner.
“Do we know who’s up there?” Gunner asked.
Zach handed him a pair of binoculars.
“No fucking way,” he mumbled. He rubbed his eyes and blinked, but that didn’t change the fact that the woman standing on the ledge next to a young man who wanted to end his life was none other than Arcadia Bloomingdale. Her long hair had been pulled back into a ponytail. She wore dark slacks and a yellow blouse. Thank God she’d taken off her shoes, because knowing her, she’d be wearing at least three-inch heels.
Gunner clutched his chest as his fellow teammates, Garrett, Jax, and Brodie, were busy opening up the chute that could potentially save Arcadia and her jumper.
“Ace. Hunter. Send me up,” Gunner said, standing in front of his captain and crew chief. “I want to go talk to them.”
“We need you down here if this goes bad.”
All firemen were equipped with more than basic knowledge of first aid, but his training went way beyond that, so he understood what his role could potentially be in this situation.
“He’s got a gun,” Hunter said, pointing toward the ledge with one hand while the other rested against his ear, keeping in communication with the locals on the roof. “Not only did the therapist hook herself to the young man, but now he’s threatening to kill her if we use the chute.”
“Does her name happen to be Arcadia Bloomingdale?” Gunner asked.
“You know her?” Hunter kept his focus on the top of the building.
“We went to high school together.”
“If she were the jumper, I’d say yes. But she’s not. So you’re staying down here,” Ace said.
“But I can help. Arcadia and I lost a c
lose friend to suicide.” Gunner paused, taking in a deep breath and swallowing the thick lump of memories that bombarded every part of his mind, body, and soul. “Together, we can talk him down.”
Ace shook his head. “I’m going up. Once I get there and assess the situation, if I think you’ll be helpful, I’ll let you know.”
“Yes, sir.” Ace was the captain, and he called the shots. He was a smart man, and Gunner trusted him with his life.
He could trust him with Arcadia’s.
I will defend my brothers & their women.
Arcadia wasn’t his woman, but she didn’t deserve to die, even if she was stupid enough to strap herself to the jumper.
Gunner jogged back to the ambulance and helped Noah with the necessary medical supplies they might need. Keeping his hand over his earpiece, he leaned against the vehicle and did his best to keep from losing his shit.
He folded his arms.
Then unfolded them.
He pushed himself from the cold metal and started to pace. He’d take five steps, stop, turn, and look up.
Repeat.
“Jesus Christ, will you stop?” Noah asked. “You’re making me nuts.”
Gunner checked his watch. They’d only been there for ten minutes.
“Jumper’s name is Brad Jonson,” Ace’s voice crackled over the speaker. “He spent six months in the Middle East, saw some shit, hasn’t been the same since, and to pour some major salt on that wound, his girlfriend dumped him for someone else the moment he got back.”
“What does he want?” Gunner covered his eyes, keeping the sun glare from obstructing his view.
Brad held the gun in his right hand while the left one was curled around Arcadia’s wrist. He waved the weapon in the air.
“Things look heated up there,” Gunner added.
“They are. He’s demanding we back off and if Dr. Bloomingdale doesn’t step back inside in the next few minutes, he’s taking her with him. Gunner, get your ass up here,” Ace said. “We need you to talk the good doctor into backing away.”
“On my way up.” Gunner wasted no time as he raced inside the building. He punched the elevator button a dozen times. Not that it would make it come down any faster, but it gave him something to do.
The doors swung open, and there stood Ace. “I thought I’d bring the elevator down to you.”
“Thanks. Does she know I’m here?”
“Not yet.”
“She’ll find out soon enough.” Gunner scratched the side of face. The memory of her palm connecting with his cheek burned his skin.
No regrets.
Right. No matter how many times he pushed that mantra down his own throat, he choked on it. The only thing he didn’t regret was joining the Air Force.
He rolled his neck, flexing his biceps, preparing for…he had no idea. A half-dozen first responders were gathered near a broken window. He took a quick glance around, wondering if this was Arcadia’s office. He had no idea what she’d done with her life. Not once had he returned to his hometown. There had been no reason to since his parents had died before he had left.
Every year, Arcadia would send him a letter or two to his brother’s house, and every year Gunner put them in a box.
Unopened.
Unread.
He didn’t even dare look at the return address, always covering it with his thumb. Why he kept the damn things, he had no idea. Then again, he didn’t know why he had kept a copy of Courtney’s suicide note, other than to read every once in a while, reminding him of what he’d caused.
His brother constantly told him he should read Arcadia’s letters and reach out. That he’d been a total prick for how he left.
He’d always respond with: Tell me something I don’t know.
“Two minutes, Dr. Bloomingdale,” a male voice commanded. “Don’t make me do this.”
Gunner had seen more than one person take their own life. Thankfully, he went on more calls that didn’t end with death, but he’d come to learn to recognize when a person was serious, and this man would kill Arcadia, no doubt about that.
“I’m not making you do anything. I’m asking you to come inside and just try for one more day.”
Arcadia’s voice ignited a flash of heat that rippled over his body. Anger and love collided as if in a high-speed crash, leaving no survivors.
“I do that, and these assholes will arrest me. I’m not spending any more time in a cage. I’m done.”
“I don’t blame you,” Gunner said as he stuck his head out the window.
Arcadia turned, and her jaw dropped open. Her eyes widened with shock but quickly narrowed into tiny, angry slits.
He couldn’t blame her either.
“Who the fuck are you?” Brad pushed the gun against Arcadia’s temple.
“I’m an old friend of your therapist.” All he needed to do was make sure that Brad’s gaze was stuck on him and not on what was going on down below. “I’m here to beg her to step back inside.”
“I’m not going to let you jump,” Arcadia said. “And you’re not a killer.”
“Yes, I am,” Brad said.
“Combat doesn’t count,” Arcadia said.
“Actually, it does.” Gunner’s heart pounded in his chest. He didn’t want this kid to die. He understood what war could do to a man, but there was hope.
There was always hope.
Something Courtney refused to consider.
Arcadia glared.
“But this would be different than what you had to do for this country. Arcadia is only trying to help you, something you pay her to do.”
“What the hell do you know about war?”
“I did three tours in the Middle East. I still have nightmares sometimes, but the need to lock myself in a closet so I can cry like a baby is long gone. Arcadia, undo the belt, please.”
“I can’t just let him—”
“You’re not. We’re trading places. Airmen take care of their own.” He stepped out on the ledge, even though Ace and Hunter were yelling at him through the earpiece. “Do it, Arcadia.”
The men below had the chute ready, just in case.
With a shaking hand, Arcadia released the belt holding her to Brad. She placed her hand in Gunner’s.
Pop!
“No!”
Gunner grabbed hold of Arcadia and shoved her through the window, right into Ace’s arms. Tightly holding onto the side of the building, he glanced toward the pavement. His team had caught Brad in the chute, and Noah was kneeling over him, checking for vitals.
“We’ve got a pulse,” Noah’s voice boomed in Gunner’s ear.
“I’ve got to get back down there.” He stepped off the ledge and stopped in front of Arcadia. He reached out and brushed a chunk of hair that had fallen out of her ponytail. “He’s still alive.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“Just doing my job.”
“You didn’t have to—”
“Yeah. I did. We’re taking him on the base. My captain here will get you a pass, so you can go visit your patient, if he survives.” With that, he turned on his heels and marched out of the office and hopefully right out of her life, again.
Arcadia raced through the halls of the hospital. She wasn’t going to let Gunner just run off again like they had nothing to discuss.
Not until she had a chance to tell him what a fucking asshole he was and that he’d never, ever see his son. She slowed to a snail’s pace as she pushed open the bay doors where the ambulances brought patients. The humid Florida heat smacked her face like scalding hot water.
Did she really want to confront him? She’d sent him letters and pictures every year. He had every chance to meet his son and be a part of his life, but he chose not to.
How she could have ever loved him was a mystery.
Why she still loved him was insanity.
The ambulance he’d driven was still parked in the lot to the side of the drop-off circle. He sat on the back edge, his phone in his hands, fin
ger tapping away on the screen.
Jerk hadn’t changed a bit. His sandy-brown hair had been cut shorter than she remembered, but his five o’clock shadow had already started to dot his face. She’d always found that to be sexy. He’d been fit ten years ago, but damn, his biceps looked like they were hard as a rock and so much more defined than before.
And those bright, piercing blue eyes stole her breath.
Her heels clicked on the pavement. The noise must have caught his attention since he lifted his head.
He stood, waving his cell out in front of him. “I was just trying to find your contact information. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
She nearly choked on her laugh. “You knew I was in the hospital. You could have just come in and found me.” Tension kneaded its ugly fingers into her shoulders and jaw.
He scratched at the side of his face. “Last time I saw you, you left a handprint, and I didn’t want to risk it.”
“I’m not going to slap you, but I did want to call you douchebag to your face.”
To his credit, he stood there like a man, staring her in the eye. Something he hadn’t done ten years ago.
“How could you?” she asked.
“How could I what? Leave you? I think I explained myself at Courtney’s grave.”
“Not what I’m talking about and you know it.” She planted her hands on her hips. God, hitting him right now would feel so good. This wasn’t the man she’d fallen in love with. His anger lifted off his skin like steam from a hot spring. The therapist in her knew he still carried every ounce of guilt he felt all those years ago. It had to be slowly killing him, and that one small piece of her wanted to help him.
The rest of her, however, wanted to hurt him like no one else ever has so he could feel just a tiny bit of what it’s been like for her and her son for the last ten years. Her son constantly asked questions about his father, and she was running out of lies.
He raised his palms toward the sky. “Arcadia, I really don’t know what you’re talking about. But since we’re standing here, I’m sorry I was a prick. I shouldn’t have left that way. If I could go back in time, I’d change how I handled telling you I was going into the Air Force.”
“Seriously? You’re going to apologize for that, of all things? I know you got my letters. Your brother told me he sends every single one.” She couldn’t care less about how he broke up with her right now.
