Yearn

by A. D. Ellis

  The moment the situation clicked in my head, I swallowed down the urge to vomit. I had nothing against sex workers. The issue turning my stomach was my fiancé taking money for sex without my knowledge. He was cheating, he was accepting money to fuck men in ways he’d never done with me, and he was exposing me to all manner of sexually transmitted diseases since we’d opted out of condoms when we got engaged.

  I was a God damned fool.

  I must have made a noise in my duress because both the man and Blaine whipped their heads toward the door.

  All hell broke loose.

  The stranger asking if I’d fuck him as good as Blaine if the price was right.

  Blaine cursing and sobbing and begging.

  Me throwing everything I owned into three large duffel bags.

  The man tossed a couple hundreds on the bed as he dressed.

  Blaine switched tactics to blame me for all of what I’d seen—still couldn’t figure how I had made him drink, gamble, and prostitute himself.

  I left my door key, gathered my bags, and walked out while Blaine cried and screamed on the floor.

  That had been close to a year ago and I’d never looked back.

  But I also hadn’t allowed myself to think through it and heal from it.

  In the grand scheme of things, Blaine and I breaking up was for the best. I knew that.

  But I’d lost myself to that relationship and left it having very little idea of who I really was. Moving to Remington Place with Bev, Gabby, and the whole crew had been a really good move on my part, but I hadn’t moved past the shit with Blaine.

  I never wanted to give myself to a relationship, open myself up to sharing and trusting, only to find out that once again I wasn’t good enough to keep the guy and end up screwed over.

  Was there really much sharing and trusting with Blaine? You know damn well that you were dealing with depression after your knee and settling for Blaine was easier than trying to pull yourself up from the pit.

  I knew the thoughts were accurate, and I thanked whatever good luck charm or deity or bit of fate that had pushed me enough to wake up and decide to leave Blaine—even before that shit show of gambling and cheating and prostitution.

  But it was still scary as fuck to think that I’d lost myself before, and I’d be damned if I’d do it again.

  And you think clearing the air with Dre is going to send you back into a depressive spiral and make you forget your true self?

  Honestly? No. I was doing well with the antidepressant I was taking and I was a lot more stable. I was more aware of myself and how easily I could get lost in a relationship; I didn’t think I’d actually lose myself again.

  The biggest issue was the fact it was a lot easier to hate Dre, avoid him, stay pissed off at him. Talking things out, revisiting our past, calling a truce, all of that would take a lot of emotional energy. Why couldn’t we just stay with the status quo?

  I arrived at the station and tossed my bag in the bunk room I shared with Dre. As I went to grab a cup of coffee, Dre walked through the station door and rolled his eyes when he saw me at the coffee pot.

  “One of these days, you’re going to drink my coffee and realize it’s a shit-ton better than what you can get here.” Dre smiled as he walked past to drop his bag in our room.

  My eyes traveled to his perfect ass in his dark blue uniform pants. No matter what he’d done to piss me off way back then, no matter how much he annoyed me, there was no denying he was hot as fuck.

  Which irritated me even more. I didn’t even want to be around the guy, so why was I constantly fighting the urge to drool over his ass, his gorgeous dark eyes, the perfect smile? I’d seen the guy changing at the station, seen him in those damn cruel gray sweatpants, and I knew he was packing behind his tight boxer briefs. I thought I’d shown amazing restraint for not jacking off to the image of Dre, but I seriously wondered if I was going to lose my mind trying to ignore how hot he was, his friendly gestures, and the damned incessant talking.

  “Harris and King, my office,” Julia announced and I internally groaned. The last time the damn boss wanted to see us in her office I ended up with Dre as my partner and I didn’t think I could handle another punch to the gut.

  Not that Dre was a bad partner. He was one of the most efficient, knowledgeable, skilled EMTs I’d ever worked with. I just didn’t like all the moments with him where we weren’t dealing with medical emergencies. If we could spend our shifts on back-to-back-to-back runs, I’d be fine.

  Dre shot a glance my way. “What’s this about?” he whispered.

  “How the hell should I know? I walked in three minutes before you,” I bit out as we made our way to Julia’s office.

  “Come in,” the deputy chief announced when we arrived at her door. “Sit. I promise not to take up too much of your time.”

  Dre and I took seats in front of her desk. When he crossed one ankle over his knee, I noticed he hadn’t put on his boots yet and a brightly colored geometric pattern showed between his pants and shoes. Inwardly, I rolled my eyes. Leave it to Dre to get flashy even in uniform.

  It’s kinda cute.

  Nope. Not going there.

  Julia cleared her throat. “We’re starting a new program and I’m enlisting your help to make sure the whole crew gets on board and does it right.”

  I bit back a groan. Why was it that if you were good at your job you were automatically given more to do? I didn’t shirk off responsibility, not at all. But knowing I was being told to do something simply because I was one of the top crew members was annoying. Why not ask one of the middle-of-the-road members to step it up and take the reins?

  “What’s the new program?” Dre asked. His question came across innocent enough, but I’d been around him long enough now to recognize the irritation in his voice. Well, look at that, Dre and I agreeing on something.

  Oh, come off it. You and Dre agree about a lot more than you’ll admit to.

  I shifted in my seat and focused on Julia.

  “We’re going to increase camaraderie among the crew and up our positive visibility within the community.” Julia said the words and then leveled an expectant stare our way.

  “All due respect, we’re EMS. We help people every day. Aren’t we already pretty positively visible within the community?” I really did deserve an award for not rolling my eyes.

  “We are, but we feel it can always be better. The crew camaraderie goal is going to include the community visibility portion. Two birds, one stone and all that.” Julia pulled out a piece of paper, looked it over, and handed it across the desk.

  Neither Dre nor I rushed to grab it, but eventually my irritated curiosity got the best of me and I picked up the paper.

  “Partner teams will compete against each other to earn the most points. A private benefactor donated a very nice chunk of money with wishes that at least half be used toward the crew in the way I deemed best. The chief and I agree that this program is where we want that half to go.”

  “So, the winning team gets…” Dre trailed off.

  “The winning team will split two-thousand dollars. Like I said, it seems our benefactor had a very good year and wanted to share the wealth.”

  Hating to admit it, my interest was piqued. A challenge usually got my competitive side to kick in; add in a prize and I was in. And this prize was none too shabby; a grand in my pocket would come in quite handy. Having to share the winnings with Dre would suck, but at least I’d get my portion.

  I scanned the list. “And these are the ways we can earn points?”

  Julia nodded, a gleam in her eyes as if she recognized she’d just hooked me. “Different challenges, if you will, for partners to complete together. The more you complete, the more points you earn. Each challenge has the option for bonus points as well.”

  Dre leaned over to look at the list and I begrudgingly held it between us so he could see. “Work out together?”

  I wasn’t even looking at his face, but I heard the whine in h
is voice. Dre wasn’t a fan of hitting the gym unless forced to. How the man stayed looking so fine was beyond me.

  Not that it mattered how fine he looked.

  At all.

  “Doesn’t have to be intense workouts,” Julia said. “A run, some weights, hit the pads together, hell, even yoga would count.”

  “How do we account for these challenges? Who’s to say we don’t just check off the box and call it done?” I narrowed my eyes, already contemplating which partner teams would be most likely to cheat and which would be our true competition.

  “That’s the fun part. There’s a bulletin board in the main room. As you participate in a challenge, you snap a picture and put it on the board. Bonus points for posting the picture on social media with our hashtags #RemingtonEMSTeamChallenge and #RemingtonEMSPowerTeam.” Julia was nearly beaming, which was odd for our hard-nosed boss, and I knew she was quite pleased with the prospect of this challenge.

  “What’s the end game?” Dre voiced my question.

  “Build up our partners, be seen in the community, do some good.” Julia shrugged. “Three months is a long time to do some great things. I know you two got thrown together, but you’re my top team and I expect top results. This should be a good time for you to move from good together to great together. By the end of this challenge, you’ll be working together like a well-oiled machine. And if you’re on board, the rest of the crew will be, too.” She leaned forward on her elbows. “I know I can count on you to show them how it’s done.”

  “When does this start?” Dre asked.

  “On the first, so a couple days. I want you talking it up on your shifts. Look over the list, make your plans.”

  “What are the rules as far as completing challenges on or off shift?” I scanned the list, already getting some ideas. Would have been better if I could just do each challenge on my own, but I guess that would have defeated the team part of the whole thing.

  “That’s up to each partner team. Neither option is required, but as long as it’s not interfering with your shift responsibilities, it’s fair game.” Julia glanced at her phone. “Meeting with the chief. He’s going to be pleased to hear our best is on board.”

  Effectively dismissed, Dre and I left the office. I stopped by the little copy machine in the hallway. The device was likely older than me and could only handle a few copies at a time, but it was good enough to make a copy of the list for Dre so he didn’t have to be reading over my shoulder.

  Because you like the idea of feeling his heat close to you, his breath against your neck, and his scent teasing you.

  Fuck that shit. Just figured he’d need his own copy.

  “So, I guess we take a look at this and make a plan?” Dre asked.

  “Yeah, sounds like it.” I turned to face him. “We’re going to win. I want that money and I don’t back down from a challenge like this.”

  “Okay?”

  “I’m just saying, any other team winning this isn’t an option. But that doesn’t mean we’re talking or bonding or any of that shit.” I lifted my chin in silent defiance.

  Dre rolled his eyes and huffed. “Fine, whatever the great Khi thinks is best. But I’d like it noted that I think a partner team would do best if they worked together like an actual team. You know, talked, trusted, respected each other.”

  “Nah, we’ve got this in the bag either way. No reason to mess with our setup.” I wasn’t giving Dre the chance to bring up the past and go all let’s talk about our feelings shit on me.

  “Our setup is shitty and hindering our performance. Just think how good we could be if we didn’t have the awkward tension between us.” Dre folded his arms across his chest.

  “Nope. The tension keeps us on our toes. We’re already the best, no higher level to reach.” I hated the way the words tasted on my tongue. Dre and I both knew, even as the best, we could do better. Maybe it wasn’t a competition between us and the other partners, but our best could always improve.

  Dre narrowed his eyes at me as if waiting for me to take back what I’d said. I hated that he knew me even close to well enough to know it was killing me to think that our team wasn’t reaching our top-notch performance level.

  But I didn’t say anything else. We’d already spoken too many words; already stirred up too many thoughts and emotions. Needed to shut that shit down. Stat.

  “Let’s take a look at the challenges and get some plans made,” Dre said.

  Not wanting to draw attention to the new initiative and our plans before Julia announced it to the whole crew, we moved to our shared bunk room.

  I wasn’t sure if Julia gave Dre and I one of the three semi-private rooms because she considered us her top team or because she was a sadistic bitch who secretly wanted us to suffer. Either way, it was both nice and terrible that our room was just two beds. Nice because I didn’t have to deal with more people around me when I was trying to sleep. Terrible because, well duh, Dre.

  I pulled out the desk chair and sat down while Dre flopped on his bed and kicked off his shoes.

  “Nice socks,” I muttered and immediately wished I’d kept my mouth shut.

  Dre beamed. “Thanks. I gotta have my color where I can get it.”

  “Those can’t be comfortable in boots.” Why couldn’t I shut the fuck up?

  “I’ve got nice thick ones underneath, these are just for aesthetics.” Dre winked and my heart gave a little leap.

  Fuck, no. I whipped my head to read the list.

  Cook a meal.

  Work out.

  Volunteer at the library.

  Volunteer at the hospital.

  Volunteer at the homeless shelter.

  Volunteer at the animal shelter.

  Clean the kitchen.

  Clean the bathroom.

  Clean the common room.

  Play a game.

  Talk to a class at the school.

  Create your own challenge.

  For each item you complete, snap a picture and put it on the bulletin board in the correct section. Posting on social media with the hashtags #RemingtonEMSTeamChallenge and #RemingtonEMSPowerTeam will earn five bonus points for each platform.

  Get creative and earn even more points with the Create Your Own Challenge section.

  “I say we get some of these done as soon as possible and build up some points,” Dre suggested. “I wonder if on the create your own we can just do different versions of the existing ones.”

  Cocking a brow, I waited for him to explain.

  “We get the points for cooking a meal, right? Can we get points again by creating our own challenge of cooking a meal in drag or some shit like that?”

  I couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of my mouth. “That’s actually genius. I think we don’t overdo it on the alternate versions, but I think it’s a good way to earn extra points. Plus, the create your own challenges get five extra points.”

  We added to our list:

  Cook a meal in drag.

  Visit a pre-school class.

  Safety-check an auto shop.

  Clean the kitchen shirtless.

  “Okay, keep thinking on these. We’ve got some good ones, but I bet we can add more.” I folded up the paper. “Can you ask Cooper if he can set us up at the pre-school and see if his mom would be okay with us coming in to talk to her class? Maybe his dad, too? He teaches middle school, right?”

  “Will do. You going to let Jesse know we need to safety-check his shop?” Dre smirked.

  “Yeah, he’s pretty easy-going, I’m sure he’ll be game. Plus, it will be like promo for him when we put it on social media.” Tucking the paper into the tiny desk drawer, I continued thinking out loud. “Logan can probably put us in contact with people at the library, animal shelter, and homeless shelter, yeah?”

  Dre nodded. “I’d think so. At least give us a name. He’s involved at some level with all of them.” He scanned his paper again and smiled broadly. “What about we do some sort of interactive thing at
Aunt Bev’s bingo night? Like, we could call numbers and talk to the folks about safety measures. Most of them are way past sixty-five so it might help to hear tips from us.”

  “That’s great. Can you check with Bev?” I was just about to flop onto the bed for minute when a call came in. “That’s us.”

  Dre yanked on his boots and we rushed to the rig.

  “Unknown injury involving hot grease,” Dre repeated the info we’d been given. “That’s never good.” His calm, cool demeanor during any and every call we’d ever been on was one of the things I liked best about working with him. The tap, tap, tapping of his thumb on the steering wheel was the only indicator that he was pumped up. I still would have opted out of being his partner if given the chance, but if I was being honest, I knew I’d been paired with the best.

  “That address isn’t residential, fast food?” Adrenaline was building in my veins. I never wanted anyone hurt badly, but the accident had already happened and I couldn’t change that. The unknown was nerve-wracking, but playing through scenarios in my head helped keep me focused as we pulled into the local chicken place. “I swear, if this is gross or super bad and I can’t ever eat here again, I’m gonna be pissed,” I grumbled as I climbed from the rig.

  The scene would go down in the books as one of those how in the hell did that even happen as well as damn, that could have been so much worse.

  The injured party had somehow ended up with his foot in the large commercial fryer. Through some pretty serious pain, he told us he’d climbed up on a work station to check a mouse trap above it…yeah, never mind on ever eating there again…and misjudged and tripped or something and his foot went right into the boiling vat of frying oil.

  He’d instinctively yanked his foot out, lost his balance, fallen to the ground, and landed hard, messing up his wrist and elbow. Assessing the situation, we zeroed in on his foot first. The man’s colleagues had helped him get his boot off and I’d call him a very lucky son-of-a-bitch because the boot had saved him from much more severe burns. He had a range of first to third-degree burns from my initial assessment, but they were fairly small. His entire foot from toes to ankle could have been nearly melted off, so I considered him fortunate—although, at that point in time I knew he wasn’t feeling very lucky.