by Anne Conley
She pushed him away, forcefully. "You have to stop doing that, Sam. I can't think straight."
He raked a hand through his hair, in a gesture of impatience. "I can't either, Rachel. I want you so bad…" He paced away from her. Expelling a long breath, he sank onto the sofa. Leaning forward, and putting his head in his hands, he breathed deep. Rachel could see his back rising with the cleansing breaths he was taking before letting them out with a whoosh.
"W-Would you like some coffee?" She could get this back on track. Everything would be okay.
"No, thank you." His voice was gravelly, and Rachel couldn't tell what he was thinking, because he still hadn't looked at her.
Taking a shaky breath, she sat in the chair next to the sofa. "I really like you Sam."
He looked up at her, then. "I like you too, Rachel. What is this about?" His rugged face looked damaged. It was flushed red, and his hair was tousled from him running his fingers through it. His eyes were red, as if he were going to cry, but that couldn't be right. He was a man, and a manly one, at that. Manly men didn't cry.
"Um…" Why couldn't she just say it? I'm HIV positive. That's all she had to say. "I'm…" But the words wouldn't come. "What I mean is, I'm…" Her mouth was open, and words were coming out, but it wasn't the right ones.
Sam was looking at her face, then his eyes dropped to the floor, taking in the distance between them, her flushed face, her obvious discomfort.
"You're not ready for this. I'm not sure why, because I sure as hell am. Maybe we are taking things too fast. We both have kids to think about, here. Maybe I should just go home. It wouldn't look right if I spent the night here, as bad as I want to."
A relieved sense of reprieve rushed through Rachel. "Yeah, maybe."
Before walking out the door, Sam turned to Rachel, "This isn't over. Not by a long shot."
Chapter 10
From Remainingrachel.com
Readers, I must tell you that fear of rejection is a very real issue we all have to deal with. Not only fear of rejection from our families, but the fear of rejection extends into our daily lives, and how we live it. God made humans physically, in such a way as to enjoy each other. Without interaction from other members of our species, we are likely to whither up and blow away. AIDS and HIV status puts that interaction at risk. It hinders our ability to connect with people romantically, because of the fear of rejection.
Who wants to hear the words, "I just don't think this is going to work out for us?" I don't. When you have a disease with the social stigma attached to it that AIDS does, you are almost too scared to meet new people, to hear the never-ending litany of excuses. I myself have embarked on the quest for a romantic relationship, much against my will. Why against my will? Because it's hard. It's hard to get attached to somebody, only to open up to them and hear the inevitable, "I'm sorry, but I don't think this will work."
"But Rachel," you say. "Don't you want love?"
Yes, dear reader. More than almost anything.
Rachel was doing her damnedest to ignore Sam, completely appalled at what had happened Saturday night at her house. She was feeling guilty about letting things get so out of hand, as well as feeling a high degree of pissed off at herself. She had nothing to blame Sam for. If what he said was true, he felt the same way around her that she did around him, and the attraction was too strong to expect him to put brakes on. Normal people would just go with the flow and enjoy themselves.
She was pretending to read a novel in the drive-through line at school, when a knock on her window interrupted her. She hadn't even noticed him walk up. She was too immersed in her own abusive thoughts aimed at herself for her behavior this weekend. She turned her head to see Sam inches away from her face, a puzzled look on his face. Sighing inwardly, she rolled down her window.
"Why haven't you answered your phone, Rachel?" He demanded to know.
"I wasn't up to talking to you, Sam. I'm embarrassed about the other night," she said simply.
"Don't be embarrassed. You wanted to talk plenty then, and now you won't talk to me at all?"
She nodded, unable to meet his eyes, staring instead at the fur covered steering wheel of her car.
He saw where her gaze was fixed and asked, "I've neglected to ask you about your pimpin' ride…"
Happy for the change of subject, she brightened, "Oh, when I bought it, I was a little desperate for wheels, and it was the right price. I don't always have extra income for stuff like car payments and things. The girl who sold it to me was having to leave town fast and needed quick cash."
He raised his eyebrows. "Sounds shady."
"It sounds worse than it probably is. I have a friend who works at the Health and Human Services office, and one of her clients had a problem. She likes to fix things when she can. I was able to help."
"You definitely stand out in this thing."
"Well, it runs good…" Except for the alternator, she thought to herself.
"Can I come over? We can talk, if you want to."
"I'm not sure, Sam. I'm not sure this whole thing is a good idea." She didn't want to face his rejection, although she didn't know how to get out of it now. She'd played up the whole "talking" thing so much, that she wasn't sure where it could lead.
"I'm coming over. If you're not going to talk, I am."
Time to take a deep breath and just do it.
Rachel sighed, there wasn't much she could do to get out of this. "Okay. We'll follow you home, then. We'll talk."
He nodded his head, ducked it inside the car for a quick kiss and walked away, leaving Rachel more scared than she'd ever been in her life.
For a little while, anyway. That would change.
Serendipity was home of a train switch station for Union Pacific, which meant that there were four train tracks that intersected in the relatively small town, and it was not unusual to be stopped by trains crossing them on a daily basis. They were always moving painfully slow, either starting back up, or stopping to add or take away train cars.
Rachel had picked up Sophia, and was driving behind Sam's Jeep, listening to the radio, as they pulled up to a set of tracks. As Sam crossed them, the lights began flashing, so Rachel slowed down to wait. She was patiently waiting, when the car behind her, apparently distracted, plowed into the rear of her Impala, sending her into the tracks, right before the arm went down. The traitorous Impala died. Fighting panic, Rachel twisted the key in the ignition, only to hear a loud clicking noise. Shit. The alternator.
"Sophie. Get your seatbelt and get out of the car. Now. Fast." She looked out her passenger window and could see the tracks stretching out a couple of hundred yards before curving around into some trees. She knew that any second a train would come barreling around that curve and only be a few seconds until it slammed into her car. She looked around for help and saw that Sam's jeep had stopped on the opposite side of the tracks when she'd been hit. His flashers were blinking, and he was leaping out.
"Mama, I can't." Sophia knew the danger. They saw trains every day. Her fingers were shaking too badly to unfasten the tricky seatbelt. The child's face looked up at her mother with wide eyes, filled with panic. Rachel started trying to soothe her, hoping to exude a calm she herself didn't feel.
"Shh…Baby, it's gonna be okay. We'll get out of this. Hang on a sec."
Rachel unbuckled her own seat belt and leaned back to work on Sophia's seatbelt. That's when she heard the shrieks of metal on metal. The train had come around the corner, and applied the breaks, laying on the horns and whistles. Rachel's head jerked up to see the front of the train coming around the corner, closer and closer. Her heart was in her mouth, as she turned and redoubled her own efforts to free Sophia from the car before the train broadsided them.
Out of nowhere, a pair of large arms swooped into the back seat and cut Sophie's seatbelt strap before yanking her out of the car to safety. A split second later, an ear-splitting crash jolted Rachel sideways .
Sam was standing in front of the Impala,
holding Sophia, terror etched on his face, as Rachel screamed, her body flung to the passenger side of her car, which had been crushed into the driver's side.
In a surreal moment, helplessly trapped in her car, she was shoved down the tracks in front of the train, unable to do anything to save herself.
Her mind numb, she gaped out her front windshield, as the scenery flew by. The windshield buckled under the pressure of the force on her car, and spiderweb cracks extended from several breaks in the glass, before the whole thing imploded in on her. Tiny stings broke out on her face, arms and legs from the flying glass, and a sharp pain exploded in her leg. A large chunk of glass, shattered pieces still clinging together, fell into her lap sending sharp sting down her legs and up her torso.
The glass cut her in several places, and the deafening shriek of the brakes and horn of the train finally wound down, as the train settled a good hundred yards down the track from the intersection, Rachel's Impala wedged under the front of it.
She was aware of a nauseating pain in her leg and looked down, seeing one of her tibia bones sticking out of her skin. She was covered in blood and about to pass out from the pain when she realized that Sam had wrenched the driver's side door open.
"Don't touch me, Sam! I'm covered in blood." The only thing she could see was blood and disease. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps, and the urge to vomit was incredibly strong.
"I'm trained to deal with blood, Honey. Here." He leaned in and started to examine her, touching her face and forehead.
"You're not wearing gloves, Sam. Please. Don't touch me." Rachel's voice was barely a whisper, and darkness was filtering in from the edges of her vision. She had to stay conscious long enough to make sure nobody touched her.
"I've been vaccinated against everything possible, Rachel. Don't make me go back to my car for gloves. Just be still and calm down, it'll be okay."
"I'm HIV positive, Sam."
His hands stilled, and he paused for a few seconds, visibly assessing the situation.
"I'll be right back."
Her vision fading, Rachel could just make out Sam, as he ran back to his jeep and pulled out a phone, and retrieve a pair of latex gloves from somewhere inside the vehicle. He returned and cursorily examined her, before saying, "We'll wait for the ambulance to get here." By the time the ambulance arrived, Rachel was unconscious.
Chapter 11
Crash scene assessment should be a predetermined sequence of steps or actions that are used in evaluating a crash scene. This evaluation is usually carried out by the officer, however, a good firefighter who conducts his/her own assessment will be able to foresee many of the needs and requests of the officer.--From Firefighter's Handbook, Essentials of Firefighting and Emergency Response
It had been three days since the accident, and Sam was sitting on shift in the fire station, playing solitaire, listening to something really heavy on his iPod, trying unsuccessfully to ignore persistent thoughts of Rachel. As usual, she was all he could think about. He'd seen her come home from the hospital, the woman she'd been at the bar with had dropped her off. The same woman had been giving Sophia rides to school.
He couldn't believe it. She seemed like such a put-together woman. She must have some sort of lurid past to be caught up in something like AIDS. Drug users, whores, gay men…That's who had AIDS. Which one of those was she? He remembered Marisol and his vow to not get mixed up in anybody with an addiction like that again.
Sam realized that she'd tried to tell him after the Ball, but he'd been so intent on getting laid, that he hadn't given her a chance to talk, then he'd acted like an ass, probably scaring her out of telling him.
When he'd seen what was happening when her car died on the train tracks, Sam had acted out of instinct. Only it had been different, because he knew Rachel, cared about her and Sophia. All he had been able to think about was saving them. He knew that Rachel wouldn't leave the car without Sophia, so he'd gotten her out first, hoping Rachel would follow. But there'd been no time.
When the train had hit the Impala, the shrieking metal had torn out Sam's gut, and he never felt as helpless in his life as he'd watched the train push Rachel, trapped inside the car, down the tracks. His fears eased when he'd seen her alive after he'd run to the car, but there'd been so much blood on her. And he hadn't cared about it. Automatic thoughts of latex gloves had been forgotten, as he watched her pained expression. All that had mattered to Sam was getting her to a hospital.
When she'd told him she was HIV positive, his world spun, and his instincts kicked back in. He had to put himself first because Amanda depended on him.
It was a good thing he knew, now. There was no way he was going to have a relationship with a woman with a chronic disease. If they got serious, it would put Amanda at a serious risk of losing another mother figure. And he had wanted to get serious. He was pissed at himself for wanting to get serious with Rachel without knowing everything about her first. And he was pissed at Rachel for not telling him sooner. Feeling her betrayal deep in his belly, Sam resolved to pay Rachel a visit as soon as his shift ended. For now, he tried to forget her again, even though she was never far from his mind.
When the flashing lights and clanging bells broke through his Rachel-haze, he sprang into action with the other guys.
It was a car accident, and the guys suited up, and the trucks were out the garage doors in under three minutes, sirens blaring. When they arrived on the scene, there were two cars that appeared to be mangled beyond recognition.
The superior officer with the fire department began barking orders. Juan and Cade grabbed the jaws of life, while Derrick and Sam went to check the back seat. JT and Morris checked the occupants of the other vehicle. The scene was organized chaos, as police officers were there, questioning one of the drivers, and talking on the walkie-talkies on their shoulders.
Sam wrenched the back door open of the Honda, noticing the woman in the driver's seat didn't appear responsive. The back seat held a rear-facing car seat with a crying infant. As Sam reached in to unbuckle the seat, he was roughly pushed aside and Derrick reached in for the baby.
Tamping down anger, he watched as Derrick checked the infant for injuries. Then Sam turned to see the woman in the driver's seat was dead at the scene. He walked over to the other vehicle to see police officers arrest the woman driver for intoxicated manslaughter. Having nowhere to go, he walked back to the truck and watched as Juan and Cade used the jaws of life to open the crushed car like a can of sardines, feeling their frustration with the pointlessness of it all. The woman had probably been killed on impact, leaving behind an infant, and most likely more family members. Sam watched, as they struggled to remove the corpse with as much dignity as they could, their faces masks of determination.
A police car hauled off the driver of the other vehicle, a woman in her early twenties, who wore an expression of shock. He shook his head at the futility of it. This was a young woman who'd made a fatal error in judgment. She would pay for the rest of her life, probably wishing at some point that she could trade her own for the life of the young mother she'd taken.
When the victims were on their way to their respective facilities, Sam helped with the break-down of the scene, before riding back to the station house.
On the ride back, Sam thought about Derrick. The man certainly had a problem with him, and Sam needed to know what it was. Lives depended on them working as a team. If Derrick was going to continue to act like an asshole to him, they were going to endanger people. What would happen if Derrick shoved Sam out of the way in a blaze?
Sam's temper was in full force by the time they made it back, and as soon as everyone had disembarked the truck, Sam stalked over to Derrick and shoved him in the chest, knocking him back against a wall.
"What the hell is your problem with me, man?" Sam snarled at him, full on rage under his skin.
"What?" Derrick was acting innocent, and it pissed Sam off.
"You know what, asshole. You pushed me, back t
heir on the scene. What's that all about?"
"Fuck off, man." Derrick turned to walk away from him, but Sam couldn't take it any more. Either the scene had gotten to him, or it was a combination of that and Rachel's betrayal that was lurking just under the surface of his emotions. He swung at Derrick with his fist, making contact with the side of his head with a crack.
The entire crew reacted instantaneously. Cade and Juan grabbed Sam to pull him off Derrick. Sam heard shouts in the background, a dull din of noise under the roar of blood pounding in his ears.
As soon as Cade and Juan had pulled him off, Derrick used the opportunity to take a swing at Sam, punching him in the gut.
Before it could go any further, the Chief's bellow was heard over the din, "Owens! Peterson! Your asses, my office. NOW!"
Sam swallowed his anger and followed Derrick to the Chief's office, behind a plate glass window. Presumably, he'd witnessed the entire altercation, and Sam felt a sinking feeling in his sore gut.
Standing at attention, Sam listened as the Chief railed at the two of them.
"I should fire the two of you. Peterson, don't think nobody saw the stunt you pulled at the scene. I don't know what your beef is, but you'd better pull on your big-boy britches, and get the fuck over it. Owens, swallow that temper of yours, or you'll be cleaning toilets on chili night the rest of your life. If I ever see another display like the one I saw today, both of you are fired. Do you read me?"
The two men mumbled a "Yes, sir," to the Chief, looking like chagrined toddlers.
"Good. This is going on your record. Three months probie duties here at the firehouse. The rest of the week, you're both suspended without pay. Get the hell out of my sight. NOW!"
Sam jumped into action and left as quickly as he could. As he got into his jeep, he received a text message from Juan.
