by Unknown
“Think nothing of it. Victoria’s safety is all that matters. I’ll close and open until it is no longer a concern.” The big guy waves a hand in the air as if it doesn’t matter at all and reclines back in the chair. Gavin is overwhelmed with appreciation for his partner and best friend. He stands and claps Uri on the shoulder.
“In that case I’m gone.” With a farewell smile, Gavin leaves the gym and hops back in the truck. The drive doesn’t take long, but it is all a blur, his brain focused on things other than the road before him. His body shifts into autopilot, and before he knows it he is out of the truck and walking into the tiny police station.
Carrion is at the front desk, and no one else appears to be in the building. The cop is on the phone so Gavin takes a seat on the bench lining the wall and waits. His foot taps and he can’t find it in himself to be still. The moment Carrion drops the phone to its cradle, Gavin unloads. He explains last night’s events and gives as much of a description of the stranger as Victoria had given him.
“Doesn’t sound like any one I have seen either.” Carrion shakes his head and picks up the phone again. As he dials he says, “I’m going to call in a request for the prison’s visitor logs. That should tell us who has been to see him and that’ll put an end to this mess. Kind of stupid of the guy to announce that kind of thing.”
Someone on the other line must have picked up because Carrion starts speaking into the receiver in police jargon that Gavin only understands because of his time at the fire station. He spins in his chair and the fax machine next to him begins pumping out a small stack of papers. Carrion says thanks to whoever he is speaking with and hangs up. He shifts through the paper and his face draws in on itself.
“Is it someone we know? Somebody in town?” Gavin leans against the desk trying to see the papers.
“He hasn’t had any visitors.” Carrion looks up at Gavin and they exchange confused looks.
“What do you mean? The guy said—”
“I know, I know. But the forms say no one. Not even his family has been over since he got locked up. Maybe the guy had read about what happened in the paper and just wanted to scare her?” Carrion shoves the papers into an empty folder and scrawls something on the front. “Let’s get the print kit and check the truck.”
Gavin nods and waits for the officer to grab his gear. Leading him out to the truck, he stands by and watches as he brushes some colored dust over the truck’s door handle and the rest of the surface. Anticipation rocks him and he begins to pace. This had better reveal something.
“Nothing,” Carrion says loudly. “I’m sorry Gavin. I don’t know what to tell you. I can put an officer on patrol around Country Chic during the day, every few hours. And another on her house after hours, but other than that, my hands are tied.” He starts to tuck everything back in his case.
“Don’t worry about after hours. I’ll keep her at my house.” When the men look at each other the same feelings of helplessness are silently exchanged. Next door, the fire station’s alarms scream, and out of instinct both of them jump up and look over. The large garage doors open and the ladder truck begins to pull out. It stops before turning onto the street. Chief sticks his head out the driver’s window.
“Gavin!” he yells across the space between them. Without hesitation, Gavin runs over to the truck. “We need as many bodies as we can, can you come with us?”
“I’m not in gear.” Gavin’s hands run down his body as if to make sure he really isn’t wearing the proper equipment.
“It’s not a fire—car accident. Climb in!” the older man orders, and Gavin obeys. He hauls his body up on the rig and sits beside the men he has come to think of as brothers. Smith leans over to yell in his ear so he can hear him over the sirens.
“Three vehicles wrecked up on Hersey Hill. Started out as a breakdown, the second car was speeding around the curve and slammed into them. Then the other came up the other side and hit both. Colby’s ambulance is already en route, but that curve is bound to make the pile-up bigger. We’re going to block the road and pull victims out,” Smith explains, and Gavin takes mental notes as he goes on. Colby is the town with the nearest hospital. Even if they have a ten-minute head start, they still won’t reach the deadly hill for another twenty minutes.
“Do we know what the injuries are?” Gavin asks.
“The officer on site says four are critical and non-responsive, two with bumps, and one D.O.A.”
Fuck, if this day didn’t keep getting worse. Gavin leans back and squeezes his eyes shut. He sends up a silent prayer for the people and their families.
Chief wrenches the big truck to a stop diagonally across the road leading up to the wrecks. Smoke billows from two of the cars, and Gavin’s gut threatens to empty. No matter how long he does this kind of work, he never gets used to the sights and sounds of accidents. Climbing out the truck, he can see the single patrol car parked in the same fashion on the other side of the wreck. Seems they have it pretty well blocked now. People should see the lights and slow down.
“Gavin, over here,” Smith yells. He has his upper body in the backseat of the closest car. The door is hanging off, but the driver’s door is completely crumpled in.
Gavin’s emotions shut off and his brain kicks in. He runs over and helps peel metal and twisted seats out of the way as Smith puts his arms under a small girl’s armpits. He leans her head against his chest and pulls her free from the death trap while Gavin holds the weight of the seat trapping her small body. Once she is free, Smith drops to his knees cradling her, protecting her neck.
“Pulse?” Smith yells. Gavin lowers and places his two fingers to her itty-bitty throat. He changes positions a few times, but is unable to find anything. He brings his cheek close to her tiny nose. No air flows through to tickle his skin. He looks up to meet Smith’s hopeful eyes. He shakes his head.
“Nothing.” He pauses to swallow down the guilt of not being here sooner or of somehow preventing today’s events. “She’s gone.”
He stands up and turns to walk to toward the ladder truck to grab a sheet to preserve the dead child’s privacy. He reaches the truck and thunder cracks all around him. Everything goes black and he can’t move. Can’t escape the darkness.
“Gavin! Gavin!” His name is a faded whisper and he tries to move his head to see where it’s coming from. “Fuck, buddy! Hold on. Stay with me, OK? Gavin, open your fucking eyes!”
Smith. It’s Smith’s voice yelling at him. He squeezes his eyes tighter and tries again to peel them open. He is able to this time, and everything is covered in a layer of red haze. He lifts his hand to his head. A wave of nausea crushes over him as his fingers touch his head. His hand is wet. He looks at it. Blood, his blood covers his hand and face. His stomach heaves and his breakfast breaks free from his throat. Smith’s face finally comes into focus. He looks so worried.
“What?” Gavin mumbles, running the back of his hand under his mouth to wipe the bile from his chin.
“We didn’t slow them down, buddy. You were hit by a fucking car.” Smith presses a sheet to Gavin’s head and more nausea cycles through. Again, Gavin vomits on himself. What the fuck is happening? He opens his mouth to ask more questions, but the world fades again and blackness consumes him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Vicki is folding some really cute crop sweaters when Smith walks into the store. Her bright smile fades when she sees the expression on his face. She eyes him carefully. A bad feeling fills her soul, and she takes a couple steps back. Her ass knocks over hip-height vase full of white birch branches. They spill to the ground with a loud crash, making her jump forward.
Smith looks awful. His face is tight, his shirt covered in blood, and he smells like he has run a hundred miles in a swamp. She shakes her head no, instinctively knowing there is only one reason why he would be here, in her shop, looking like this.
“Vicki,” he says softly. He takes another step closer. She shakes her head harder. “Gavin’s been in an accident. He is in
ICU right now. I’ll drive you to Colby.” He pauses and looks over at Kane lying in a plush bed. “When you’re ready, we can drop Kane off wherever you want.”
Her head is still shaking no as if she can expel his words and make them go away.
“No,” is all she can muster. Her knees buckle and she starts to fall to the hardwood floor. Smith catches her just before her knees smash into the ground. He cradles her to his chest as sobs rip through her chest. He runs his hand over her back, and she can hear him take a deep breath.
“He’ll be OK, I know it. It’s OK.” He helps her to her feet and dabs her tears away. Tucking his arm around her back, he ushers her to his car. He buckles her in and goes back into the shop. He shuts off lights, tells Kane to get in the car, and locks up the building. She looks over at him as he drives. Tears leak silently down her face, and she wipes at them over and over with the back of her hands.
“Wh-what happened?” she whispers through a sniffle. Smith runs his hand through his hair. It sticks up with his sweat and the dirt of wherever he had been.
“There was a wreck on Hersey hill, we were there to slow traffic, but—” He slams his hand on the steering wheel, and Vicki jumps at the sound. “—the driver was drunk. At ten in the fucking morning, wasted and he didn’t see the police lights or the ones on the fire truck. He pinned Gavin to the truck, Vicki.” Smith looks into her eyes, holding her stare for a moment before turning back at the road. She knows it’s hard for him to retell what happened, but that he wants her to know so she can prepare herself for when she gets to the hospital. “His legs are smashed up pretty bad.” Again he shakes his head. “He is strong through, and I know he’ll be all right but, fuck.”
Vicki lowers her head and begins to repeat the same prayer over and over. “Please, Lord, let Gavin be OK. Please, Lord, let Gavin be OK. Please.”
The small car seems so confining. She shifts in the seat, unable to get comfortable. Noise from the backseats tells her Kane feels the same way. With a huff she settles and stares out the window.
“Where are we?” The trees passing by aren’t ones she has seen before.
“I know you want to get there as fast as possible, believe me, I understand.” He grips the steering wheel tighter as they make a sharp left. “But I can’t sit like this for hours.” He plucks his sweaty shirt from his chest, and she wrinkles her nose.
“Oh, right.” Guilt for only caring about Gavin and getting to him quickly courses through her. Poor Smith. He was there, saw whatever happened, and instead of going on with his life, he came to get her. “Of course.”
“They will more than likely still have him in surgery for a few hours. I’m just going to shower, really fast.” He turns his face to look at her. She can tell he is trying to assess her emotions. “Maybe I’ll pack us some food too. Hospital food always makes me sick.”
“I can do that while you’re in the shower.” A plan, everything is better with a plan.
“Kane is more than welcome to spend the night here, if you want him to. If not, we can stop by your house.”
Thank goodness Smith is here. Her rational brain has fled, and all she can feel is fear and the growing need to see Gavin, to make sure for herself that he is all right.
Vicki stands in Smith’s kitchen, staring at the counter. She can hear the water running in his bathroom, washing away his sweat, Gavin’s blood, and probably more emotions than she could ever begin to understand.
Every time Gavin left to work a shift at the fire station she would hug him extra tight. Breathing him in, forcing her mind to never forget the way he smelled and looked in that exact moment. She could never fall asleep, tossing and turning in her bed, imagining all the bad things that could go wrong in that line of work. Telling herself to admire his bravery and courage. After all, it was those qualities that made her fall for him in the first place. She’d stare at her bedroom ceiling until he called and convinced her he was home, safe and sound. She knew that it was only a matter of time before something happened. She would have to be mentally lacking to allow herself to believe that he would never be hurt. But that didn’t keep her from praying that somehow he would continue to be spared.
Smith’s home is small and comfortable. A one-bedroom log cabin in the woods. The living room is filled with an overstuffed recliner, a clear statement that the man didn’t do much entertaining. The fridge is full of fresh fruits and vegetables, whole milk, and lots of beer. The beer calls her name and she grabs one of the chilled bottles. She taps the edge of the rim on the counter top and the cap flies off. Uncaring where it lands, she tips the bottle to her lips and swallows a third of the amber liquid.
“Easy there.” Smith appears in the doorway. His damp hair clings to his forehead, and he is dressed in sweats and a T-shirt that has the firehouse number on it. She grunts and chugs down a bit more. He shakes his head with a smile and brushes past her to get a beer for himself. He opens it in the same fashion she did and takes a sip, eyeing her over the bottle. He tips his chin toward the refrigerator. “Find anything you want to take for later?”
“Oh, um.” She takes another look. “Honestly, I can’t think right now.” She shrugs at him and he nods in understanding.
“Not a problem.” He puts the beer down, reaches into a lower cabinet and pulls out a lunchbox, one with Superman on the cover. A giggle overwhelms Vicki and she leans against the counter for support. “What?” He holds up the lunchbox. “A guy can’t express himself through his food containers?” He fills the small space of the lunchbox with two red delicious apples and two single serving cups of peanut butter. He adds a small thing of hummus and a zip lock bag of mini carrots.
“For such a big guy, you eat kind of like a bird.”
“Not everyone is as lucky you. Most of us have to work hard to stay so fine.” His hand taps his left bicep and she rolls her eyes at the gesture.
“Thanks for coming to get me. I know you didn’t have to.” Finished with her beer, she tosses the bottle into the recycling bin at the end of the small island. Smith’s face turns somber.
“Gavin’s like a brother to me.” He shakes his head. “He wasn’t even on shift.”
She touches his arm lightly. “He knows the risks, just like you do.” She waits until he looks into her eyes before she continues. “No use making yourself feel worse about it.”
“You’re right. Did you want to bring Kane home?”
“If you really are OK with him hanging out, I would rather just get to the hospital.” She turns to see Kane cuddled up on a rug in front of the old-fashioned wood stove. She smiles. The stupid dog probably thinks it’s burning. She walks over to his side and kisses him on the head.
“It’s not a problem at all,” Smith answers from the open doorway, waiting for her so they can leave.
CHAPTER NINE
Walking through the automatic doors of the hospital takes Vicki’s breath away. The smell of cleaners can’t mask the stink of disease and death that surrounds her as she walks down the long hallways. Turn after turn they pass nurses and doctors all rushing back and forth to God knows where.
A large nurse’s desk comes into view, and Smith talks to an older woman holding a clipboard in each hand. Vicki can see their mouths moving, but she doesn’t hear any of their conversation. Smith turns to look in her direction, and his eyebrows cinch together.
“Vicki?” He grabs her shoulders and lightly shakes her. “You with us?”
Slowly she blinks, a single tear slipping from her left eye to leave a wet trail down her cheek. “Yeah,” she whispers and bites into her lip.
“They’ve just set him up in his own room. The nurse said she would come get us when we can see him.” He moves his hand to the middle of her shoulder blades and helps her over to the small waiting room. The news is playing too loudly and Vicki looks at it. A reporter is telling of a car wreck where three persons were dead on arrival and one volunteer firefighter had been injured. Vicki’s mouth drops open and her knees give out from und
er her. She hits the tiled floor and crumples until her forehead meets the cool surface.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” she speaks to the ground, surprised when Smith answers.
“Yeah, I am sorry you had to see.” He pushes the button on the lower corner of the TV and the sound of the reporter’s voice is cut off. He kneels besides her and rubs her hunched back. “Fuck, I am sorry,” he says softly.
Minutes or hours pass by, Vicki isn’t sure. Big, strong hands pick her up from the floor, but she keeps her eyes squeezed shut. The hands settle her on a firm lap and tuck her against a solid chest. She hiccups a whimper, and soft fingers smooth the wrinkles from her forehead. She opens her eyes.
“Uri?” The big Russian is holding her like a doll, and Stacey sits beside him stroking her forehead. “Stacey?” Vicki asks, confusion filling her brain.
“We came as soon as we heard.” Stacey offers a sweet smile. “You aren’t alone, Vicki. We are here for both of you. For whatever you might need, OK?” She brushes Vicki’s tears from her cheeks. Vicki nods and more tears fall, this time they are tears of gratitude.
The older nurse appears in the waiting room. She looks so tired that Vicki wants to reach out and hug her, but she refrains and instead snuggles tighter into Uri’s chest. Stacey stands up and meets the nurse.
“He is very tired and will need his rest, but he keeps calling for Victoria?”
Stacey turns to look at Vicki, and just hearing her whole name has Vicki jumping from Uri’s embrace. She stands next to Stacey and the other woman wraps her arms around Vicki’s shoulders.
“I am Victoria,” she offers.
“Oh good.” The nurse takes her hand and pets it gently. “Be prepared, honey. He will need a lot of patience. You have one stubborn man on your hands.”
