Page 139 of Hearts Storm

“How bad is it?” I ask, dropping to a crouch beside him.

“Burns on my face and neck. I’ll live.” His voice is hoarse, but steady. “Dawson?”

I glance over at the Station Five captain who’s doing chest compressions. My stomach drops.

“Still working on him.”

The distant wail of sirens cuts through the air as I key in. “Dispatch, we’ve got two patients. One critical, one stable.”

“Copy.”

“Help me get these two to the road,” I bark.

Justin, myself and two guys from the other crew move fast. Four of us carry Dawson, one a man on each arm and one on each leg as Taylor limps along beside us, keeping a grim and worried expression on Dawson.

The access road is a quarter-mile hike through burning timber and choking smoke. By the time we get there, the ambulance is already waiting, red and blue lights cutting through the haze.

Reyna and Dave jump out and rush over. Hair pulled back in a ponytail, her eyes are sharp and focused, angelic face smudged with soot and sweat.

She barely spares me a glance, but it’s enough for me to see the flash of concern before her professional mask slides back into place.

“Get him inside and on the stretcher,” she orders.

They load Dawson into the back of the ambulance. Reyna climbs in after him and starts an IV, as Dave calls out medication dosages.

Working together like a well-oiled machine, Reyna checks his airway while Dave hooks up the portable monitor. I watch as she assesses the burns, checks his pupils, and listens to his chest.

“Third-degree burns on the left side of his face, compound fracture of the right femur, possible smoke inhalation. BP’s dropping. We need to move. Now.”

She looks over at Taylor, who’s standing next to me, bracing a hand against the open door.

“Tay.” Keeping her voice gentle, she sighs and says, “Let me see.”

He turns his head, and she winces. Carefully, she examines his face and neck.

“Looks like first-degree on your face, possible second-degree on your neck. We need to treat them and check your vitals. Get in.” She glances at me. “He’s coming with us.”

“Copy that,” I nod, clapping Taylor on the shoulder. “Go. I’ll check in with you later.”

Taylor gives me a tight nod before climbing into the back of the ambulance, settling onto the bench seat as Dave climbs into the driver’s seat.

As I slam one door closed, Reyna reaches for the other. She pauses, catching my eye as she gives me a soft smile. “Be careful?”

“Always, Angel.”

The door slams shut. Through the small window, I catch one last glimpse of her face before Dave hits the siren and pulls away, red and blue lights disappearing in a cloud of ash and smoke.

sixty-two

Its a Saturday, and Logan and I are at Summit Studio with the rest of the crew, and I have never felt more out of place in my entire fucking life.

Bright lights coupled with the mirrored ceiling and walls make it impossible to miss the sheer ridiculousness of six grown men in shorts and tank tops, jumping around like a bunch of damn chimpanzees.

Kurtis is already sweating, and we’ve barely even started. His wife, Sarah, stands off to the side, giggling as her husband attempts to pull himself up. But every time he does, he gets stuck.

Currently, he’s clinging for dear life, face smashed against chrome, legs wrapped so tightly around the pole it reminds me of a fly stuck to flypaper. And he’s barely half a foot off the ground.

“Babe,” Kurtis hisses, skin squeaking as he slides down one inch at a time. “You could have warned me how hard this is.”