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He sucks in another breath, and for a second, I’m afraid he’s going to start screaming or something. He doesn’t though. “Everyone gets the call, right? Where you get there and the p-person is…they’re…”

“Dead,” Logan says flatly.

Ah. Okay. I get that, but I don’t get the other part he said about upsetting me. “What does that have to do with me? Do you know how many DOA calls I’ve been on?”

He takes another breath. “But what if they’re not DOA. What if it’s bad. And then the scene is chaos, and we…we can’t…”

Oh. Right. Ozzie kind of has this problem with nuance. I’ve been to more calls than I can count where the scene was total chaos because everyone was panicking, and I can handle it just fine.

More than fine.

Unless it’s kids. But I haven’t gone on a call with a kid since it happened.

I take my time, then reach out and squeeze his shoulder. “Talking about that isn’t going to upset me, Oz. I’ve been to plenty of calls with panicked people, and they don’t always end with a patient being nonresponsive. And really, all we have to do is get the person stabilized until Benny gets to the scene, which will be…” I lean back. “Kels! Benny’s ETA?”

She glances back for a second, an almost evil look in her eye. “Ten.”

I try not to laugh because this is probably serious, and I should not be making a joke out of this. I let myself have a quick giggle anyway. “Ten minutes. We can do a lot in ten minutes.”

“Yeah,” he breathes out. “I just…I don’t know. Why can’t this be like the fifties where we rescue cats and put out mailbox fires?”

North snort-laughs and shoves his phone into his bag. “Babe, the fifties had dying people too. And it’s a good thing we weren’t firefighters back then because we’d probably be surrounded by a bunch of racists who turned their hoses on civil rights advocates marching in the streets.”

I stare at him. “Okay, professor. Where did you get that one from?” He’s not wrong, but it was a weird fact for North, who didn’t even graduate high school, to pull out of his metaphorical hat.

“Leo and I have been doing a mini book club so I can learn more about history before I start school.”

My heart does a weird little flutter of affection in my chest. North has spent most of his life being way too fucking hard on himself for all of his choices. He gave up his dreams to take care of his mother and his sisters, and now things are different.

He only has a few more weeks left at the station before he’s officially done working with us, and he and my brother are getting settled onto a little bit of land not too far from the edge of town.

North plans to do school and fix the place up so Leo can have his chickens and bees and goats and whatever else he’s been thinking about. My brother has also been to hell and back, so he deserves a bit of peace. And if bees and goats will give that to him, I’m all for it.

“Minute thirty,” Kelsey calls back, letting us know we’re about to pull up to the scene.

There’s no fire, so there’s no need for gear, but Logan begins to prep the paramedic kit, and North reaches for the bigger bag so we have O2 and NOS on hand if we need it.

I check the laces on my shoes because I tripped over them once and didn’t live it down for a year and a half—which was the amount of time it took for Lex to let out a fart so loud it shook the windows—and then it was forgotten. But I am not going through that again.

Kelsey pulls up to the curb, and I can see two women pacing, looking frantic. They’re both young—like maybe early college age. They seem frazzled, and the taller one with dark hair is still on the phone, likely with Carole, who took her call.

Kelsey hops out the front, and North takes the back, and I urge Ozzie to follow with Logan behind. There are definitely too many of us on this call, but it’s been a slow week, and frankly, I would have just stayed in the truck and gone along for the ride if it meant getting out of the station for a bit.

Ozzie’s hanging back as North quickly takes over. He and Logan have the more calming presence, though Kelsey is way more matter-of-fact and starts taking a statement from the woman who was on the phone.

By the time Ozzie and I make it up to the door, we’re being ushered inside to a messy living room covered in red Solo cups. In the corner is a ping-pong table set up for beer pong, and the place smells like the worst mixture of old beer, weed, and a faint whisper of vomit.

“…just started gagging. I mean, I’ve put a condom on with my mouth before, and like, nothing like this has ever happened.”

It takes me a minute to find the patient. A shirtless guy on the floor with nipple piercings, a very dark happy trail, and a rash all over his neck and chest. He’s also not breathing. That much is obvious, and it only takes a second for my training to kick in.

I’m the first one to fall to my knees, and I open his lips to check for obstruction, which it becomes obvious that his very swollen tongue is.

His tongue is also an odd green color, which sends me into a panic before I realize it’s not his tongue. It’s the fucking condom.

“Is he allergic to latex?” I ask, looking up at the woman.

Her eyes go wide. “What the fuck is latex?”