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“This is your partner, Fletcher Hardy,” Craig continues, tipping his head toward Mr Personality. “Daniel’s out with a broken leg, so you’ll be working with Fletcher until Daniel’s fit to return.”
Shit.I know Fletcher Hardy by reputation only. He’s the stern-faced, ex-Army combat medic who makes it a point to avoid mentoring others.
He’s the last person I want to be partnered with. It seems to be mutual because I can practically feel the resentment coming off him in waves.
Admittedly, I’ve only met Daniel once, but he and Fletcher Hardy seem like polar opposites. Daniel has a great sense of humour and an easy-going personality, and I was looking forward to having a few laughs with him to lighten the seriousness of our job. But Fletcher’s severe demeanour tells me there will be very little laughter on shift. He looks like he’d rather be lumbered with a circus clown than me.
Still, I’ve dealt with worse. I’ll approach the situation like I do everything—with shitloads of positivity.
I switch both coffee mugs into one hand and thrust the other towards him, giving him a thousand-watt smile. “Nice to meet you.”
Azingof electricity arcs up my arm and tightens my nipples as our palms connect. Bloody hell, whatisthat? I shake his hand firmly before dropping it like a hot rock.
He nods abruptly. “I’ll meet you in the bay in ten minutes.”
“Okie-dokie.” Brushing past him, I almost spill the coffee as I head towards the ambulance bay.
I’m not sure what Mr Personality’s problem is, but something tells me this is going to be a long shift.
ChapterTwo
Fletcher
“Where’s Daniel?”I ask, pulling on my work boot.
“You didn’t hear?” Craig responds, raising a dark eyebrow.
“Obviously not, or I wouldn’t be asking,” I grumble.
“Broke his leg playing football last night. Mistimed a tackle and slid straight into the goal post. His tibia was poking through the skin, the way he tells it.” Craig grins and shakes his head.
I wince, not because I’m squeamish, but because I know that kind of pain better than most. You can’t have a delicate constitution when you’re a paramedic. You see all kinds of gruesome sights as part of the job, although so far, none have matched the nightmare of Afghanistan.
“He’ll be out for a while, and when he comes back, he’ll be on light desk duties,” Craig continues.
I tie off my laces. “So, who am I partnered with?”
“Grace Newton.”
“The new girl? Are you fucking kidding me?”
Craig holds up a hand. “We all started somewhere, Fletch. Can’t all be fully trained combat medics when we start on the DCAs,” he says, using the abbreviation for the double-crewed ambulance. He closes his locker and walks into the hallway.
I grab my jacket and stride after him. “Why me? You know how I feel about mentoring the newbies.”
“Not my call. Came down from head office. Besides, you’re the best man for the job,” Craig points out. “What she lacks in experience, she’ll more than make up for in enthusiasm and hard work.”
Fuck.I had enough of training others and taking responsibility for their learning a long time ago. I pride myself on keeping things strictly professional with my work colleagues. I lost too many friends in Afghanistan to risk emotional connections. “So I get the bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, fresh-out-of-school trainee because her allocated mentor was on the losing end of an argument with a goalpost?” I shake my head in disgust. “I doubt she’s seen a single lick of hardship, and I’ll bet good money she signed herself up for this job under some fanciful notion of helping people with her selfless, misguided ideals of making the world a better place.”
“Jesus, I know you’ve seen some shit, but you are one cynical bastard, Fletcher,” Craig mutters. “She may be young, but you never know, she might teach your ornery arse a thing or two.”
I grit my teeth. “I’m a paramedic, not a fucking babysitter.”
“Grace is twenty-three, not a baby, and more than capable, or she wouldn’t be here,” Craig defends.
Doubtful. I’ve experienced enough to know that this world chews most people like her up and spits them back out.
As soon as the thought forms, I berate myself. Do I really want to bethatperson? The one who judges another before I’ve even met them? I should know better, but it’s easy to forget that there are still unselfish people in the world who genuinely want to do good—I just haven’t opened myself up to many of them in recent years. Craig’s right. My arseisornery.
