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I shake my head. I don’t want to get my hopes up, but my gut says that Carter didn’t send the flowers. “It’s purely a coincidence. I’m sure of it. And it’s not like I can call him and ask, ‘Hey, did you finally realize you’re madly in love with me and send me flowers to show me?’ I saw him less than an hour ago, and he said nothing.” Callum types away on his phone, holding up a finger for me to wait momentarily.
A text message arrives, and he reads it quickly, pocketing his cell afterward. “Callie says you should take the flowers home and thank Carter for them when you see him next. He will either confirm or deny. She says if he confirms, that’s great news, and about time that boy got his butt in gear. If he denies it, then it might make him jealous enough that he steps up.” He laughs at his wife, but I seriously consider her idea. It could work.
“That’s not a bad idea, but I don’t want the flowers getting destroyed by any of the heathens I have to work with today. Would you be willing to drop them off at my place on your way home? You have a key and can let yourself in since Carter should have already left for work by the time you get there.”
Callum agrees to help me out after announcing to everyone that the jury is still out on who sent the flowers. When he leaves, taking the beautiful bouquet with him, I’m left wondering who could have sent them. Is it possible that Carter is ready to move our friendship to the next level? Or do I have a secret admirer? If the latter is true, I hope it doesn’t stay a secret for long. I’ve never been one for surprises.
The first half of my shift went smoothly, especially once the shift change was over and the place emptied out. We had a few calls after that, but it was surprisingly slow. I helped with some minor maintenance on the ambulance and a quick hose down to keep it looking pristine. After that, I managed to get in a bit of rack time. When working 24-hour shifts, it’s essential to nap when you can.
A little after midnight, the lights and horns started going off in our bunk room, indicating it was a paramedic call only. Trey and I are on our way in less than two minutes, heading fast toward the assisted living facility a mile and a half from the station. There’s not a lot of traffic at this hour, for which I’m grateful.
“It’s an alert from one of the medical emergency transponders that most of the residents wear. The man’s name is Halbert Jenkins. Age 82. According to the nursing staff who are with him right now, he’s suffering from a myocardial infarction.”
I start going through my mental checklist of the items in my bag I’ll need, along with the defibrillator paddles. “Has the patient lost consciousness?” I ask. It takes Trey a few seconds to answer since he is in the back and busy prepping the IV fluids we’ll need while on the phone with the dispatcher.
“Yes,” he says matter of fact.
A nurse is waiting at the front doors to grant us entrance into the complex. Exiting the vehicle quickly, we roll the gurney with our bag and kit to room 132. Surprisingly, this is the first time I haven’t felt the jitters during a life-threatening event. Maybe I’m finally getting my adrenaline rushes under control.
“This way,” the nurse says as we hurry after her.
We race down the hall until we reach the open room where several people are milling about. They scatter as soon as they see us, giving us the room we need to perform our duties. One of the nurses is still performing CPR while tears stream down her cheeks.
“Please move,” I say, kind but firm. As soon as she complies, Trey and I get to work. After a few hits with the paddles, I’m able to restart his heart. Time is of the essence, and we need to get him out of here, stat. His pulse is still weak, and his breathing is shallow.
“We’re going to do everything we can for you, Mr. Jenkins,” I say as we push him down the hallway.
“You better!” says a middle-aged man heading in our direction and blocking our departure.
“How about you start by moving out of the way so we can get this man to the hospital?” says Trey, exasperated. The man squeezes in the door frame of another resident, giving us barely enough room to squeeze by.
“That’s my father! I’m coming with you!” he demands from behind us as we load Mr. Jenkins into the ambulance. I start hooking up the IV lines while Trey has to forcibly push Halbert’s son far enough away so he can close the doors.
“We are going to the West River Memorial ER. You can meet us there. You will NOT be riding along in the ambulance.”
Halbert’s son looks me straight in the eye, “My father better be alive when I get there, or you’ll pay the price!” He turns and stomps away, presumably to get in his car to follow us.
Trey and I talk the entire ride, discussing Mr. Jenkins’ vitals. When my patient flatlines less than a mile from the hospital, I ready the paddles to shock him again. Unfortunately, by the time the ambulance doors open and Mr. Jenkins is rushed inside, I have yet to restart his heart.
“I’ll be right back,” Trey informs me. “Are you going to be okay here for a minute, Baby girl?” I nod, numb to everything around me and lost in my thoughts. Trey waits for another few seconds to ensure that I’m fine and rushes into the emergency room to confer with the nurses and pass along any pertinent information. This is the first time I’ve lost a patient and the first time I didn’t get the tingles. Was that God’s way of warning me that there wasn’t anything I could do?
Remembering the words my father had said to me on my first day as an EMT, “…there will come a time—no matter what you do and how hard you try—it won’t be enough to save someone. It won’t be because you lack the skills but because it’s simply notHiswill for you to do so.” The words bring me a modicum of comfort but don’t take away the sting of loss and failure. I wonder if I had done anything different, would Mr. Jenkins still be with us?
While I’m standing by the ambulance in a daze, tears streaming unbidden down my cheeks, Halbert’s son shows up. He takes one look at the expression on my face and already knows the answer to his question before he asks it.
“Did you let my father die?” he questions, seething. Pointing a finger in my face, he continues to criticize me. “You had one job and couldn’t even do that!” He steps into my personal space and leans in to whisper one word, his tone venomous.
“Karma.”
Before he can say anything else, he’s yanked back by Trey, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I had been holding.
“That’s enough! I’m truly sorry for your loss, sir, but that does not give you the right to talk to my EMT in a threatening manner. We did everything possible for your father, and Leanna is not to blame.”
“Leanna, huh? I guess we’ll see what the lawyers say. By the time I’m through with you…”
“Get in the vehicle, Leanna,” Trey says, interrupting the man’s threat. I do as I’m told, walking backward to maintain eye contact until I’m safely locked inside. Our gazes stay connected in the sideview mirror until Trey pulls out of the circular drive. A shiver runs down my spine, and another tear falls down my cheek.
Shortly after we arrive back at the station, my parents show up. Trey and my brother had spoken to them about all that had transpired. As Captain, Sebastian has the authority to send me home, but I choose to stay. Every fiber of my being wants to go to my family home, get in my footie pajamas, and have my parents comfort me. But I need the respect of my team more, and staying would go a long way in accomplishing that. As a woman working in a man’s world, sometimes I feel like I have to hide the softer side of myself to be accepted. This is one of those moments.
