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“Got it.” She nodded and slipped the vest on.
ChapterEleven
KENNEDY
Hi Liam,
I’ve been cast in a new romantic comedy as the hero’s foul-mouthed firefighting best friend. I was really excited about the role to begin with because it reminded me of you and also gives me the opportunity to represent a strong woman who takes no shit. Unfortunately, every time I’m told to do something on set, all I can think is that it’s not how you’d do it in real life. I know enough from spending time with you to pick up on when something is wrong, but I’m not earning any friends among the production team when I point out their mistakes. I’m only trying to help, but they don’t seem as interested in accuracy as I’d hoped.
If you ever see this film, it’s going to make you so angry.
Love,
K xx
The engine’scab was claustrophobic with firefighters packed inside. This wasn’t what I’d imagined when I made my request of Parks. I’d forgotten firefighters always moved as a unit. I’d gotten caught up in a romantic vision of Liam and I cruising the local roads in a fire engine and talking through our past.
Crazy, I know.
Still, I had to make the best of this. I listened to the men talking to each other. It sounded like we were heading to a traffic accident on the road out of Destiny Falls. Car versus truck.
My stomach clenched. Ever since Mom and Malcolm had been killed in a traffic accident, I’d had a hard time dealing with the emotions that arose whenever I encountered one. If I ever had to detour because of an accident, I’d feel sick, and be compelled to check the news later that day to see if anyone had been seriously hurt. They seemed like such needless causes of death and destruction. A single mistake, a two-second hesitation, could mean the difference between living and not.
Overhead, the siren wailed. A police car was parked across the road, forming a barrier, its lights flashing. The churning in my stomach intensified, and I tasted bile in the back of my throat. Great. Not only an accident, but one with Nate Braddock present. I got the feeling he and Asher were co-presidents of the Kennedy Carter Anti-Fan Club.
The engine stopped, and the firefighters piled out.
“Stay here,” Liam reminded me.
I nodded, too wound up to speak. From here, I had a perfect view of the carnage. It appeared that a sleek rental sedan had been trying to pass a rusted Ford and had a head-on collision with a food-transportation truck traveling in the opposite direction. The sedan’s front end was crushed, and Liam headed straight to it. I could see someone in the driver’s seat, but they weren’t moving. The truck had fared better, although the trailer had swung around, spilling apples across the road. The third vehicle, the Ford, seemed to have been clipped along the driver’s side. Perhaps by the rental car as they tried to avoid the truck.
A woman sat on the side of the road, hovering over a man wearing a blood-soaked shirt. He didn’t seem to be conscious. The woman screamed, and Asher hurried to check for a pulse. He and another paramedic, whom I hadn’t been introduced to, began CPR. The woman started to cry.
My throat constricted. Black spots appeared in my vision. The horror show before me could have come from my worst nightmares.
I forced myself to draw a breath even though it hurt my aching throat. Then another. The spots cleared, although my mind was still spinning.
Asher and the paramedic continued CPR. The man didn’t seem to be responding. The woman let out a blood-curdling shriek and tried to grab the other paramedic and pull him aside so she could get to her husband. The paramedic pushed her away, but she threw herself over the man. Before I knew what I was doing, I was out of the car and running to her side. I grabbed her arm and gently pulled her back.
“You need to let them work,” I said when she swung to face me with wild eyes. All I could think was that this woman might be about to lose a family member or friend if she didn’t let the paramedics do their thing. I couldn’t let that happen to someone else the way it had to me.
“Come over here.” I guided her a few feet away and put an arm around her shoulders. She was shivering violently even though the temperature was mild.
The paramedic who wasn’t Asher shot me a grateful look.
“What’s your name?” I asked the distraught woman.
“Jackie.” She was breathing raggedly, unable to take her eyes off her husband. “Why isn’t he moving? They’re doing it wrong.”
“Jackie,” I said, firm enough that she glanced at me. “They’re doing everything they can.”
At that moment, there was a beep and Asher touched the defibrillator to the man’s chest. He jerked, and they resumed CPR. A few seconds later, Asher yelled out. “He’s breathing, and we have a pulse.”
“Oh, thank God.” Jackie collapsed against my chest, crying, as the paramedics shifted her husband onto a stretcher and carried him to the ambulance.
“Come on,” I said, since she seemed unable to move. “You want to go with him, right?”
That jolted her into motion. I helped her over to the ambulance. Asher directed her to the front seat, then climbed into the back himself. The other paramedic rounded the vehicle, telling someone through a radio that a second ambulance was on its way.
