He nods, gestures at Axel. “Ramirez, you’re with Brooks on first call.”
Perfect. Great.
Nothing like being forced into close proximity with the man whose memory can still wreck my heartbeat.
Axel’s voice comes quiet but steady behind me. “Copy that.”
Professional. Controlled. No hint of anger or emotion.
Which somehow stings more.
We finish rig prep in awkward silence. I triple-check the airway kit even though I don’t need to. Axel moves around me with careful, precise distance.
Always just far enough that our bodies won’t brush.
Always close enough that I feel the heat radiating off him.
The energy between us is ridiculous, like the air is charged, humming, ready to spark.
I keep my tone even when he steps beside me. “Monitor the pressure gauge.”
“Already did.”
His voice is low, rough around the edges. It hits the center of my chest.
I ignore it.
He shifts a little closer to reach another latch, and the faintest brush of his sleeve grazes my arm.
It’s nothing.
And it’s everything.
My pulse spikes. Traitor.
His breath changes too—sharp inhale, quick exhale—before he steps away as if he touched a live wire.
Good. Let him be off balance too.
“Everything okay?” I ask, deliberately cool.
His eyes lock onto mine.
Too intense. Too familiar.
“Fine,” he says. “Just… adjusting.”
I lift a brow. “To what?”
He hesitates one fraction of a second. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
Liar.
He used to be a terrible liar. Apparently, that hasn’t changed.
Before I can challenge him, the overhead speakers crackle.
“Station 19, respond priority one—multiple car collision, Route 14 northbound.”
