His head jerks up, eyes unfocused. "Seth. I—my blood sugar?—"
Not drunk. Diabetic emergency.
"It's okay, sir. I've got you." I'm already on the radio calling for an ambulance. "Mr. Garrison, when did you last eat?"
"This morning... feel shaky..."
I turn back toward the patrol car. "Bea, there's orange juice in the back seat. Can you grab it?"
She's already moving, no hesitation. Seconds later she's beside me, orange juice in hand.
"Thank you." I take it, help Mr. Garrison with small sips. "There you go, sir. Easy does it."
Bea hovers nearby, watching. Quiet. Present.
I check his pulse, keep him talking. Ask him about the book he was telling me about last week—some mystery novel. His color starts improving, words coming easier.
By the time the ambulance arrives, he's looking much better.
"Always were a good student, Seth," Mr. Garrison says as the paramedics check him over. "Pays attention. Does what needs doing."
"Just glad you're okay, sir."
When I turn around, Bea's leaning against the patrol car, watching me with an expression I can't quite read.
When I turn around, Bea's leaning against the patrol car, watching me with an expression I can't quite read.
"You okay?" I ask as I walk back.
"Yeah." Her voice is soft. "That was... you were really good with him."
"It was just a blood sugar thing. Pretty routine."
"Seth." She pushes off the car. "You kept him calm. You knew exactly what to do. And the way he looked at you—like you were someone he could trust completely."
My neck heats. "He was my English teacher. Used to give me extra books to read during study hall."
"He clearly thinks highly of you." She's watching me with those warm eyes. "And I can see why."
I clear my throat. "We should... I should probably get you home now."
"Right. Yeah." But she doesn't move for a second, just keeps looking at me.
We get back in the patrol car. I pull away from the curb, and for a few minutes, we're both quiet. The adrenaline from the emergency is fading, leaving something else in its wake. The car feels smaller now. More intimate. Her scent has settled into every surface—the seats, the dashboard, my uniform.
I clear my throat. "You okay?"
"Yeah." She's watching me. "Just... that was intense. Are you okay?"
"Yeah. Just..." I flex my hands on the wheel. "Calls like that always get my heart going. Even the ones that turn out fine."
"You handled it really well." Her voice is soft.
"Thanks."
The rest of the drive is quiet. Not awkward—just... comfortable. The kind of silence that doesn't need filling.
When I pull up in front of her house, the porch light's on. And Ben's standing on the front steps, arms crossed, grinning like he knows exactly what's happening.
