ADAM
I leanedback against the ambulance, watching as hordes of kids bounced from one big vehicle to another.
Touch-a-Truck events always felt like controlled chaos. The sirens going off for fun, babies and toddlers crying, parents hovering with phones out ready to snap a picture. We were off duty, but also not really. The ambulance was still ours to watch, and the people were still our responsibility.
Regardless, I liked these days. No calls. No blood. Just kids pretending to be heroes and us pretending not to flinch when someone climbed where they shouldn’t. And who knows, maybe one of these events would inspire a future EMT or firefighter or five. Future recruiters and chiefs could thank us.
Lyla had a group of young kids hanging on her every word.Like them, I was enthralled by her. Parents hung back, chatting with each other, likely happy for the small break. I smiled as she explained for the tenth time that no, we couldn’t turn the lights on again.
She finished up with them and they waved excitedly as they ventured on to the next truck. A father and his little boy peeled off from the crowd and headed straight for us. The kid couldn’t have been more than six, all smiles and excitement, dragging his dad by the hand.
“Is this a real ambulance?” he asked, eyes wide.
“Sure is.” Lyla dropped into a crouch so she was eye level with him. Her voice was familiar. It was the one she used with patients. Steady and warm, like with just her words she could make it all okay. “You want to see the inside?”
The boy nodded so enthusiastically he reminded me of a bobblehead.
The dad laughed, ruffling the child’s hair. “He’s been talking about this all morning.”
I helped the boy up into the back and then reached out a hand to Lyla, doing the same for her. Her injured arm was still secured in the sling and getting in and out of the back proved to be a tad bit difficult for her. She wasn’t using the sling around the apartment much lately, but with the crowd and kids who weren’t always careful, we felt it was safer to keep her arm secured for the day. I didn’t mind having to help her in and out of the ambo. It gave me an excuse to touch her. Plus, after she tried climbing in one-handed earlier in the day and nearly fell back out, I wasn’t taking any chances.
She started pointing things out, letting the kid hold the blood pressure cuff like it was treasure. I stayed a step back and only answered questions when asked, watching the way Lyla’s long braid swung as she moved. She was enjoying this, and I had to remember to thank Zack. Seeing her back in her element with a smile on her face made me irrationally happy.
“Wow, that’s a lot of equipment,” the father said, leaning against the doorframe. “You must have nerves of steel.”
Lyla shrugged sheepishly. “You get used to it. Plus, teamwork helps,” she added, shooting me a smile.
“Still,” he said, eyes lingering a beat too long, “I bet not everyone can handle what you do.”
Something tightened uncomfortably in my chest. I told myself it was nothing. People flirted with Lyla all the time. She was smart and kind and pretty in a way that snuck up on you. It wasn’t new. It shouldn’t have bothered me.
But it did.
“Dad, look!” the boy interrupted. Thankfully. “This one’s for breathing!”
“That’s right.” Lyla showed him how it went on. “It’s called an oxygen mask.”
The father kept his gaze trained on her, pretty much ignoring the fact I was standing a few feet away. “So…do you work a lot of events like this, or are you usually out saving lives?”
I cleared my throat. “We rotate.” The words came out a little sharper than I meant them to. “Mostly emergency calls.”
He glanced at me for the first time, surprised, like I’d appeared out of thin air, and then nodded. “Right. Of course.”
Lyla shot me a quick look, nothing accusatory, just curious, and I immediately regretted speaking. Although I hoped it would change sooner rather than later, I wasn’t supposed to be anything more than her partner. Her friend. The guy who handed her gloves and shared bad coffee at three in the morning. Not some jealous boyfriend hovering at her shoulder. And it sure as hell wasn’t the way I wanted her to realize my feelings for her either.
“Well,” the father said, turning back to her, “if you ever need a break from all that intensity, I know a great coffee place nearby.”
There it was. Smooth. Confident. The kind of line that probably worked more often than not. The kind of line I would use. Hell, I'd used similar ones plenty of times. But something about itbeing used on Lyla made me see red, and if I didn’t walk away soon, I might do something I’d regret.
Lyla laughed politely. “That’s nice of you.”
Not yes. Not no. Just Lyla being Lyla.
I focused on the kid, asking him if he wanted to sit in the captain’s chair up front. He scrambled past me, thrilled, and I followed, grateful for something to do with my hands because throttling the kid's father wasn’t a valid alternative. That would be difficult to explain to the chief. And probably involve a lot of paperwork.
From the cab, I could still hear them talking, Lyla’s laugh drifting in through the open doors. I told the boy about the radio, let him press a button that didn’t do anything important, nodded along to his endless questions. All the while, my mind replayed the way the father had looked at Lyla. The way it made me feel. The way I itched to walk back there and tell him to move along.
When they finally stepped away, the boy waving like we were celebrities, Lyla closed the doors and leaned back against the bumper. “Nice family.”
