I shook my head, clearing away the lingering warmth of Izzy's smile. "On my way."
But as I headed toward Room 3 and whatever fresh crisis awaited, I couldn't stop thinking about the way she'd said "more than that," like maybe what I'd thought was just professional courtesy had meant something deeper to her.
Like maybe I wasn't the only one who'd been replaying that kiss in my kitchen, wondering when we'd get another chance to be alone together.
The thought should have been distracting. In a few hours, it would prove to be exactly that. But for now, it just made the rest of my shift feel a little brighter, like maybe the universe was finally starting to line up in my favor.
I had no idea how wrong I was about to be.
chapter
thirteen
The tones droppedat 2:47 a.m., cutting through the quiet murmur of late-night conversation in the station day room.
"Engine 18, respond to Metro General Hospital, Emergency Department, for a public assist, facility emergency."
I was up and moving before the dispatcher finished speaking, muscle memory taking over. Around me, my crew stirred into action with the practiced efficiency of people who'd done this dance a thousand times.
"Metro General?" Thompson said, grabbing his radio from the charger. "What are the odds it's something actually interesting?"
"Slim to none," Martinez replied, but he was already pulling on his boots. "Probably a stuck elevator or a door that won't open."
"Facilities emergency means they need us now," I said, checking my radio and clipping it to my belt. "Let's roll."
It wasn't until we were pulling out of the bay that my brain fully processed where we were headed. Metro General. Jimmy's hospital. Jimmy, who worked nights, who would be there right now, who I'd been thinking about more than was probably healthy since our dinner three days ago.
The thought sent a jolt of nervous energy through me that I immediately shoved down. This was a call. A job. Nothing more. The fact that I might see him was irrelevant.
Keep telling yourself that, Delgado.
"What's the over-under on this being an actual emergency versus someone who doesn't want to wait for maintenance?" Rodriguez asked from the back seat.
"Even money," Thompson said. "But hey, it's a nice night for a drive."
The drive to Metro General took eight minutes through the quiet city streets. Eight minutes for me to lecture myself about professionalism, about maintaining boundaries, about not letting personal feelings interfere with the job. Eight minutes that felt like an eternity.
We pulled up to the emergency department entrance, and I forced myself into lieutenant mode. Professional. Focused. In command.
"Alright, let's see what they've got for us," I said, grabbing the halligan bar from its mount. "Rodriguez, bring the flathead. Keep it simple until we know what we're dealing with."
The automatic doors slid open, and we walked into the familiar chaos of the ER. Bright lights, the smell of antiseptic, the constant background hum of medical equipment. I'd been here dozens of times bringing in patients, but tonight felt different. Tonight, I was looking for —
And there he was. At the nurses' station, updating a chart, looking tired but solid in his navy scrubs. Our eyes met across the department, and for just a moment, his professional mask slipped. Recognition. Warmth. That same nervous energy I was trying so hard to suppress.
I gave him the barest nod and mouthed "Hey" before forcing myself to focus on the charge nurse's explanation.
The lock was simple, the kind that failed spectacularly when the power hiccupped wrong. Rodriguez and I had it open in thirty seconds — one quick pop with the halligan,metal on metal, the satisfying snap of a job well done. My crew moved with automatic efficiency, but I was hyperaware of Jimmy watching from across the department, of the way my hands were steadier than they should have been for such a simple task.
When the charge nurse thanked us — genuine relief in her voice about accessing supplies that could mean the difference between life and death — I found myself introducing Jimmy to my crew. Not because protocol demanded it, but because it felt important. Because I wanted these men I trusted with my life to know the man who'd taken such good care of Cap.
I watched Thompson's expression shift when he heard Jimmy's name. The way the usual firefighter-to-nurse politeness transformed into something warmer, more genuine. Martinez perked up with interest. Rodriguez gave Jimmy an appraising look that seemed to find him acceptable.
This was the gauntlet every civilian had to run — firefighter scrutiny, the unspoken question of whether you understood what the job demanded. Whether you'd resent the missed dinners, the interrupted sleep, the thousand small ways the work claimed us.
But Jimmy didn't look intimidated. He looked honored. Like meeting my crew mattered.
It settled something I hadn't realized was a question.
