“You’re doing great.” I maintain direct pressure on the artery while Diaz searches the med kit for a proper clamp. “This is fixable. We just need to put a special bandage on it.”
“I don’t want to die,” she sobs, her face ashen now. “I’ve never even been kissed. I haven’t gone to prom. No boy has ever given me flowers.”
My heart cracks open at her words, at the list of things that matter to a thirteen-year-old girl facing mortality. The simple milestones of growing up that she’s afraid to miss.
“Emily, listen to me.” I lean closer, maintaining eye contact and pressure. “You will not die today. Not on my watch. And if you stay awake for me, I’ll bring you the biggest bouquet of flowers you’ve ever seen. Deal?”
A ghost of a smile flickers across her bloodless lips. “For real?”
“Cross my heart,” I say. “But you have to keep talking to me. Tell me what flowers you like.”
“Sunflowers,” she whispers, her voice weaker. “And those purple ones that smell good.”
“Lavender,” I supply, watching Diaz snap the clamp in place above my fingers. “Fantastic choice.”
Diaz nods, and I let go. No blood.
“You’re doing so well,” I tell Emily as we lift her upper body out. “The bleeding’s stopped. That’s the hardest part.”
But Emily’s head is lolling, her eyelids drooping.
“Hey, hey, stay with me,” I say, urgency creeping into my voice. I snap my fingers near her face. “Emily! Look at me. If you fall asleep, I’ll have to sing ‘Shake It Off’ at the top of my lungs, and trust me, nobody wants that.”
Her eyes flutter open, focusing on me with effort. “You know the song?”
“Every word,” I confirm. “My squad makes me sing it at the station when I lose bets.” At least my old team did. I haven’t established new rituals with this one yet.
That earns me a weak smile.
The rest of the extrication is a blur. We get her out of the car. Strap her to a backboard. And she’s ready to be hoisted up.
“Alright, Emily, we’re lifting you out now,” I explain as the team secures the backboard to the pulley system. “It might be a little scary going up the side of the hill, but I’ll be right beside you the entire time.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.” I give her my hand, and she grips it with the last of her strength. “We’re doing this together.”
The ascent is slow and precarious, the team above managing the lines to keep the backboard stable as we’re hauled up the steep embankment. I climb alongside her, keeping a hand on her arm or shoulder so she can focus on me instead of the drop.
When we reach the top, the waiting paramedics swarm in, transferring Emily to a gurney and starting IVs. I step back, aware of the blood soaking my uniform, the ache in my muscles from the climb, and the tremor in my hands as the adrenaline ebbs.
Emily’s eyes find me through the crowd of medical personnel. “Josh?” she calls, voice small but determined.
I step forward. “I’m here.”
“You promised flowers,” she reminds me, a hint of her earlier spirit returning despite the oxygen mask now covering part of her face.
“And you’ll get them,” I assure her, reaching through the paramedics to squeeze her hand one last time. “You made it out, brave girl. I told you we’d do this together.”
As they load her into the ambulance, she’s smiling beneath the oxygen mask before the doors close and they pull away, sirens blaring into the brightening morning.
Saves like this one are why I love this job. When a terrified kid smiles again and I know she’ll go to prom and have a first kiss thanks to me, nothing else matters. But this time, along with the rush of pride comes a new sense of despair—that this life I chose will always mean asking someone else to wait and hope, not knowing if I’ll make it home. Saving lives is everything for me, the purpose I chose, but is also why being with Lily might never be fair to her.
18
LILY
I hate the anxious punch in my stomach at finding Josh’s spot in the parking lot empty. His shift isn’t over until eight, so it makes sense he wouldn’t be home yet. But a low thrum of apprehension has been haunting me since yesterday. That extra little kick of the heart whenever the ER doors whooshed open. Checking the local news for accidents or fire reports as the last thing I did before bed. And now, the vacant space that leaves me chewing my lip, bracing for bad news. The worry is new and familiar, was for Daniel once, is for Josh now. Still under control, for now. But it wouldn’t be if I let him into my life more. And that’s why I can’t. It’s no way to live. The constant low-grade dread, the mental math of how many hours left in his shift, wondering if he’s walking into danger while I’m driving my kid to school. I’ve been down this road before, and the destination broke me.
