We’re about to get into a taxi to head to my house, where we’ll pack a couple of suitcases of things I need, and then head to the airport for our afternoon flight. I’ve been cleared to fly the short distance to Boston, but they had to cut my cast up the front with a gap so it will give my leg room to swell when we’re at altitude. They have a bandage wrapped around it to keep itclean, and then I’m booked in to see a doctor in Boston to replace it with a lightweight fiberglass cast tomorrow, which will make it easier for me to move around. I let the boys pick the color when we spoke to them last night, and of course, they picked red.
I still have a dull headache left from the concussion which they told me will last a while. They can’t give me a timeframe on that, but thankfully, the dizziness has eased, and my cough is almost gone.
Rosco stopped in briefly last night to see me before I left, passing on the well-wishes from everyone at the station. He did let it drop that the crew were pissed off that they weren’t allowed to visit. The way he was talking a bit bluntly, I don’t think he’s happy about me going home either, but it’s not his choice. It was a strange visit. The whole time he was in the room in his regular station uniform, I felt anxious. I can’t work out what it is, but the moment there’s some connection to the firehouse crew or my accident, it’s like an elephant sits on my chest. I can understand about the fire, but feeling unstable when talking about my crew or firehouse doesn’t make any sense at all.
Hopefully whichever therapist I start seeing will help me unpack that feeling. Because I love my job, and I don’t want to be carrying negative emotions every time I go to work.
The moment the front doors of the hospital slide open, there is a loud cheer, and parked in front of me are both firetrucks from the station. The whole crew is wearing their turn-out gear, which would be in case they get a call while out of the station. They’re lined up next to the trucks cheering and clapping.
And I don’t even need to second-guess what the noise I’m hearing from Landon is. He instantly steps beside me themoment he sees them all. His hand lands on my lower back, and he pulls me as close as he can. Which is not as close as he would like, I’m sure, with the pesky crutch in the way. The way he lets out a deep, pissed-off growl is how I know he certainly didn’t organize this surprise send-off. My guess is that one of the EMTs probably asked a nurse they know to message them when I was getting ready to leave. Although, to be honest, I should’ve expected it. That’s the kind of thing we do as a crew. We look after our own. But suddenly, I don’t feel that strong bond toward them like I should.
“I fucking told him no,” he grumbles.
“What are you talking about?” I mutter under my breath to him while I’m holding a fake smile on my face.
“Let’s go. Say hello, thanks for coming, then straight to the taxi. No chatting.” I hear his words, but they’re spinning in my head, making no sense to me, because everything feels all foggy again. My breathing is starting to become more rapid and shallow. All I can hear is my blood pumping in my ears like crazy from my erratic heartbeat.
“Landon… I don’t feel well,” I whisper as my vision starts to blur.
“Fuck, I knew we should’ve gotten a damn wheelchair.” I feel him pull the crutch out from under my arm so he can pull me tight against him and take my weight. I hear the thud of the bags and crutch hitting the ground.
“Rosco,” Landon barks. “Help me get this shit to the taxi. Now!”
The clapping and cheering stop instantly. I fight so hard to slow down my breathing and stay conscious, because I desperately want to get out of here. I don’t want a nurse or doctor seeing me and taking me back inside. I just want to go home, not here, but to Boston. To my childhood safe place.
Then I feel my feet being lifted off the ground, and Landon has me in his arms, carrying me toward the taxi van that’s waiting. We ordered a large one to give me more room with my leg.
“You’re okay,” Landon keeps repeating quietly to me, but it’s not in his normal calm tone, so it’s not helping. There’s an underlying sense of anger in his blunt voice, which worries me even more. Although it’s a little blurry, I can see the crew scattering and all heading toward us to try to help. I want to scream at them to stay away, but I don’t. Because I can’t even understand why I don’t want them near me, and I don’t want to have to try to explain my reaction to the people who are my work family.
The taxi driver must have opened the door for Landon because he slides me onto the seat. “Use your arms and push yourself back further into the taxi. Stay sideways on the seat so your leg is up,” Landon says in a low voice, and like a robot, I just do whatever he says.
There’s a loud chorus of my name being called from outside the taxi now. But as they get closer to us, the voice that stands out the most to me is Dean’s.
“Enjoying playing the fucking hero,” Dean says in an aggressive cocky tone, and I assume he’s directing it at Landon.
“Don’t move, I’ve got this,” Landon whispers as he kisses my cheek, then pulling back from inside the cab, he stands up to his full height with his back to me, blocking their view of me.
He doesn’t even acknowledge Dean’s comment, which I’m sure must piss him off.
“Thank you all for coming to see Poppy off from the hospital on her way home to Boston. Sorry, the exertion, bright sun, and heat all combined made her dizzy again. They said to expect that. She’s fine, and I’m sure she will catch up with you all soon. When she’s cleared of the concussion and allowed back on herphone, I’m sure she’ll reply to your messages, which she really appreciated.” His voice is so monotone, devoid of any emotion. Like he’s delivering a lecture on a stage about some boring tax laws or something.
“Move asshole, so we can see she’s okay for ourselves and say goodbye,” Dean barks at Landon.
“Sorry, we don’t have time for you all to see her individually. We have a plane to catch. So, it’ll just need to be a big collective one. Our bags, thanks.” He reaches out with his hands to whoever has them. He then turns to me and puts them on the seat behind mine in the van. Next, he slides my crutches in on the floor in front of me. He looks up at me and mouths, “You okay?”
I give him a gentle nod and try to put that fake smile back on my face. Being in the safe space of the taxi, with Landon forming a barrier between me and the crew, my breathing and vision have settled a little. I can see everyone standing outside the van clearly now. They all look concerned, except Dean, who looks irate, and his eyes don’t leave mine.
But barely peeking out from behind him is Kyra who looks almost timid. What’s with that? She’s always front and center of the crowd, making sure I see her with her hands all over Dean.
Landon steps aside slightly, and Rosco gives me a smile, holding his hand up with a wave.
“Message me to let me know when you arrive home. Travel safe, Bert.” When Rosco speaks, being the boss, everyone stays quiet.
“Thanks, Rosco,” I reply, and then everyone except Dean starts saying goodbye at the same time and giving their well-wishes. I just keep waving and saying thank you repeatedly.
“Sorry, guys, have to go, can’t miss the plane,” Landon cuts them off in an authoritative voice. And as he turns to his leftto grab the door and slide it shut so he can get in the front passenger seat, Dean sticks his head into the taxi.
“I’m sorry, Poppy. We need to talk. Call me, please,” he pleads only loud enough that I can hear him. But with his current agitated, gruff voice, I’m sure Landon heard every word from Dean. With speed, Landon turns back and comes chest to chest with Dean as he pulls his head back out of the taxi.
