“Yeah, sure.” Daniel scanned the area. Not looking for beautiful women with dark curly hair. No. Not at all.
Sirens blipped, red and blue lights flashed, a flurry of activity around the ambulance and the police cars. Daniel automatically tuned out every distraction and focused on the bleeding man thrashing about on the gurney. The EMTs had him strapped down while treating his wounds, but it didn’t deter his attempts to be free of his restraints.
“Let me out!” His voice was strangled with sobs, taking the fight out of him, but he continued to twist against the straps around his wrists. “I don’t want to live! I can’t—” His wail of pain distracted Daniel for a quick moment before he registered it clinically. An EMT was cleaning one of the man’s wounds.
Daniel met Crista’s eyes and stepped up, taking the lead. He motioned for light. The scent of gunpowder confirmed shots fired, and a quick scan revealed one gunshot wound in the man’s shoulder and another in his upper thigh.
“What happened, Andy?” Daniel asked the EMT. The patient was crying out in a nonstop stream that quickly became background noise as Daniel’s focus narrowed to his patient and how he was going to best care for him in a quick and efficient manner.
“Looks like he tried suicide by cop.”
Daniel flicked his gaze to the EMT. “Seriously?” This was not entirely uncommon, but still not your run-of-the-mill gunshot wound.
“Yeah. Apparently, he buried his wife today.” The heft in Andy’s voice was metered by the clinical tone that was a side effect of their job, where life-changing events became information.
Daniel approached his patient with new eyes. Young, male, late twenties, maybe a few years younger than Daniel. A nod of silent communication to Crista, who started her clinical assessment while Daniel addressed the patient. “So, hey. What’s your name?”
“Mark.”
“Okay, listen up, Mark. I’m Daniel. This is Crista. She’s the best. We’re going to fix you up, get you to a hospital.”
“Don’t bother.” Mark started crying. “My wife...”
“Yeah, I know.” Daniel motioned to Crista as he continued to address Mark. “I need you to focus.”
“Daniel, he’s...uh...got a child.” Andy didn’t meet Daniel’s eyes.
Daniel froze. The words came to him as if from a tunnel, shattering his fine-tuned focus, and transporting him instead to the scene of a hectic ER filled with doctors and nurses frantically trying to take care of a little girl. Daniel suddenly felt as though Andy were speaking a different language, and he couldn’t decipher the words and numbers the EMT was rattling off.
“Daniel. Hey, Daniel, are you listening?”
“Give me the vitals, Andy.” Crista stepped in front of Daniel, and he let himself be shoved aside as she took over.
Daniel registered Andy saying something to him—maybe an apology—just as Crista barked, “Forget him. Just give me the rest of the information.”
Daniel caught her eye as Andy finished speaking. Her gaze was fierce, but her words weren’t without concern. “You working tonight, Daniel?”
“Yeah.” He snapped out of it. “Yeah, I’m working.”
“Well, let’s get to it. It’s going to take us both.” She turned to her patient. “I hear you got a kid?”
“Yeah. A little boy.” Mark turned his focus to Daniel. “You have kids?”
“No.” Daniel needed to say something to Mark, something comforting, but he couldn’t do it. Silence hung in the air for a moment before Mark started wailing his grief once more.
Yet again, Daniel froze.
He felt, rather than heard, Crista’s curse before she addressed Mark herself. “Listen, Mark. What’s your little boy’s name? Huh? Look at me, Mark. What’s his name?”
“Nick.” Mark stopped thrashing about. “His name is Nick.”
Crista grinned as she stabilized Mark for the chopper ride. “Nick. That’s a great name. How old is he?” She leaned closer to Daniel for a split second, elbowing him painfully in the ribs. “Snap out of it, huh?” she hissed.
Daniel grunted, glaring at Crista for the jab, though it was well deserved. To say she looked unapologetic was an understatement. He took over caring for Mark’s wounds as Crista continued to talk.
“He’s seven.”
“Well, Mark. Seems that little Nick needs a father, don’t you think? I mean, who’s going to teach him to throw a ball?”
