Two weeks since Carla's arrest. The new sliding door was installed. The bruises on Tessa's throat had faded to yellow. Life had settled into something that felt almost normal.
And now he was here, standing in the county EMS station, wearing a uniform for the first time in two years.
Chief Dawson met him at the door. She was a compact woman in her fifties, gray hair cropped short, handshake like a vise. "Knight. Good to have you."
"Good to be here."
"You'll be riding with Williams today. She's been with us eight years and knows every back road in the county. Watch, listen, follow her lead."
"Understood."
Dawson studied him for a moment. "You've told me about your background. Missouri, twelve years, good record. And the reason you left."
Brian's jaw tightened. "Yes, Ma'am."
"I'm not bringing it up to give you a hard time. I'm bringing it up because I need to know you're ready." Her eyes were sharp but not unkind. "This job breaks people. You've been broken once. If you're not sure you can handle it?—"
"I'm sure."
"You didn't let me finish."
"You were going to say there's no shame in walking away. That I should be honest with myself about my limits." He met her gaze. "I've spent two years being honest with myself about my limits. I'm done hiding behind them."
Dawson was quiet for a beat. Then she nodded. "Alright. Prove me right for taking a chance on you."
"I will."
Williams was waiting by the ambulance. She was maybe thirty, dark hair pulled back, and a no-nonsense expression that reminded Brian of Diaz. "You're the new guy."
"Brian Knight."
"Elena Williams. You know how to check equipment?"
"I do."
"Then start at the back. I'll take the cab. We roll in twenty."
He fell into the routine like he'd never left. Check the oxygen tanks. Check the defibrillator. Check the drug box, the IV supplies, and the trauma bags. His hands remembered what his brain had tried to forget.
The first call came at seven-fifteen. Elderly man, chest pain, possible cardiac event. Williams drove while Brian reviewed the address on the tablet.
"You nervous?" Williams asked.
"A little."
"Good. Nervous keeps you sharp. Cocky gets people killed."
The patient was a seventy-two-year-old named Harold, sitting in a recliner with his wife hovering nearby. His color was gray, his breathing labored, his hand pressed to his chest.
Brian let the training take over. Vitals first. Blood pressure elevated, pulse irregular, oxygen saturation low. He put the oxygen mask on while Williams set up the monitor.
"Harold, I'm Brian. Can you tell me when the pain started?"
"About an hour ago. Thought it was indigestion." Harold's voice was thin. "Martha made me call."
"Martha was right." Brian glanced at the monitor. The rhythm was off. "We're going to get you to the hospital and let the doctors take a look. You're going to be okay."
He said it automatically, the same words he'd said a thousand times before. But this time, for the first time in two years, he believed them.
