Why thehellwould he call menow?!
Alex pulls back, something dark and irritated crossing his eyes. It’s gone in a blink. “Is it important?”
Is it? I think he’s only called me once before and it was when that stomach bug ran through the station and too many people were out sick.
The sound is still cutting through the room like a knife as I blink down at my phone.
“Probably,” I mutter, fumbling for it off the wooden surface. I answer immediately. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Liv, we need you.” His voice is wrong, all business and tension. It makes my stomach drop.
“I’m off today,” I say automatically, even though it normally takes very little to talk me into taking another shift.
“Unit 8 was hit.”
Everything inside me stops. Unit 8. Alice and Jett. My grip tightens on my phone. “…What?” It comes out barely louder than a whisper.
“Highway collision,” Scott says quickly. “Suspected drunk driver plowed into the rig during transport. We’re short and they need all hands.”
My heart is pounding so hard that I can hear it. “Are they-” I can’t even get the words out.
“I don’t know,” he says. “Just get onto 78. Now. Dispatch said to use the ramp by the museum. PD has it blocked off. Tell them who you are and they’ll let you up. I’m already on my way there.”
The line goes dead. I’m already moving. I fling myself up from the couch, startling Pip awake. I’m spastically pulling my shoes on a moment later when I hear, “Liv-”
“They were hit,” I say, grabbing my jacket, keys… phone, phone, phone. Where the hell is it?
In my fucking hand- Shit!
“Alice and Jett, U-Unit 8… they were on shift-”
He pushes to his feet instantly. “I’ll give you a ride.”
I don’t argue. I can’t. All I can think is, “please let them be okay.”
He takes my phone and keys from my hand. Looking back at the couch, he tells Pip, “Hold down the fort, Big Man.” Then he shuttles me out the door, locks it behind him, and sticks my phone and keys into my jacket chest pocket and zips it shut.
We’re running down the stairs while I tell him the directions Scott had given me on where to go and how to get onto that section of the highway.
We hit the sidewalk in the front of my building still at a run when it hits me.
Motorcycle.
He takes his bike helmet that I hadn’t even processed him carrying down from my apartment, sticks it over my head with a fabricy “shooch” sound.
“As a paramedic, I have an innate problem with motorcycles-”
“I know,” he cuts me off. “We’ll talk about it later.”
“And what will you wear?”
He flings his leg over the bike, turning to pat the seat behind him. “Shh.”
“Excuse you?” I snip, climbing onto the back of the bike anyway.
“We’ll worry about it later.”
I don’t get another word in before he revs the engine, throws back the kickstand, and puts us in gear.
