Page 2 of Asystole

He leans in until his mouth is pressed next to my ear.

“And when you get there, I hope you call me first. I’d still love a chance to see the rest of this ink.”

Despite my best efforts, it looks like I’ll be spending another night alone after all.

Fucking Stone Addario and this toxic crush.

“Hey, Kirkland,” the flight nurse calls as she climbs out of my helicopter while I pull my helmet off and shut the bird down. Looking over my shoulder, I let her know she has my attention. “Nice flight,” she says with a sincere smile.

“Thanks,” I say with a nod of my head, choosing not to point out that there’s hardly any wind, it’s sunny, and forty-five degrees, meaning a monkey could fly a chopper in this weather.

It’s actually pretty boring most days, but I guess as a form of critical care transport, the flying should be boring since everything else isn’t. After four years here, I’ve only had a handful of instances where I felt like what I did truly mattered, and it’s something I struggle with after all the high-stakes flying I’ve done in the past.

After finishing my post-flight check, I fist-bump Kate, making her shake her head and roll her eyes.

“What?” I ask.

“You’re such a bromo,” she snickers.

“The fuck is a bromo?”

Kate grins widely.

“You know, a gay gym bro? A homo bro…a bromo.”

“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” I say with a laugh, but then another thought occurs to me. “How’d you know I’m gay?”

It’s not like I advertise, and I own zero pieces of clothing with a rainbow on them—no offense to those who do. Yellow, orange, and pink just clash with my skin tone.

“Because you’re hot as fuck.”

I sputter a cough.

“What? That makes no sense.”

Kate just shrugs her shoulder, completely unbothered, as she continues counting inventory after using half of it on our flight back to the hospital to stop the bleeding from our last patient.

“It makes total sense. You’re hot as fuck, you have sick ink, and you’re a helicopter pilot for fuck’s sake. Who doesn’t want to hit that?”

“Is there a point to this rambling?”

“My point is, you should be the biggest playboy out there, but you never flirt with any of the staff. No matter how much they come on to you, you haven’t so much as dipped your eyes to my tits once, and you never say a single word about the people you’re hooking up with.”

“Maybe I took a vow of celibacy,” I offer.

“Or maybe you’re gay and think people will judge you.”

This pulls a genuine laugh from me.

“While I appreciate your creepy observation of my habits, I haven’t been in the closet since I came out of it at the age of twelve. So, yeah, you hit the nail on the head, but I’m not ashamed of it. I just keep my cards close to my chest… but you do have great tits.”

I send her a wink and head inside to wait for the next call.

As I open the door on the roof that takes me back to the main body of the hospital, I’m struck again by how hospitals are the most depressing fucking places on Earth. I mean, people are here because they’re already suffering. Why add insult to injury with these bland, dirty, beige walls and fluorescent lights? Corporate slogans are affixed to the doors in an effort to invoke a sense of pride, but who could feel great about the monochromatic, antiseptic-smelling monotony of this place?

I burst through the final door on my way to the cafeteria, lost in thought, when I slam into someone. Instinctively, I reach out, grasping their shoulders to steady myself more than the brick wall I just hit.

“Shit. Sorry. That’s my bad,” I say, quickly registering the scrubs.