Page 86 of Tackle

“I don’t think I could, even if I wanted to.”

“I’ll be right back.”

The run to his SUV left him a little winded and he leaned forward at the waist, supporting himself with his hands on his knees, coughing before catching his breath and opening the hatch. He always carried a small toolbox. Opening the lid he dug through it—hammer, various wrenches—none of that would work. Then he spied a box cutter. That would work. Snatching it up, he jogged back to Emerson.

“What’s that for?”

“I want to get a look at your knee. Hold your thigh, I’m going to try not to jiggle your leg.” He grasped her pant leg at the hem and pulled the material taut and away from her skin to slice the blade through to make a small slit. That, he pried bigger with his fingers, ripping the material the rest of the way up her leg.

He heard her gasp and looked up to find her staring at her knee. “Sorry, baby. Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head, but muttered, “Why do injuries always hurt worse once you see them?”

Her knee did look bad. Oz had seen his fair share of injuries out on the field to know, with the amount of swelling already taking place, her knee took a fair share of damage.

He brushed her hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear, then grasped her by the chin, tilting her head up. “Don’t look at it.”

Her thumb rubbed along his jaw, her fingers cradling his neck. “You’ve got soot all over your face.”

He brushed a thumb along her cheek. “So do you.”

A frown appeared between her brows. “I wonder how that happened?”

He knew it was a rhetorical question, but he answered anyway. “I don’t know, baby.”

He looked toward the pub, at the smoke starting to billow through the front door that in Oz’s haste to exit had pushed too hard so it remained open.

Emerson turned to where he looked, and he saw a tear slip down her cheek.

He captured her chin again, turning her head away. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

She swallowed hard. Gave a short nod. He wasn’t sure if she believed that at the moment, but he knew his girl. She was practical. They’d get through this together.

Sirens sounded in the distance. Oz scanned the street, watching for emergency vehicles. A fire truck was the first to arrive. Oz stood as the truck pulled up to the building. Several firefighters got out, busily getting to work.

One separated himself from the group, coming over. He eyed Emerson. “Paramedics should be here any minute.” He handed them each a solar blanket.

“Thank you,” Emerson mumbled.

Oz wrapped Emerson’s around her but left his off to the side, not feeling the chill even though he knew it was cold because he could see his breath when he talked.

“Want to fill me in on what happened,” the firefighter said once Oz got Emerson situated.

Oz rattled off events, all the while, keeping watch as a team of firefighters went into and around the side of the building, hoses trained.

“Just sit tight until more help arrives,” the fireman said.

Emerson thanked the man, but Oz only nodded, distracted by the sound of more sirens. An ambulance pulled up, followed closely by another fire truck and two police cruisers. The array of flashing blue and red lights was almost blinding in its intensity against the dark night.

Oz didn’t hesitate, scooping Emerson up, he started for the ambulance and was explaining the situation as soon as the paramedic opened his door.

“Bring her to the back. Let’s take a look.”

“You’re making too much of a fuss,” Emerson said as he navigated to the back of the van.

“I’m not.”

“You didn’t even let the man get out before bombarding him.”

---