Page 21 of Always Heated

“Yes, of course.”

“Great.” Her doctor leaves the room without another word; she’s a bitch most days, but I’m thankful she’s taking things seriously.

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

She bursts into tears. “No, I can’t feed my child.”

I force back my own tears and sit at the edge of her bed to hold her hand. “Babies can feel everything their mother is. If you’re upset, he’ll be upset. Let’s take a few deep breaths.” I breathe in and out to model what I’m looking for. “Good, you’re doing so great. You love this little boy so much; I know it has to be hard on you and him. He’s used to eating whenever he wants while still inside you. Life outside is scary.” I glance at the crib. “Do you want to try skin-to-skin? If you’re not ready, that’s okay.” She nods, and I unwrap baby Caleb out of his swaddle and change his diaper. “Are you ready? Again, it’s okay if you’re not.” She nods again, and I place him on her chest, resting his head on her heart. “Such a sweet boy. Don’t worry about feeding him right now.” I stroke his soft head. “A fed baby is a happy baby. It’s okay to supplement with formula; whatever you’re comfortable with, we’ll make sure he’s getting enough calories. Right now, your only job is to let this beautiful boy know how much you love him.”

“I love him so much, but I’m not meant to be a mom.” She keeps breathing in through her nose and out through hermouth, but I ignore her comment. Based on her chart, the dad isn’t in the picture. I can’t imagine raising a child on my own. Ingrid was prepared to do it if Cay wasn’t ready to be a dad, but in case she knows my sister-in-law, I wouldn’t dare divulge it.

“Life takes lots of twists and turns. Take some time to love on yourself.”

“I just had a baby; I don’t want to be…”

“Selfish?” I ask. She replies with a nod. “You made this beautiful child. It’s not selfish to take care of yourself.” I should probably take my own advice, but when is there time? “I need to finish a round, but if you need anything, I’ll be here in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

She offers a sweet smile, then kisses the top of her sweet baby’s head. I finish the rest of my evening and pass off everything to the next shift, ensuring my new favorite patient has the best nurse on staff.

Once I’m home, I don’t have the mental or emotional capacity to take a shower. I rush upstairs, set an alarm for ninety minutes to leave in time to meet Dani. The moment my head hits the pillow, I cry.

travis

. . .

After a week away on the dozers, I’m due back at the station. I’m grateful for a chance to see firsthand how these workers help finish containing the fires and clean up the mess the blaze left behind. It reminds me of when I was a kid and would join my dad on his jobsite. He may or may not have let me sit on his lap as he drove an excavator or two around a job site. As an adult, I’m just glad OSHA never knew.

As I’m pushing burned rubble into a pile to be scooped into a truck, one of the guys veers too far to the left, nicking a tree enough for it to topple over. It feels like slow motion, the tree teetering for a moment before coming right for me. I scramble out of the bulldozer, unsure if the metal above me is enough to withstand that kind of fall. With seconds to spare, I exit in time as it indents exactly where my head would be.

The noise of the equipment is too loud, and it makes a hell of a sense that my dad’s voice was constantly booming when I was a kid. How the hell does anyone get anything done when you can’t hear each other?

A few men rush over to inspect the damage. Thankfully, the dozer isn’t immovable and a few of them pull their equipment over to shift the tree off the cab. Once it’s off, I hop into it and test to make sure I can drive it. After a thumbs up, they shout for me to pull it off the site.

I can’t imagine what the wives and husbands of this crew must go through. It’s not easy being a spouse of a firefighter, but for the construction crew who comes in—especially when a fire is still active—their spouses must also worry constantly about their safety.

Is this what Cass would go through if we got married? Would she worry constantly that I’m safe? I hope she’d know I would do everything in my power to come back to her in one piece.

With the night crew coming in, it’s already after sunset when a crack of a tree snapping has all of us looking around to see where it’s coming from. With the spotlights sporadic, I’m barely able to see it several yards ahead, a little too close to one of the men finishing a scoop with a backhoe loader. Without thinking, I spring into action, rushing toward the danger like a fucking idiot. I can’t stop the tree from falling, but if he’s injured, I can help.

If he had stayed in the cab, he would’ve been safer. The tree fell too far to the right and caught his ankle. I make it to him in record time and begin scooping debris to the left and right of his leg to free it. He tugs and I shout, “Don’t pull, it could break more of your leg!” He nods, wincing in pain as other men rush over to help me move the earth around him while we wait for a claw excavator to shift the tree.

After several minutes, we’re almost able to free his leg. I hop over and strip off my safety vest to tie it around his leg at his calf. The tree is lifted off him and my makeshift tourniquet will have to hold him over until we can get him to a hospital.

“Let’s get him in the truck, I’ll take him to the emergency room!” A few men help him to my truck and the cab door barely shuts before I’m peeling away from the jobsite. I call the hospital, but no one is answering. Checking the time, I realize Cass should be on shift. I click the messages option on my truck’s LED screen, and voice, “Text Cassidy.”

“What do you want to text Cassidy Rogers?”

“Leg fracture incoming from the fire clean up. Please make sure someone is ready for him.”

“Sending ‘Peg capture coming from the tire clean up. Cake is sure ready for Kim.’”

“Mother fucker! What the hell?”

A minute down the road, she hasn’t responded, and I call the hospital again. As soon as one of the operators picks up, I go through the motions and am finally connected to someone in the ER. “Hi, I’m transporting… Fuck, what is your name?”

“Chad Smith,” he groans.

“Chad? Fucking hell, I’m sorry… I’m transportingChadto the emergency room. A tree fell in the fire clean up; landed on his ankle. I’ll be there in twenty-seven minutes. Please make sure someone is available with a gurney.”

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