Page 22 of Always Heated

“What vehicle are you driving?”

“Dark gray pickup.”

“All right, sir, I’ll make sure staff is notified and ready.”

We hang up, and I make it to the hospital in twenty-one minutes. I’m just glad Ashlyn and the sheriffs weren’t out tonight.

cassidy

. . .

“Did you hear? The ER had all of the fun tonight,” Lucy swoons in longing.

Combing through two new patient charts, I grumble, “What are you going on about?”

“There was someone brought in from the fire clean up. Nothing crazy, just a broken ankle, maybe a fibula. They have all the fun down there.”

“Fire?” I pause, setting down the chart.

“Exciting, right? Yeah, it beats how slow today has been. Am I right?”

I pull out my phone which is normally on vibrate. I must’ve accidentally set it to silent, finding a text from Travis.

Travis

Peg capture coming from the tire clean up. Cake is sure ready for Kim.

Peg capture? Cake?

It takes me a moment to decipher what has to be the worst autocorrect in the history of time and message him back.

Leg fracture?

I heard someone came in from the fire. Is it you? Are you okay?

My knee bounces for several minutes while I wait on a reply. When there’s no answer, I call him, but it only reaches his voicemail. I double check the time it was sent; two hours ago. “Fuck,” I mutter, but it’s loud enough for Lucy to hear.

“What’s wrong? Is dinner late?”

“Dinner?” I frown up at her. “No. Why would you say that?”

“Because you’ve had dinner delivered all week, or at least every shift we’ve worked together. It’s slow. Do you want to take a break and— Just kidding! There it is!”

A man with a brown handle bag that has stickers from a delivery service approaches. “I have an order for Cassidy Rogers.”

“That’s me,” I answer, though I still have no idea who has been sending me dinner. He sets it on the counter, snaps a photo for proof of delivery, then rushes off. There’s no receipt attached to the bag; I peer inside, finding a burrito. “Hello, little friend. Who sent you?” Talking to Mexican food is probably the lowest of lows. Yet, here we are.

“Oof, who is he? I don’t recognize him as one of the dads,” Lucy muses.

“Who?” I glance up, finding Zack walking toward us. “Oh. Shit. He’s the burrito man.” I didn’t mean to say it aloud, but my filter is all fucked up today.

“Hi there,” she flirts. “Are you lost, sir?”

He pierces me with his bright blue eyes. “No, I’m actually here to see Cass.”

Shit, fuck, shit!

Why is he here?

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