Page 92 of Branded Hearts

“Ye-yeah,” he stammers, his voice trembling.

“Alright, champ. Don’t move, paramedics are here,” I reassure him, signalling for the paramedics to come over. Faulkner and I head to the other car where the young couple is. Paramedics are already there, assessing the scene. One of them checks the girl’s pulse, but she just shakes her head. My heart sinks as I realise she’s gone. I exchange a grim look with Faulkner before focusing on the young man. He’s starting to come to, eyes bloodshot, pupils wide, words slurred. He’s jittery, shaking like a leaf. Faulkner’s nearby, radioing for backup and coordinating.

“Get him tested. And the old guy, too. Just to be sure,” Faulkner orders, nodding toward the man in the car. I acknowledge him and call over Stokes, who’s nearby.

A paramedic leans in, talking gently to the young man as he wakes up. “Sir, can you hear me? What’s your name?”

The man blinks rapidly, his eyes darting around in confusion. “Where... where’m I?” he slurs.

“You were in a car accident,” the nurse explains calmly. “We’re here to help you. My name is Jenny. Can you tell me your name?”

The man struggles to focus, eyes darting around. He starts to panic, movements erratic.

“Yeah, Mitchell?” Stokes interrupts, finally reaching me.

“Run some tests,” I instruct. “Check for alcohol or other substances in his system. We need to know what we’re dealing with here.”

Just by the look of him—dilated pupils, shaking body, and track marks on his arms—I have a sinking feeling. This can’t be good.

He looks to be under the influence of something, and it’s only adding to the chaos of the situation.

Meanwhile, paramedics pry open the Hilux’s doors and extract the woman, covering her with a sheet, shielding her. They move to the young man next, easing him out onto a stretcher. Stokes moves in, explaining the testing process.

I turn to the old man next. “What’s your name, sir? Is there anyone we can call?”

“My name… is Hank Parkinson,” he croaks out. “My wife, Lorelai—she’s at home. I’ve got a daughter, Zoe, but she don’t live round here no more. Please, call my wife.” I nod, noting down the information, and move to make the call as the chaos of the scene continues around us.

Stokes returns with a grim expression. “Positive reading for drugs.” I nod, acknowledging the information, and thenturn to alert the paramedics. They quickly make arrangements to transport all victims to the hospital, with Faulkner and I accompanying them.

At the hospital, we wait outside the young man’s room, our expressions reflecting the gravity of the situation. Faulkner leans against the wall, arms crossed, deep in thought.

“This is messed up, mate,” Stokes comments, joining us. “Never a dull day in this job.”

I nod, my gaze fixed on the closed door of the hospital room. “Yeah.”

As I stand there, my mind replays the events that unfolded after the accident. Once they cleaned up the gash on his head and bandaged his broken arm, we informed the young man of his actions under the influence of drugs, driving recklessly, and endangering innocent people. Another series of tests were conducted to confirm drug use, and they came back positive,again. Now, the young man puts up a fit, trying to wriggle out of the handcuffs that hold him to the bed.

Faulkner steps in, his tone stern. “You’re being charged with dangerous driving resulting in death, which is a criminal offence under the Crimes Act. You’ll be taken back to the station to be processed. There’ll be an upcoming court hearing, and a decision will be made on your bail, if granted,” he continues, detailing the process.

Given the seriousness of this offence, it’s unlikely he’ll be receiving bail.

As Faulkner continues to speak, I zone out for a moment, fixating on the thought that a young woman lost her life today due to thisbloke’s negligence. An innocent elderly man was injured because of his recklessness. The weight of it all settles heavily on my shoulders, a stark reminder of the fragility of life and the devastating consequences of careless actions.

I give Stokes a nod, then head out, back to the station to sort through the damn paperwork and deal with the courts—leaving Faulkner to deal with the rest. The weight of the day settles hard on my shoulders as I make my way back. I get lost in the grind, minutes stretching into hours, til it’s twenty passed five in the fucking afternoon. My heart sinks when I realise I was supposed to be at Amelia’s by five, and I haven’t had a damn minute to message or call her. I quickly pull out my phone to call Amelia, but it goes straight to voicemail. Fuck. I shoot her a text.

But there’s no reply. I rush to finish up at work, making the necessary calls to Beaumont Creek jail before leaving the station right at five thirty. On my way, I stop at the local florist, picking out their largest bunch of white and pink lilies and grabbing a bottle of rosé.

Inside the shop, I notice a few odd looks from the locals. Some greet me, and one young woman even strikes up a conversation. I’m too preoccupied to figure out if she’s just being polite or flirting,so I move quickly. As I leave, it dawns on me why they were giving me those strange looks: I'm in my officer’s uniform, carrying wine and a massive bouquet. Didn’t think that through too well, did I? But honestly, I couldn’t care less.

I pull up beside Amelia’s Holden Barina. My heart pounds fiercely in my chest as I walk up to their door and knock. I can hear conversations and squeals from inside, likely from her niece. For the first time in what seems like forever, I’m fuckingnervous.

When the door opens, my breath catches as I meet Amelia’s gaze. Surprise flickers across her face, evident in the way her big brown eyes widen as she takes in my presence. She’s dressed casually, in blue jeans, a green top, and a white apron, her hands instinctively wiping on the apron as she gazes at me.

“Hey, sunshine.”

“Brad,” she says, all breathy, the sound travelling straight down to my groin.

“I’m so sorry I’m late. I got called into work at the last minute.”

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