Page 1 of Memories with Fire

CHAPTER 1

HAILEY

“The wayyou shoved it into that guy’s ass was delectable, Hails.”

Quinn Kelly, my partner in crime, other half at work, and best friend, beams proudly from the driver’s seat of the ambulance. I groan at the way she says it—purposely, I’m sure, because that’s Quinn for you.

“Jesus, Quinn, can you not say it like that?” I mutter from the passenger seat, flicking a piece of dried mud from my uniform. “He had that cop on the ground, what was I supposed to do? Nothing?”

“I’m just surprised my risk averse bestie was willing to stick her neck out like that.” Quinn glances at me and grins, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. “It was badass.”

She’s right. I prefer safe calls, but I know there’s a level of risk involved with being a paramedic. Normally, law enforcement deals with that side of things, but they were definitely fighting an uphill battle with the patient who needed a hospital for behavioral issues. Quinn and I had the needle full of a sedative at the ready, but we were trying to stay out of the tussle. Until an opportunity presented itself, and the guy had his ass in the air, completely distracted by the officers on scene. One little needle prick later, and he wasn’t a problem anymore.

Not before we all ended up covered in mud the guy was flinging when we first got there. It’s in our hair and covers our uniforms, and I can’t wait to have a shower when we get back to the station.

“It’s not a big deal,” I mutter, pulling my phone out of my pocket when I feel it vibrate against my leg. “God damn it.”

“What?” Quinn looks over, chuckling when I show her the screen. ‘Mom’ with a picture of my mother and me flashes on the screen. In a chipper tone I don’t feel, Quinn singsongs, “She wants to know all about your date last night with George.”

The blind date from hell. Ugh. I don’t know what my mother was thinking, setting me up on it—or the other five brilliant blind dates she’s set me up on in the last two months. She has the best intentions when it comes to my dating life, I know she does, but I don’t want the help she insists on providing. I always cave when she begs me to go, though. There’s nothing worse than disappointing her.

Quinn already knows the hell I went through last night. She heard all about it while we were getting ready this morning, thankfully keeping her laughter to a minimum. I wonder if that’ll be the case this time around.

Swiping to answer the call, I put it on speakerphone. I could ignore it, but I know she’ll just keep calling all day until she gets answers.

“Hi mom.”

There’s no preamble as she launches into, “How did it go with George?”

Heaving a sigh, I tell her, “Where do you want me to start? The oversized, noisy truck that could wake up the other side of the world? The heavy metal music blaring on the speakers? Or the band t-shirt he was wearing?” Flicking another piece of mud off my uniform, I wrinkle my nose. I’ll need to clean it off the floor later.

“What’s wrong with band t-shirts? He’s just expressing himself.”

I roll my eyes. “I get that, but it’s not my type. He was not my type. Mom, he had this scraggly beard that went down to his chest, and he took me for spicy food. Which would be fine if your date likes spicy, but we both know that I can’t stand it.”

“You could ask for mild, you know,” my mom interjects, sounding personally offended that I didn’t enjoy my time. I can picture her at the kitchen table in the house I grew up in, tapping her fingers against it as her coffee sits near her hand.

Beside me, Quinn tries to muffle a laugh, and I shoot her a dirty look.

“Okay, well, if that’s not enough, he ran into two friends, didn’t bother to introduce me, talked with them for ten minutes each, and then took me to the skate park. The fucking skate park, mom,” I grumble into the phone, still not believing I went through with the whole date.

I should have made him take me home after dinner, but I’m not that smart. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s watching people do dangerous stunts. In my profession, I deal with too much of the aftermath to enjoy watching things where people can get hurt. Social media posts where people do the dumbest crap, and a million things could go wrong, make me wonder how natural selection hasn’t intervened.

“You want to know the kicker?” I ask, flicking a large piece of caked mud from my knee. I don’t wait for her response. “He bailed so hard that he screamed like a baby, and I thought I was going to have to drive him to the emergency room. Turned out to be a scraped elbow.”

“So, what you’re telling me is that it didn’t go well?” she asks, making me want to scream in frustration.I refrain, somehow.

“No, mom, it didn’t go well.”

“Oh, thank god.”

“What?” Both Quinn and I say at the same time, my head swiveling to look at her, her doing the same to me. I add, “I’m sorry, I think I misheard you.”

“No, I’m glad you didn’t have a good time.” She’s casual. Nonchalant. As if this response is completely acceptable.

“You do recall you’re the one that set me up, right?” I ask, semi-recovered from my mild shock. “I wouldn’t have gone on the stupid date if it weren’t for you.”

“You don’t know why I’m saying I’m glad.”

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