Page 88 of Rescued Faith

TWENTY-EIGHT

Usually Bryce looked forward to his work shift. But then again, he wasn’t usually left out of a once-in-a-lifetime Last Chance party like the Governor’s Ball. And it didn’t help that Penny was there too. Probably looking gorgeous in the red formal gown he’d caught a peek of when Andi had pulled it out of her closet and handed it to Penny.

But like it or not, law enforcement and emergency services were spread thin, and someone had to work the rescue truck tonight. Maybe he wouldn’t feel so useless if he and Olivia had found something when they’d knocked on doors of known militia members and canvassed the area earlier. The whole day felt like a bust.

He stared at the computer on the desk he shared with the other lieutenants. He was about to check his phone for a message when the rescue tones went off. He sprang off the chair and jogged to the bay. Zack met him there.

The dispatcher’s voice called out over the speaker system. “Rescue Squad 5, please respond with extrication for nine-year-old child trapped in a railing. They are conscious and breathing at this time.”

Zack grinned. “What do you think, stairs or playground equipment? I’m guessing playground.”

“Let’s go find out.” Anything to be doing something. Bryce hopped behind the wheel and started the engine. He drove to the address sent to their truck. It was on the outskirts of the town, down a dirt road. The small farmhouse was freshly painted, the yard tidy.

Bryce looked at Zack. “Stairs. Definitely stairs.”

They walked up to the front porch. A woman in a sleek black dress and high heels met them at the door. “Thank you so much for coming. I don’t know how—wait. You’re Coach Bryce, right?”

“That’s me.”

“I’m Gloria.” She showed them inside. “My son is on your baseball team. Martín.”

“Martín is caught?” The little guy was a bundle of high energy. But he was a smart kid too. “How did he do that?”

“You’ll have to ask him. We were on our way to the Governor’s Ball, and the next thing I know…this.” She led them through the entry into the living room, where sure enough, Martín’s head stuck out between elegant iron posts halfway up to the second floor.

No sign of Martín’s usual grin or mischievous smirk today. In fact, Bryce had never seen the boy looking so glum.

“Hey, bud, don’t worry. My friend Zack and I will get you right out.” Bryce set down his toolbox.

“I hoped it would be you, Coach,” Martín said.

“Guess it’s your lucky day.” Bryce winked.

“It wasn’t luck. I know you have Tuesdays off for ball, and I figured out your schedule.” His big brown eyes were starting to show a bit of their usual glint.

Zack chuckled. “You’re smart all right. So how’d you get your head stuck?”

Martín’s mouth clamped shut.

His mother wrung her hands together. “Can you get him out? I don’t care what you have to do to the railing. We’ll get that fixed. Just set him free.”

Within a few minutes, Zack and Bryce pried the bars far apart enough for Martín to slip his head back through. As far as rescues went, this was one of the easiest.

As soon as the boy was back on the first floor, Gloria looked him over and hugged him. “Are you okay?” She kissed his cheek, leaving a bright pink lipstick mark.

“Sí, Mamá. I’m fine.” He wiped his cheek.

Maybe it was embarrassment that had him so quiet. Zack packed up their tools while Bryce tried to reassure his friend. “Everyone gets in a pickle sometimes. I’m glad I was here to help. And that your mom called us right away.”

Martín nodded but didn’t say anything.

Even Gloria looked worried. She knelt in front of her son. “Mijo,are you sure you’re all right?”

Martín looked from his mother to Bryce and back again. Something was definitely off.

“Why don’t you take these out to the truck. I’ll be right there.” Bryce handed his tools to Zack. As soon as he left, Bryce got down on his knees to be eye level with Martín.

The stitches in his leg pulled, but he ignored them. “It’s okay. You can tell me anything. Did something happen?” He could see the boy getting in trouble and not wanting to tell his mother.

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