Page 55 of Love, Just In

I know that Zac’s under pressure and wouldn’t intend to sound so harsh, but this is a constant battle between trauma response teams and the media. Of course, I knownot everyone understands that we play our own integral role in these situations, but when it’s Zac taking this view, it disorients me. I want his approval. I want him to love every part of me like I do every part of him.

‘You go,’ I say to him, even though I’m not done with my questions.

His eyes flicker back to mine, his brow lining. ‘No, it’s OK. I didn’t mean—’

One of the other paramedics shouts for Zac, and he twists around. Another small body is being hefted out of the house on a stretcher, and I hear something about ‘not breathing’ before Zac dashes back over.

‘Shit, sorry,’ Gemma says to me, her eyes wide. ‘I didn’t mean to piss him off.’

‘It’s fine. I actually know that guy. In fact, he’s my housemate.’

‘Wow, really?’

I watch from afar as Zac looks closely into the child’s face, checks their pulse and airway, then rushes them behind a privacy wall, possibly to begin CPR. Horror grips me everywhere—for the child, for their parents—and for Zac, who only recently felt ready to return to devastating scenes like these. A desperate need to go over to him and see if he’s all right takes hold of me, but I shake it off, knowing I can’t.

Overwhelmed and beginning to shiver, I tell Gemma that we should probably head back so an editor can cut the story in time for the late news.

*

I arrive home to an empty house, save for the sweet-faced dog wiggling her tail at me. I scoop up Trouble for a cuddle, letting her soothe my shaken nerves before I shower and change, a heaviness in every step I take. I heat up a plate of beef goulash that Zac made last night, leaving plenty for him. While I sit at the counter and attempt to eat, I search for the latest news on the house fire.

Mercifully, no more children have died since the one Zac mentioned, but two are in critical condition in hospital. The image of a tiny body lying motionless on a stretcher clings to my vision, and I blink away tears until a well-timed text from Lola diverts my attention.

LOLA:I’m sure today was really hard, but every story like this raises important awareness about fire safety, and I think you told it just right. It was informative and empathetic. Inspired by you. Hope you’re OK.

I’ve only known Lola a short time, but I already feel so lucky to have met her. I type a reply right away.

ME:Thank you so much. You’re right, a hard day, but hearing this helps. I might need a hug tomorrow.

LOLA:You’re on, lovely. x

I’m scraping most of my dinner into the bin when the front door pushes open.

‘Hey,’ Zac says, kicking off his shoes and crouching to give Trouble a scratch.

‘Hey. Are you OK? Do you want some goulash?’

‘No. And no. But thanks.’ He strides past me to grab a beer from the fridge, a crease etched into his brow as he twists off the bottle cap.

‘Oh my god, you’re bleeding!’ I dart towards the dried streak of red running down the back of his neck.

He presses a hand to it. ‘Am I? No, that’s not my blood.’

‘Oh.’ My gut hollows.

He downs a third of his beer in one gulp. ‘I need a shower badly, sorry. It was late when I got back to the station from the hospital, and to be honest, I just wanted to get the hell out of there.’

‘Don’t apologise.’ I give him a supportive look. ‘Are you OK?’

He sighs. ‘I’ll be fine. But today was a hard one. No amount of training can prepare you for the jobs with little kids involved.’

‘I know.’

He leans against the counter, his face torn up. ‘We lost a little boy tonight.’

I gently squeeze his forearm through his uniform. ‘You did everything you could. Everything. And I’m so sorry for that family. I cried all the way home.’

I wince internally. Zac was working to save lives tonight, and here I am, searching for sympathy. But he lays his hand over mine where I’m still holding his arm.

---