Page 11 of Her Paramedic
Slate watched her get into her car and pull off before getting in his and heading home. He needed the week to speed by.
3
Slate sat in the driver’s seat of the ambulance in their assigned district, reading a book, and his partner played some handheld game as they waited for the next call or their shift to end. They had an hour left, but he knew better than to assume they’d get through it without another call or to say so aloud. Doing so was almost always a definite jinx.
“Damn it,” Jonah cursed, and he knew the other man had lost whatever he was playing. With what he was playing, he was having a streak of bad luck tonight. Slate heard more muttered curses than the usual excited, “Fuck yeah!”
He didn’t ask, wanting to avoid getting caught up in another conversation aboutMinecraftorAnimal Crossing, where he had no idea what was being discussed.
“Tonight has been—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” Slate cut him off. The last thing they needed was for Jonah to speak those doomed words and for something crazy to happen.
Jonah laughed. “Fine. You have plans for tomorrow?”
“I do,” he responded, flipping the page.
“That’s right. You spend your weekends working on that pile of metal in your garage.”
Slate turned his attention to him. “Careful, kid. That’s a classic you’re talking about.”
“Sure, sure. It was the best car back when you were in your prime. Was that before or after color television was invented?”
Slate snorted. “That joke wasn’t funny the first time; it doesn’t grow in humor the more you use it.”
Jonah enjoyed ribbing Slate about their age difference. From the moment they were paired together a year ago, he took whatever chance he could to joke about the decade between them. Slate didn’t mind the jokes. They spent too much time together for something like that to bother him, and he knew it was in good fun.
He didn’t feel the need to correct him. Typically, he would have worked on the car he was restoring, but he was taking Talia out. She was coming to town at one, and if he were lucky, he’d get her to agree to spend the rest of the day with him.
“What are your plans for tomorrow?” Slate asked.
“A few friends and I are getting together to watch a new season of that show I was telling you about. It drops at midnight.”
“Dispatch to unit seventeen.” Broke through the radio.
Slate picked up the radio. “Seventeen, go ahead.”
“We have a bravo code ten at 543 Whitaker. Occupant requesting assistance.”
Slate refrained from rolling his eyes as Jonah groaned. They were familiar with the address. There wasn’t a week that went by without a call from the occupant, Mr. Mormont, that something was wrong with him. Ninety-five percent of the time, he was fine.
“Copy that dispatch; we’re en route.”
He tossed his book onto the dashboard, turned on the lights, and pulled out of the parking lot in the center of their district, which they liked to sit in.
“What’s the chances of him actually needing assistance and not just looking for someone to talk to?” Jonah asked when they stopped in front of Mr. Mormont’s residence.
Slim,Slate thought, but didn’t voice. Mr. Mormont was one of the healthiest people he’d met. Even at eighty years old, heseemed to take good care of himself. Except for the occasional cold or flu, the man was as healthy as an ox. Mr. Mormont suffered from loneliness. From what they’d learned over the last year of treating him, his wife had died a little over a year ago. They had no kids, so now he was alone.
They grabbed their bags from the back, opting to leave the stretcher. Dispatch stated it was a code bravo, and unless he’d substantially worsened in the four minutes it took them to get to him, Slate didn’t see them needing it. He strongly suspected they wouldn’t be taking him to the hospital.
“Mr. Mormont,” Slate called as he knocked on the door. “Emergency services.”
“It’s open!”
They found Mr. Mormont sitting in his overstuffed, easy chair. The man almost perked up when he saw them.
“If it isn’t my favorite paramedics.”
