Page 89 of Jump

“I could call your mom?” I offer. “She deserves to know you’re injured.”

“She only has a couple months to live.” Rory’s voice crackles with a pain she locks down tight. “She deserves to think I’m living my best life. I’ll call her tonight and chat like we always do, then I’ll continue my trek home in a few days.”

“She’ll notice the giant fucking metal plate in your leg, kid. Then she’ll get cranky you kept it from her.”

“Better she’s cranky with me right beside her, than worrying and all alone. She’s running out of time, Lieutenant. I’d rather that time was spent in peace, and not being anxious about me. Besides,” her lips curl into a smile. “You promised cute doctors and stuff.”

* * *

I sit with Rory for an hour or two. Could be three, considering the sun lowering in the sky and the blitz being waged on my phone—though going ignored.

While the young woman sleeps, her slender neck trapped in a brace, and her long hair matted from a crappy day and dried blood, I settle back in the visitor chair with my knees bent in front of my chest, and my feet propped up on the bedrail in front of me.

Nurses come by throughout the day, but they merely pat my shoulder and go about their work. They know me here; every first responder knows one another, in a town this size. But it’s worse, because they also knew Ainsley. And they knew I was Ainsley’s.

That means every time a nurse moseys through to see Rory, they give me that pitying smile that says they know who I am, even if we’ve never formally met. They squeeze my arm and hum in the back of their throat. The sound that says, Oh, that poor, pitiful boy. How sad his life must be.

When the dinner cart rolls around at six, I make sure to steal a tray for Rory, even though she still sleeps. The grilled chicken and nasty-ass steamed vegetables are already cold, even before being left to sit for another hour. But a starving person will eat, no matter how cold the food is. So I set her meal tray aside for later and sit forward in my chair.

My ass is numb, and my phone is finally quiet. Footsteps echo along the halls, so familiar now, I can almost count steps and know which belong to whom. So I focus on those and push Ainsley from my mind.

She wants to haunt me today. To play with my head and fuck everything up. And when she’s not intruding in my life, Ivy pops up.

Her impulsivity. Her free-spirited smile, and her fearlessness. She could be an amazing firefighter, if not for the fact she scares the shit out of me.

Her very existence, her refusal to be compliant on the job, will be the reason one of us meets an early grave. Either herself, because she rushed into an unsafe situation, or me, because she stresses me the fuck out.

We’re at a point where it’s her or me. My job or hers.

It’s for her own good that I transfer her out of my house. Not because I don’t like her, and not because I think she’s incapable of doing the job. It’s for my own sanity.

And that’s an asset I’d like to keep.

“Lieutenant?”

I twist at a gentle knock on the door, and narrow my eyes when I find Detective Drake Banks shadowing the doorway.

He’s a plainclothes cop who prefers jeans and a button-up shirt. He keeps a little stubble on his face, and his dark hair combed back. He likes how he looks—and likes even more that women respond positively to his efforts.

But standing before me now, he swallows so I catch the movement in his throat, then he hooks a thumb over his shoulder, “Axel’s here. He’s been trying to get ahold of you for a while.”

“I told him I’d be out for a bit.” I turn my back on him and face Rory again. “Nix is on, and I asked for time out. It’s all good on my end.”

“Nah, it’s… um…” He clears his throat nervously, setting my instincts on full alert. “Viv has been checked into the emergency room.”

“What?!” I shove up from my chair so the feet scrape along the floor and startle Rory awake. Her machines bleat and a pained whimper rolls along her throat. “What the hell happened? Is she okay?”

Not waiting for his response, I start through the door and skid into the hallway. Nurses bustle by, doing their jobs and taking care of patients… but they’re not emergency patients.

I’m not even on the right floor!

I spin toward the stairwell, sliding on the floor before getting traction. My heart thunders with panic, and my brain aches, but I slam through the door and sprint down the concrete steps, two and three at a time. I snatch my phone on the fly and risk tripping and breaking my neck as I read my screen.

Texts from Viv: the ones I already saw and ignored, then a few more asking me to check in. She’s worried. She just wants to know I’m fine. A missed call, then silence for an hour.

Then another missed call from her, followed by a half dozen from Axel. Another handful from Nix.

“Fuck!” I stumble on the bottom step and crash into the door with a loud thump, before pulling back and swinging it open to reveal the emergency room, bustling with noise and bodies.

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