Page 68 of Eligible Best Friend

Each word’s an arrow that punctures the target with cruel precision. “Losing the one you love because they’re so damn stubborn.”

* * *

Lia

When I arrive at work on Tuesday, I don’t see Ford right away. I spent days dreading running into him again, yet it was the one thing that sustained me through the hours until now. The thought that maybe he worked out a solution where we could stay together and he could see his boy.

But my phone remained silent.

Both of my parents heard the story over breakfast before Dad drove me to the airport. We talked the whole way. He surprised me with all his questions about my work and when the best time to visit is. Then Dad was gone and I started my life again as a single woman flying to a different state. I made the same mistake again. The only people I know are through work and through Ford.

Why can’t I learn?

I won’t have to worry about that changing. He’ll be gone in less than two weeks and I’ll be starting my new course. Maybe I’ll meet some friends there.

Still no Ford, but Russel Hayes is lingering around the rig I’m assigned.

Shit. Did he switch with Russel? I don’t want to be on the douche crew.

Russel lifts his chin when he sees me. “You’re with me today, rookie.”

Is he serious? “Not a rookie,” I call as I go to the locker room to unload my change of clothes.

Back out in the bay, we get updated, and no matter how much I fantasize about it lasting an hour or two, it only takes minutes. Soon, Russel and I are on duty.

“You’re driving, rookie.”

I roll my eyes and do as he says. When I’m a paramedic, I’m going to use him as an example to my trainees of how not to act.

Our first call comes in right away, saving me from hours of Russel reminding me how to do the simplest aspect of a job I’ve been doing all year.

“Fifty-two-year-old male struck by a motor vehicle…”

Mentally, I’m scrolling through a list of what could be wrong and what materials we need. As we pull up to the intersection, there’s a figure lying by the curb, a small crowd circled around him. Police officers are directing traffic and Officer Nelson gets out of a second police car and waves us over.

I park and Russel jumps out, leaving me to do the grunt work. Ass.

I haul out the cot with the jump bag secured on top and hurry after Russel. I aim for the patient, but I’m waylaid by a man in his thirties wearing a suit and tie. I keep walking. Unless the man was hit by the car, he’s not my priority. I’ve learned the hard way to get to the patient first. Witnesses will talk my ear off about what they saw while a hit-and-run victim bleeds out.

“I’m a doctor.” His offer doesn’t make us pause.

Russel’s tone is almost bored. “What kind of doctor?”

“Excuse me?”

He sends the man an annoyed look, his chin lifted like a Roman emperor. “What’s your specialty?”

“I’m-I’m a dermatologist.”

“If we find an irregular mole, we’ll let you know.”

My eyes flare. Ford’s never that rude. To anyone. It’s a regular occurrence to have a nurse or doctor stop to help. Emergency medicine may not be their specialty, and they might not even be trained in first responder skills, but at the very least, we politely thank them for the offer of assistance.

“Did you see the accident?” I ask as soon as Russel stomps away.

He rips his frown off my partner and shakes his head. “I heard it and helped him off the road.” His lips form an apologetic smile. “He was going for the curb whether he had help or not. I tried to minimize any damage. All doctors do rotations in the ER.”

“Will you hang around in case we have any more questions?”

---