Tank (Moonshine Task Force Book 2)(3)
When the firefighters crack the door open and motion us over, I hesitate. For the first time in my career I hesitate and I don’t know if I can look at this man I love, but can’t seem to make a relationship work with. What if this is the last time I see him? What if the last memories he has of me is not answering one of his texts. Because now I know he didn’t get the one I sent minutes before, warning him. The first one I’ve sent him in months, and he never got it.
This instant, I say a promise. If he texts again, I’ll answer. If he calls, I’ll call him back. No more of this back and forth teenage bullshit we’ve been pulling on one another. It’s time to be adults and admit how we feel. And if he’s willing to give me a chance when he wakes up from this – fuck who was right and who was wrong – we face it head on and both apologize.
“C’mon, Blaze,” Logan grabs my arm, pulling me to the smoking carcass of the vehicle. “He needs us. He needs you.”
My feet move, but it’s like they’re being held down by a bunch of boulders and I’m drowning in a sea I can’t swim my way out of. I’m fighting against a riptide of emotion and it’s threatening to pull me under. When I finally get to the truck, I look in, unprepared for what I see. Trevor looks dead. He’s gray, his head lists to the side, and I can’t make out his chest moving underneath the thin material of his t-shirt. I’m scared to see what’s under the mangled dashboard – at the very least he’s got a sprain, but given the angle of his leg, I’m willing to bet he has a compound fracture. His chest looks like it took the brunt of some of the force too; airbags are deployed, taking up space in the cab of the truck. No doubt about it, those airbags saved his life.
“He’s breathing,” Logan is taking his vitals, putting a c-collar around his neck, and preparing to get him on a board. “But it’s not regular. Snap the fuck out of it, Blaze. Get it together and let’s get him help.”
It’s then that Trevor makes a pitiful noise in his throat. The noise cuts me to the bone and pulls a moan from my throat. He must be in so much damn pain. The noise spurs me on, makes me run back to the ambulance and get the board we’ll need to transport him. It’s a blur as we get him on the board and in the back of the ambulance. Logan looks at me. “You want to drive or sit back here with him?”
“With him, I wouldn’t be good driving. I wanna be back here, making sure he’s comfortable until we hand his care over.”
Logan nods, and we race like hell for the helipad where the air evac will meet us to take him to the nearest trauma center an hour away. I administer anything and everything I can to make him more comfortable, watching his low blood pressure and heart rate with a critical eye. My gaze runs down his broken and bloodied face with tears streaming down my own. I always joke about how pretty he is. With blood oozing from above his eye, running down a now slightly crooked nose, and stopping at his beard, he looks like an MMA fighter. One that’s gone four rounds with the baddest motherfucker out there. I want to take this pain away from him, to make him sit up in this bed and bitch me out for not answering his texts.
The way Trevor and I left our relationship wasn’t good. We had unfinished business, and I swore we’d get around to it, but lately I’ve ignored his texts because I know he doesn’t understand. In this instant, I blame myself for the misunderstanding. It would have been easy for me to lay everything out for him and just be honest. Instead, I’ve been playing a game, hoping he’ll decide I’m worth all the trouble when I decide to give him a chance again. I keep saying it’s not fair of him to ask me to give up my job, but it’s also not fair of me to not be straightforward with him. I’ve never wanted a man who insisted I stay at home, but fuck it, I would for Trevor. I truly think I would for him.
We loved each other, and I took it for granted, imagined we had all the time in the world. With my past, I should have known – accidents happen. Time isn’t always on our side, I should’ve known.
It’s the biggest regret I’ve ever had right now. Giving my report to the air evac nurse over the radio, I see I have two minutes left with him. Two minutes to make him want to fight, to let him know exactly how I feel about him. Wiping the tears off my face and clearing my throat, I lean down to his ear, hoping like hell he can hear me. If there’s any time for me to be honest with him and lay my heart bare, it’s right now.
“Trevor, you fight. You fight for me, your mom and dad, your sister, your niece, and you fight for what we tried to throw away. I didn’t want to listen before, but I’m listening now,” my voice falters and cracks. “I love you, and I want a chance to make this work. Please don’t give up on me. Don’t give up on us.” I lean down, kissing him on the forehead, pushing his sweaty hair back, knowing how badly he’d be irritated that the curly link had escaped and was now in his face.
The ambulance comes to a stop and it’s the worst feeling to hand his care over to someone else. Even if I do know the nurse and she assures me she’ll do the best she can to get him to the hospital with the greatest chance of survival.
Standing as close as they’ll let me, I fight against the wind, pushing my hair back from my face as the helicopter takes off. I watch until I can no longer see it’s rotating blades in the dying sun.
With startling clarity, I know I can’t sit here and wait for someone to give me word on his condition. There’s no way in hell I’ll be able to sit in our station and be updated when people remember to call us. I need to be with him, need to be there in case he doesn’t make it out of this alive. “Take me back to the station, back to my car, Logan. I’m heading to Birmingham.”