My Calling (3 page)

“You’re bleeding.”

Her delicate fingers brush across my forehead and I wince at her touch, pulling away. It never bothered me before, but being close to Saylor lately has me uneasy. Then again, this is the closest I’ve been to her since she was a teenager and she’s… different. She’s no longer awkward, well, Saylor will always be awkward but that’s her personality. As much as I don’t want to admit it, Saylor is fuckin’ beautiful, which makes my job that much harder for a variety of reasons.

Jerking my head away from her, I grab some gauze and place it over my wound. “I’m fine.”

But in true Saylor form, she doesn’t drop it and just let me bleed to death. No, she gives this dramatic sigh as though the tiny cut on my forehead is the size of the Grand Canyon. She takes my hand in hers, gripping it tightly so I can’t slip away and an unfamiliar feeling runs down my spine. Well, it’s not all that unfamiliar, I’ve experienced it before with women that have piqued my interest, but this is Saylor Warner and I should
not
be feeling this way with her.

She walks us to the back of her ambulance, pushing on my shoulder and forcing me to sit down on the bumper. The fire department fights the blaze behind us and another rig with a couple of experienced medics take the victim to the hospital. Calvin is holding back Annie’s hair as she loses her lunch and here I am, face to face with Saylor, who is frowning with her hands on her hips.

“Now, are you going to be a baby or are you going to let me stitch this up?”

She squints her eyes as she inspects my wound. Her bright red lips are directly in front of me and suddenly, I don’t find the shimmering color that annoying. My eyes are fixated on her thick lips and my mind wanders to places it shouldn’t. Suddenly, I notice Saylor’s eyes go wide as she clears her throat and I realize she’s waiting for me to answer.

Standing up, I step into the back of the rig, looking for the shit I need to fix my forehead so Saylor will get off my back. I open a drawer, searching for a suture. Saylor’s hand is on top of mine with her body pressed against me. I stifle my moan successfully but she needs to back off fast. My life, or the life Saylor leads for both of us, doesn’t allow me much personal time except for an occasional wham-bam-thank you, ma’am. For whatever reason, maybe because I placed her in danger just moments earlier and my adrenaline is still rushing from that, I don’t know, but Saylor’s got me on high alert and the best solution is to get as far away as possible.

Her tiny frame allows her to slip in front of me, our bodies even closer. Her hands move to my chest and she pushes me down on the gurney behind me, standing between my legs. She reaches in the drawer, pulling out the supplies she needs to stitch me up.

Saylor’s hands work right in front of my face and I notice the scar on her left wrist. Her uncle told her to be careful but she insisted that she had to get a closer look. He told her to back up and she ignored him. Then I piped up, reprimanding her and of course, she spouted off her smart mouth, not paying attention as she did and her wrist landed on the piping hot tailpipe of that Harley Davidson. She was fifteen at the time but her uncle treated her like a small child as she howled in pain yet I was the one that tended to her injury. I roll my eyes today, the same way I did back then as I recall the memory. The irony is that today, I do the exact same thing with her, only from a distance.

“Seriously, are you always such a pain in the tush?” Saylor asks, letting her mouth gape open as she focuses on the task at hand. It’s the same face she makes when she puts on her eye makeup. I’ll never understand how having her mouth open helps her to put on mascara.

“Yep, so you’d better steer clear.”

The final stitch barely in place, I pull my head back and stand up. Bad idea because now I’m chest to chest, well, if she was a little taller, we’d be chest to chest, as it is she’s chest to my stomach with her head tilted back to stare at me.

Her eyes narrowed, I can tell she means business. “Why is that?”

Aside from the truth, which I can’t tell her, I rack my brain trying to come up with something quick. My brain is still working but drawing a blank when I hear goodie two-shoes Calvin calling Saylor’s name. I take Saylor’s chin in my hand and move her head so she’s looking at me.

“Because I’m a bad boy and you can’t handle it.” Shit, that’s way too flirtatious than I wanted it to be but hopefully it’ll scare her off. 

Calvin closes in on us and I begin to exit the rig. Right before Calvin’s in ear shot, Saylor grabs my hand, jerking my arm so that I turn to face her.

“You have no idea what I can handle, Beck.”

Her baby blues are shining as a smile spreads across her face. Shit, Saylor Warner is going to be the death of me, one way or the other.

CHAPTER 4

Saylor

Tugging on my skinny jeans that should probably be painted on my legs as tight as they are, I question why I put myself through this torture. Sure, I love to wear makeup and do my hair but the icing on the cake would be if I could walk around in sweats and a tank top all day. That’s probably the reason that I thoroughly enjoy our uniforms while almost every else hates them.

Finally, getting the button through the hole, I exhale the breath I’d been sucking in as a locker slams to my left. I turn my head and don’t stop the smile when I see Bearded Beck standing a few feet away wearing nothing but his BDUs as he stares into his locker. At first, the whole idea of sharing a locker room was a bummer but I’m seeing the perks of it now.

Going for the sneak attack, I tiptoe down the row, leaning against the locker beside his with my arms crossed over my chest. I have a perfect view of his sleeve of tattoos that looks like it consists of randomness thrown together but from personal experience, I’m sure it tells a story. I’d really like to reach out and run my finger over each one as Beck tells me the meaning behind them, but I’m going to go with that’s not an option based off my limited interactions with him.

Beck slams the locker shut, startling me even though I saw it coming. His shirt in his hand, he narrows his eyes. “What?”

My eyes roll to the top of my head involuntarily. “So, Beck, what is it that makes you a bad boy? These tattoos?” I can’t help myself as I place my hand on his bicep but my eyes stay locked with his.

Beck glances down at my hand on his arm then looks back up at me. “If it’s the tats that make me a bad boy then that would make you a bad girl and we all know that’s not true.” His eyes move up and down my own tattoo sleeve that is visible in my tank top.

He shrugs me off and tugs his shirt over his head, a smirk on his face as the fabric descends over his body. Ready to defend my bad girl status, I pause as a feeling of deja vu hits me. Beck’s dark, hooded eyes seem a bit softer with the half smile on his lips. I swear I’ve seen him before, but the man I’m thinking of laughed a lot more than Beck which still isn’t that much.

The smirk disappears and Beck’s permanent angry face resumes. “Let me guess, you’re going to try to convince me how bad you are?”

I shake my head, having totally forgotten about my argument. “No, but you look familiar. I swear I’ve seen you before… but smiling. Were you in any of my paramedic classes?”

Beck freezes briefly then shakes his head. “I don’t smile so it wasn’t me.”

Plastering a giant grin on my face, I tease him. “Come on, it’s fun to smile. Why don’t you?”

Beck scoffs and turns away from me. “You’re crazy, Saylor, you know that?”

As he walks away, the ink on the back of his bicep catches my attention. His legs are twice as long as mine so he’s already to the door of the locker room. I run after him, my heels clicking against the tile floor as I do but the urgency in my steps doesn’t slow Beck down. His hand on the door handle, I grab his arm, twisting my head to get a better look at the car inked on his skin.

“Is that a 1970 Buick GSX?”

Beck clears his throat but doesn’t pull his arm away. “Um… yeah.”

“Cherry red even,” I mutter, more to myself than Beck.

My index finger traces the outline of the car. Beck’s strong muscles beneath his skin distract me at the irony of my uncle’s favorite car being inked on him. His muscles flex slightly and then his hand is on top of mine, gently moving it away instead of jerking his body like before.

“Like it?” Beck asks, his voice much softer than normal.

I nod, snapping out of my trance and wiping at my teary eyes. “Yeah, my uncle used to have one. It was his baby, cherry red, too.”

“He had good taste.”

He searches my face and I push a smile through my sadness.

“Yeah, he did. And Beck, I’m more bad A than you think.”

A stiff smile crosses over his mouth and he lifts his eyebrow. “Bad A, huh? Yeah, I think in order to be called badass, you have to actually be able to say the word ‘ass.’”

The door slams shut as he walks through it and my cheeks burn red. I am bad A and I’ll prove it to him.

Beck

My pulse is racing as I escape the close encounter with Saylor. Before today, I would blame my high blood pressure on the fact that Saylor almost recognized me. The last time she saw me was nearly six years ago. I was a scrawny thug with a buzz cut and a brand on my left shoulder with no ink on my body. I’ve undergone a transformation to ensure that Saylor wouldn’t connect the dots should our paths ever cross. Saylor also went through a complete change as well and I never expected it to have an effect on my pulse the way it does.

I’ve kept my distance over the years. Close enough to keep her safe but far enough away that she could lead her own life, or the life I chose for her without her realizing it. Being in such close proximity twice today, I finally smelled her unique daisy-scented perfume and now, I understand why men flock to her based on that alone.

Then there was the touching. Back in the day, there was no touching. She was in high school, I was a college dropout. Eddie warned me to steer clear of Saylor in that sense but begged me to watch after her should something happen to him. Ultimately, it did and it was entirely my fault which is why I’ve committed my life to ensuring the same gruesome act of violence that took his life doesn’t happen to his niece. Saylor was the closest he ever had to a daughter.

But today, there
was
touching and it wasn’t unwanted. Well, I lie. After the first time her skin made contact with mine, I wanted her to get away from me as fast as possible because I knew it would be something I will never be able to walk away from myself. In the rig, she was touching me professionally, that was it. But in the locker room, the way her fingers gripped around my arm had the hair on the back of my neck standing up and I knew I was in trouble.

I just didn’t know exactly how much trouble I was in until she called me out on the cherry red 1970 Buick GSX tatted on my bicep. I should’ve known better than to choose something so obvious to commemorate Eddie. Anyone that knew the old mechanic knew his love for that car. I should’ve gone with Japanese letters for his name or some shit like that except I would’ve probably ended up with “I like cats” instead of RIP Eddie.

Today was just too close for comfort for too many reasons. Moving forward, I have to make an effort to keep my distance from Saylor like I’ve done all these years. Keep her safe while I blend into the background.

“Yo, Saylor! Wanna grab a drink?”

Calvin’s annoying voice is like nails on a blackboard. I look over my shoulder to see Saylor nodding. Calvin wastes no time sliding his arm around her shoulders and leading her out of the building. Shit, I guess I’ll have to start the whole distance thing tomorrow because I don’t trust that guy. I turn in the opposite direction, ready to follow them to the local watering hole when I hear my name behind me.

“Beckerdyte! My office… NOW!”

Our supervisor’s voice booms down the hallway. Well, fuck, this is really going to throw a monkey wrench in my plan if I get fired.

CHAPTER 5

Beck

Thank God Saylor was gone before our boss shouted my name. I’m not quite sure she’d remember my last name anyway, but today there’s been one too many close calls and I’m beginning to wonder if working this closely with her was a bad idea.

The tall, lanky middle-aged supervisor holds the door to his office open, his nostrils flaring as he waits for me to enter. He doesn’t have any height on me and I’m easily twice his size so his intimidation tactic is being wasted on me. I take a seat across from his desk and don’t flinch as he slams the door shut.

“What the hell kind of move was that out there today? You want to get yourself killed? Were you trying to impress someone?”

I watch as his nostrils blow in and out, one slightly larger than the other. This is why I’ve never had a boss, besides Eddie. The power goes to their heads and they think they can bark orders, bossing me around like they own me, much like the few women I’ve dated. No bosses, no steady girlfriends, definitely rules I shouldn’t break.

“Sorry, boss, I won’t do it again.” It’s best to just apologize so I can get out of here.

“Like hell it won’t!” He begins a rant, his voice getting louder with each sentence while his nostrils flare wider and wider.

Tuning out, I think back to how I got in this position. Eddie got killed. Saylor had no one to take care of her. Eddie left me as the custodian of his life insurance for Saylor since she wasn’t eighteen yet. I tried to talk to her after the funeral but she avoided me at all costs possible. I didn’t push, I should’ve, but I let her do her own thing… kinda. I put space between us but I was never far, helping her when I could without her knowing. I lost her once, she disappeared from town and I spent a good chunk of that time trying to hunt her down, but she eventually came home on her own. It was probably one of the happier moments in my life, there aren’t many so it’s easy to remember the ones that are.