Page 16 of What Hurts Us

Wyatt let out a low whistle. “Damn.”

Lauren rolled her eyes, but it jogged my memory. Lauren had been at The Copper Mule when I spotted the new girl—Layla. Were they friends?

I glanced at Lauren and tipped my head toward the chopper. “Y’all know each other?”

She nodded. “Met the day of your accident.”

Just the mention of the crash had pain shooting up my leg.

Wyatt walked to the center of the parking lot as the principal of the elementary school called everyone to attention. She introduced the different departments and their respective representatives. While Elijah, Shane, AB, and Wyatt passed the microphone around and gave their speeches, I shoved my hands in my pockets as casually as a nervous wreck could and walked over to stand beside Layla.

She raised an eyebrow and looked out of the corner of her eye, still keeping her attention on the hundreds of kids watching us. “Morning, officer.” Her lips, painted with a gloss the color of warm autumn leaves, curved up in a coy smile.

I cleared my throat. “Layla, right?” I used my peripheral vision to double-check the patch on her flight suit.

L. Mousavi.

CEN, CFRN

FLIGHT NURSE

AIRCARE

She blinked, taken aback. Whether it was a surprise that I knew her name or just being weirded out that I’d joined her like a fucking creep, I wasn’t sure.

“I didn’t know if you remembered me.” Instantly, she cringed. “Oh god. That makes me sound so whiny. I just meant with the accident… You were in and out. I didn’t know how much you were aware of what was going on or who was around you.”

I shifted my weight between my feet and rested my hands on top of my duty belt. “I remember you.”

She laughed under her breath as she switched her flight helmet from her left arm to her right, putting an additional foot of space between us. “I suppose being abducted by aliens is pretty memorable.”

I, Callum Anthony Fletcher, was cold as stone. I prided myself on my affinity for compartmentalization. I existed in a constant state of disassociation.

The concrete fortress I’d built around my life was no match for a single deprecating joke and warm laugh from Layla Mousavi.

I had made lists. Written pros and cons of all my options. Tried to come up with an alternative to get me out of that friggin’ date auction. I lost sleep trying to exhaust any alternative to asking a near stranger to do something asinine.

But Layla was my best option. The fact that she was new to town was even better.

I steeled my expression as best as one could in the midst of her unbearable sunshine and tipped my head down towards hers. “You on shift today or just doing PR?”

There were tired circles under her eyes. Her fingers twitched like she had just shotgunned a Red Bull after a night of zero sleep. “Getting off shift after this.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been on for twenty-four already?”

Layla nodded.

“Busy night?” I guessed.

She nodded again. “You could say that.”

“How many calls did you get?”

“Four.”

“Anything fun?” Fun was relative to people like us. Fun didn’t mean enjoyable. It meant interesting. Challenging. Trying. Testing. Fun was rarely a good thing.

She dropped her shoulders just a hair, slowly easing the tension between us. “Transport of a cardiac patient from Danville to Duke. Second was a perforated bowel. Third was a house fire outside of Hillsborough—smoke inhalation and burns. Last one was an overdose. EMS brought him back with naloxone, we got him in the bird, and he coded. Endocarditis and septic shock. Brought him back enough again to transfer care when we touched down at the hospital in Chapel Hill. Pretty sure he’s not gonna make it, but you never know.” She rattled it off like a grocery list. Unattached. Unemotional. Unaffected.

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