by Score, Lucy
The helicopter skimmed over the treetops, nose tilted. It swooped dramatically low when the field opened up beneath them, and Mack watched the kids waving excitedly, saw the teachers and staff wrangling everyone well away from the landing zone.
RS did a tight, showy three-sixty before setting down dead center on the school’s soccer field.
“Way to stick the landing,” Bubba said.
RS gave the all-clear, and Mack and Bubba unhooked the radio lines and stepped out of the helicopter.
“I feel like we’re slow-motion hero walking,” Bubba whispered as they strolled—and limped—toward the crowd of elementary schoolers.
“We should take our helmets off and give them a hair toss,” Mack suggested.
A familiar voice carried to them courtesy of a bullhorn. “Dr. Mack, you’re stepping on my entrance,” Linc teased from his department’s command vehicle.
The kids had the chance to tour all of the vehicles, igniting dozens of career ideas in bright, young minds. They tried on helmets and stretched out fire hoses. They sat in the pilot’s seat of the helicopter and the driver’s seat of a squad car. They played victim and EMT.
Ava Garrison charged up and gave Mack a hug before running back to her little cluster of friends. A few of her other patients called greetings. “Hi, Dr. Mack!”
A long-legged girl with a cute gap between her teeth and braids popped up next to her. “Hi. I’m Samantha. We met before in my uncle’s backyard.”
“Right. You’re Chief Reed’s niece,” Mack said, recalling the water battle and ensuing death scene.
“And you’re his girlfriend,” Samantha stated.
“Uh. Well, we haven’t really discussed labels, and—”
“Don’t freak out.” The girl blew out a puff of breath that lifted her bangs off her forehead. “I’m not here about that. I have other business.”
“Okay. Why don’t we step into my office?” Mack said, gesturing to the helicopter.
They climbed inside. “So I thought I wanted to be a coroner or a mortician,” Samantha said, swinging her legs from her perch on the stretcher.
Kids.
“Uh-huh.”
Samantha gave her a cool look. “I know it seems weird. But everyone dies. It’s job security.”
Mack blinked and wasn’t sure if it was weirder that an eleven-year-old would consider being a mortician or that the deciding factor was job security.
“That’s true.”
“But everyone also gets sick or hurt,” Samantha said.
“Also true.”
“So maybe I want to be a doctor and work with live people. I mean, flying around in a helicopter is pretty cool, and you get to save lives and stuff like Uncle Chief Linc.”
“You have time to decide,” Mack pointed out.
“Not much. If I want to be a doctor, that means a good pre-med program and already knowing what med school I want before I graduate high school. And let’s face it, dissecting amphibians in biology or learning about hand-washing in health class isn’t preparation.”
The kid had done her research. Mack made a mental note to talk to Linc about talking to his sister about parental controls on internet searches.
“When did you decide that you wanted to be a doctor?” the girl asked.
Mack cleared her throat as the image popped into her head, crystal clear as if it had happened yesterday. “I was six.”
“See,” Samantha said in indignation. “I’m already five years behind!”
“Six is too early for anyone to decide what they want to do. You have plenty of time to decide and figure out school.”
“How did you know at six?” Samantha asked, twirling the end of one braid. “Were you one of those genius kids? Did you finish med school at eighteen?”
“What? No! I broke my ankle and had to go to the hospital. The doctor was nice to me, and he made my leg stop hurting.”
Samantha looked down. “He obviously wasn’t very good if you’re still in a cast.”
“It’s a walking boot, and this is a different injury,” Mack said, suddenly feeling defensive.
“Same ankle?”
Smartass.
“Yes. Same ankle.”
“It probably didn’t heal correctly.”
“I doubt it was the doctor’s fault.”
“How did you break it?”
“I jumped out of a second-story window.” Mack regretted it as soon as the words were out of her mouth, but Samantha was unfazed.
“Is that how you got that cool scar too?”
Mack gritted her teeth. “No.”
Hell, the kid could teach her mom and aunts a few things about interrogations.
“Are you torturing my lady friend, Mantha?”
Linc, merciful rescuer, poked his head into the helicopter bay.
“Did you know that Dr. Mack jumped out of a second-story window and broke her leg when she was six and that’s how she decided to be a doctor?”
Mack pretended to be too busy refastening a harness buckle to make eye contact.
“Is that so?” he said lightly.
“But it’s not how she got her scar. She wouldn’t tell me that,” Samantha continued.
“Mantha!”
Mack had to laugh at the dad-like admonition in Linc’s tone.
“What?” the girl asked in exasperation.
“People don’t have to tell you every damn thing, kid,” he told her.
“Don’t you think this world would be a better place if people were honest about stuff?”
“No.” Linc and Mack answered together and then shared a grin.
Samantha rolled her eyes. “You guys are so weird.”
“Yeah yeah,” Linc said, grabbing his niece under the arms and plucking her off the stretcher. “Now, get out of here so I can kiss this pretty doctor in privacy.”
* * *
They managed one very thorough kiss before being summoned inside. With the students—and adults—thoroughly worn out, they all trooped into the school’s assembly room. It smelled like glue sticks and ravioli.
Mack laughed with the rest of the crowd as the firefighters donned their gear—in a speed competition, of course—and then did the floss dance on the stage. Judging by the gleeful faces surrounding her, she guessed that if one of these kids ever came face-to-face with a firefighter during an emergency, they’d feel joy, not fear. It was a smart, entertaining move.
And she had to admit, her firefighter definitely had some nice moves.
After the dancing, the school principal invited all of the first responders onto the stage for a Q&A session with the kids.
The students asked Linc if he had a dalmatian. To their glee, he introduced them to Sunshine, who went nosing through the auditorium looking for treats.
They asked Sheriff Adler about catching bad guys and if he’d ever been in a car chase.
They wanted to know how tall Bubba was and if Sally would fly them home.
A kid with thick glasses and an Iron Man t-shirt raised his hand. “Dr. Mack, I told my dad I wanted to be a doctor, but he said it’s too much responsibility because it’s life and death and that I should be an accountant or something that doesn’t have to keep people alive. So, did you ever kill someone?”
The teacher holding the microphone for the kid snatched it away, hissing an “inappropriate” at him while the older kids in the crowd let out an “ooooh!”
The kid shrugged and watched Mack expectantly.
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
Faces flashed through her mind in rapid-fire. It wasn’t her life she was watching but the end of others. She’d lost some en route. Some she’d been too late getting to. A few had lost the fight after she’d gotten them to the hospital. And her first had died with his blood on her hands in an emergency department before she’d even finished med school.
That night, she’d lost a patient and become one in the span of minutes.
Under their own power, her fi
ngers brushed over that scar as if she could still feel her own blood. Her hand was shaking.
Linc made a grab for the microphone the principal held. “To answer your question, Tony Stark, we all do everything we can to save every life. Sometimes we can’t. But most of the time we do. That’s why it’s important for all of you—” he pointed to the students. “—to know what do to in an emergency.”
“What do we do?” a tiny first-grader piped up from the first row. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail made of dozens of tiny braids.
“Seatbelts,” Linc said into the mic. “Say it with me, gang.”
“Seatbelts,” they parroted.
“Fire escape plans,” he continued. “Smoke detectors. Pull over for emergency vehicles when you’re on the road. Learn CPR and first aid.”
The crowd of kids repeated every word as if they were committing them to memory. And Mack hoped they were. Carelessness hurt people.
“Every one of you is a future hero,” Linc told them. “You just need to know what to do when there’s an emergency.”
He handed the microphone back to the principal and returned to his seat next to Mack.
“You’re my hero,” she whispered.
“About time you admit it,” he said, resting his arm on the back of her chair and letting his fingers stroke her neck.
37
Linc walked Mack outside after the assembly. “You don’t have to ride back in the bird,” he told her. “I can drive you to get your car.”
He didn’t like how pale she’d gone at the kid’s question or how her hands had trembled. Secrets. She was keeping them.
“You’re working,” she reminded him.
“I’m the chief. What’s the point of being the boss if I can’t chauffeur my girlfriend around in a million-dollar vehicle?”
“Cute. But no. I’m helping with inventory back at the base for a couple of hours.”
“You okay?” he asked.
She nodded and took a breath. “Yeah. Kids just stir up all kinds of things.”
“That’s not vague or anything,” he said pointedly.
She stopped and faced him. “Speaking of kids. You’re a fraud, Hotshot.”
She was deflecting. But he’d allow it…for now. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re not the flirty party boy whittling his bedposts down to dust that you pretend to be.”
“How many of those shitty Hawaiian punches did you have, doc?”
“Four. And don’t change the subject. I saw you in there. I saw you with all those kids. You’re a dad in training. You’ve got family man written all over you.”
“Do not.” He shoved up the sleeve of his shirt and showed her a tattoo. “I have BFD written all over me.”
She shook her head. “I see you, Lincoln Reed. You might play at being a player. But I see you.”
They stood there, looking at each other for a long moment. He wanted to make a joke, say something flirtatious. But just like the first time he’d laid eyes on her, he was tongue-tied and uncertain.
She didn’t want what he wanted, he reminded himself. He was only opening himself up to a good ass-kicking when she moved on. And it was going to hurt more because she was the only one who saw him, really saw him.
“You’re going to be a great dad someday,” Mack said softly.
He still didn’t have any words when she rose on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thanks for the rescue in there,” she said. And with that, she turned and hobbled toward the helicopter.
* * *
Ty was waiting for him in the parking lot, leaning against the hood of the command vehicle.
“Any more trouble with the Kershes,” his friend asked.
“Huh? Oh. No.” Linc scrubbed a hand over his jaw.
“Other trouble?”
“Are women anything but?” Linc asked.
“She got pretty rattled up there,” Ty agreed.
“She told my niece she decided to be a doctor when she was six and jumped out of a two-story window. Broke her ankle.”
“Jumped,” Ty repeated.
Linc nodded.
“She’s into adrenaline, sure. But…”
“There’s no way Mackenzie O’Neil would jump out of a window for fun,” Ty finished for him.
“Exactly.”
“That how she got the scar?”
Linc felt his mouth quirk. “Not according to Mantha’s interrogation. Mack wouldn’t say how she got it, only that it wasn’t related to the fall.”
“You ever tried asking her?”
Linc shook his head. “Nah. Figured I’d just be patient. She’ll tell me her story when she’s ready.”
“That sounds good and well-intentioned and all,” Ty said. “But you sure you’re not dragging your feet on the whole intimacy thing?”
“Oh, we’re intimate all right,” Linc said.
Ty drilled a finger into his chest. “That right there, Mr. Fun and Flirty Man Boy. You might say you’re ready for the real thing. But if you aren’t having the hard conversations now, when do you think you’ll get around to it?”
“What are you trying to say, sheriff?”
“You’re holding back. Just waiting for her to pack up and leave.”
“She is packing up and leaving,” Linc argued. “What do you want me to do about it?”
“Heart can’t get trampled on if it’s still locked up in your chest,” Ty told him. “Maybe it’s time you put it out there.”
“Christ. What the hell did they put in those Hawaiian punches?”
“Go on and make your jokes, my friend. But the only way you’ll earn some very patient woman’s heart someday is by getting real vulnerable.”
Linc blinked at his friend.
“What?” Ty shrugged. “Soph got Oprah’s new book. It’s pretty good.”
“You’re saying you didn’t land Sophie Garrison by being a big shot in high school and then picking a career with a uniform that emphasizes your ass and your authority?” Linc asked.
Ty looked over his shoulder at his ass. “It really does look good in these pants, doesn’t it?”
“Damn right it does, brother.”
“And to answer your question, hell no. Soph wasn’t falling for any of that big shot routine. We broke up. She wanted to spread her wings. It wasn’t until I got real and told her that she was the only girl for me, and if she couldn’t commit, well, I’d be heartbroken, and I’d always miss her. But I would move on.”
“Oh, come on. You’re saying that shit worked?” Linc demanded.
Ty shoved his wedding band in Linc’s face. “That and one hell of a romantic proposal. Also, periodically knocking her up and putting away the laundry go pretty far, too. And only saying no to every sixth or seventh thing she asks me to do.”
Now it was Ty making jokes. But Linc knew the man, knew just how much he loved and valued his wife. What a unit they made together.
“I hear what you and Oprah are saying,” he told Ty. “But the doc’s made it clear. She’s only here temporarily.”
“And you’re too chickenshit to ask her to stay for real. You probably go around making jokes about weddings and babies. But in that charming, professional flirt way,” Ty said, doing a reasonable impression of Linc flexing biceps and winking at what he could only guess were invisible ladies.
The truth fucking hurt.
“I’m not agreeing with the chickenshit moniker,” Linc insisted.
“But?”
“But you might have a vaguely sort of almost-but-not-quite accurate point. Also, I only wink with my right eye, so your impression needs work.”
He demonstrated, and Ty staggered back. “Damn. It was like I heard a ding when you did that.”
“Keep practicing,” Linc told him.
* * *
Linc and his crew headed back to the station and spent the next few hours on easy calls. He was up to his eyeballs in a grant proposal when his phone signaled an incoming video call.
“Jilly,” he said.
“How’s my favorite brother?”
“No.”
“I haven’t even asked. You could at least do me the courtesy of letting me ask the question before you say no.”
“Fine,” he grumbled.
“Can I drop the boys off at the station?”
“No.”
“Before you say no—”
“I already did. Twice.”
“Listen. You know how they’ve been asking for a dog?”
Linc pinched the bridge of his nose. His sisters knew exactly what buttons to push. “Don’t go there, Jillian.” She absolutely would use his love of dogs against him.
“So I reached out to the rescue where you got Sunshine.”
Ah, shit. He was going to end up with his nephews running around the station like lunatics.
“This isn’t fair. This is a fire station, not a daycare.”
“They have the perfect dog,” she plowed on. “He’s six. He loves kids. And the poor guy has never lived in a home before. His previous owner had him tied to a stake—”
“I hate you. Bring the boys by, but I’m putting them to work,” he warned.
“You’re the best,” Jillian chirped.
* * *
Brandon, Mikey, and Griffin were part of what looked like a very young United Nations delegation. Jillian was a blonde-haired, blue-eyed volleyball player who’d fallen head over heels for a pharmacy major from the Philippines with a passion for cycling and hot wings. They had Brandon, the oldest, who got his hair from his father and just about everything else from the Reed side of the family. Then Jilly and Vijay were bitten by the adoption bug, and in the years after added Mikey to the family from a Venezuelan orphanage and Griffin from foster care.
“Uncle Chief Linc,” Griffin said, powerwalking over to him where Linc leaned against the engine. The kid was always in a dignified hurry.
“Hey, Griff. How’s it going?”
“Uncle Chief Linc, is Mom abandoning us?” Brandon asked with a worried frown.
Griffin rolled his eyes while Mikey, hands in the pockets of his track pants, strolled around the engine inspecting it.