You can’t keep the house. That’s way too… do something, Jaden. Out of sight, out of mind.
Just like before, the phone call with Mom forces its way into my consciousness, along with questions I’ve never asked myself before.
What would have happened to the house if I had plunged to my death?
What would have become of this place if I had stopped keeping it from moving on? Would everything it stands for have disappeared for good? And if so, would that be a good thing?
‘The patient needs to go to the hospital,’ I say quickly to Nyla.
She bites her lower lip. ‘Yeah,’ she answers, and as we transport the woman to the car together, I can feel that her fear is still right there with her.
What just happened isn’t over for her yet, even though I’m already safe again.
No more than it is for me.
And to think that up until fifteen minutes ago I was sure the biggest risk I’d taken today was answering Mom’s call.
Chapter Seventeen
NYLA
He would have crashed.
That’s the thought that hasn’t let go of me all shift long. Jaden might be dead now if I hadn’t forced him to put on the safety harness. And he would be badly injured if he hadn’t jumped out of the vehicle at the very last second because he absolutely wanted to give the patient the glucose.
Without a doubt, he saved that woman’s life – but in doing so he risked his own. What happened really shook him, that much was obvious. Yet every time I tried to bring it up with him during our shift, he responded with a funny anecdote, suddenly had something important to do, or urgently needed to know who should write the soundtrack if my life were ever made into a movie.
As so often in the past few hours, I sneak a look at Jaden, with whom I’m currently taking stock of the materials and medications that need to be restocked in the ambulance after today’s duty. With a tense expression, he pulls open the top drawer of the cabinet while I sit on the stretcher armed with paper and pen, waiting for his orders.
‘Adrenaline 1 mg/1 ml: three ampoules. Metamizole 1 g/2 ml: five ampoules,’ he says.
We’re alone, and neither an emergency nor anything else can interrupt us. I record the inventory on the form on my clipboard. ‘What was that about today? Why did you put yourself in so much danger?’
With a stiff movement, Jaden opens the door of the base cabinet and crouches down. ‘Ringer’s lactate 500 ml: four bags.’
So he still doesn’t want to talk about it. Chewing on my lower lip, I write down his information. ‘You could have been seriously injured or worse. Doesn’t that give you pause?’
A brief hesitation, his jaw muscle tightens. ‘Lidocaine 2% 100 mg/5 ml: two ampoules.’
I slide forward on the gurney so that I’m right behind him. ‘You were totally out of it, Jaden. Don’t pretend that was normal.’
Without looking up at me, he takes the resuscitation bags and counts them. His fingers are trembling, I can see it clearly. ‘Ambu bags, adult size: two.’
God, even a blind person would see that what happened is weighing heavily on him. Why can’t he just admit it?
I note down the quantities, crouch beside him, and force him to look at me. ‘You could have died,’ I say urgently.
His breath catches. ‘But I didn’t,’ he replies quietly, puts the neatly stacked resuscitation bags back in the compartment, and turns to the nasal cannulas.
Maybe he can shake other people off like this, but not me. ‘And that makes everything okay?’ My voice has taken on a forceful edge.
‘Nasal cannulas, size small: two.’ There’s a desperate plea in his words.
On impulse, I close the door of the cabinet whose supplies he’s currently checking. ‘What on earth is wrong with you?’
Jaden sits down on the floor next to me and gives me a searching look that goes right through me. It’s as if he’s looking for something, for an anchor, a clue, anything that will save him from having to answer me.
I hold his gaze, because I want him to know I’m not going to back down.