Focus on your patient. “Do, um...? Is there anyone I can call for you?” she asked, attempting to mask the tremble in her voice.
“My phone’s still on the truck,” he said. “But the chief said he’d send someone up here as soon as he could. The paramedic called my wife and she’s on her way.”
Javier’s gaze shifted over her shoulder and Dr. Singh appeared, offering a smile to the patient before turning to Claire for information. Claire outlined what she knew and what she’d done, then left the doctor and Javier alone.
She checked the clock as she sat at the computer to chart Javier’s vitals. Half an hour remained.
Javier was wheeled away for imaging and other than calling Graham twice more, Claire couldn’t have said what she did until the end of her shift. Her brain had gone fuzzy with the conflicting signals passing through over the last hour.
Unknown firefighter coming with unknown injuries: freak out!
Patient is fine: relax.
Patient isn’t Graham: seriously, relax.
Additional unknown firefighters may have been injured: freak out!
Graham is unaccounted for: RED ALERT!
After she passed off to the overnight nurse, Claire jogged to her car. As she started the engine she suddenly realized she could have called Noah to see if he’d heard from Graham. Or Reagan, to see if she’d seen him today.
But she only lived a mile from the hospital and she’d be there in minutes. Either Graham would be home—where she’d promptly kill him—or she’d hopefully be able to locate his shift schedule for this month and find out if he’d worked today.
When she turned onto her street her gaze immediately landed on Graham’s beat-up 4Runner parked in his usual spot in the driveway. The breath that whooshed out of her was thick with relief, and after pulling in under the carport she dropped her forehead against the steering wheel.
She took several deep breaths, willing her muscles to release the tension that had built over the last two hours. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten so worked up.
Was it because Graham was her friend, or because memories of her dad’s accident had come screaming back?
Or both?
Either way, she had to calm down before she went in. That was the plan, anyway, which went to hell when she walked in the front door and found him in the living room, completely oblivious to the turmoil he’d caused her.
He was deep into some video game, sitting on the edge of the couch, shirt pulled taut across the muscles in his back as he moved. His dark, wavy hair was disheveled and his sleeves pushed up to reveal toned forearms rippling with each manipulation of the controller.
“Graham!”
His gaze didn’t leave the screen. “Yeah?”
A flood of emotions rushed through her—agitation the most potent—and she marched around the couch and stopped directly in front of the television.
Graham leaned to the side in an attempt to see around her. “What are you doing? I can’t see.”
“I don’t care! I’ve been calling and texting you all day. Why haven’t you answered?”
He frowned, his eyes darting to hers in confusion before his attention returned to the portion of the screen he could see, his fingers continuing to toggle the controls. “You mean when you said you hated me? I didn’t think that deserved a response.”
“What about the others?”
“I didn’t see anything else. I put my phone in my room to charge a while ago, though.”
She pressed her hands against her temples. “Meanwhile I’ve been scared out of my mind thinking something happened to you. EMSA brought a firefighter in, and he said the ceiling fell on several of the guys trying to put out a fire at an apartment complex. I didn’t remember if you were working and you never answered your fucking phone!”
This was exactly the kind of situation she’d always wanted to avoid. The fear and constant worry... She couldn’t live like this on a regular basis. She’d watched her mother do it for years.
And they’d experienced their worst fear come true.
Graham stilled for a beat, finally seeming to hear her, then dropped the controller to the carpet and jogged around the couch to his room. Claire followed him, and within seconds he was on the phone. The conversation was short, and when he hung up he wrapped one hand around his neck and tossed the phone onto his bed.
“Everyone’s fine,” he said. “One concussion from Station 3, which is probably the guy you got. Everyone else has already been checked out and released.”
Claire glared at him, anger and some other emotion she couldn’t identify turning over in her stomach. “I didn’t know that, Graham. I didn’t know where you were or if you’d been there...” She trailed off at the strange look that entered his eyes.
Graham dropped his arm and tilted his head as he watched her. “Claire. Were you...worried about me?”
“No.”
A tiny grin curved one corner of his mouth, drawing her attention there. “You were.”
She rolled her eyes. “Well! Of course I was. You’re my roommate. If you die I have to find someone else to help pay rent in this overpriced condo.”
He took a step forward, his grin widening as he shook his head. “No, I think it’s more than that. You were worried about Graham, the person. Not Graham, your roommate.”
She didn’t blink as he took another step closer. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
She’d quickly lost control of the situation and desperately tried to think of how to get it back.
He was right; she had been worried about him.
But it was more than that. She’d never told him the details of her dad’s death and didn’t intend to talk about it now, but the truth was that history made her hypersensitive to situations like these.
“Admit it,” he continued, his voice softening as he stopped about a foot away. “You care about me, Claire. A lot.”
His brown eyes held a spark and a challenge, which was familiar and welcome in her flustered state. This back-and-forth felt normal, and it hit home just how much she needed this and how important Graham was to her. After the emotional whiplash of the last few hours, the realization caused something inside her to snap.
She was pissed off, but she was so happy he was okay. Ever since she’d heard the words firefighter injured, she’d battled images of Graham coming through the ER doors on a stretcher. She was mentally and emotionally spent and had very little filter left, in voice or action.
She would later blame her state of mind on what happened next as she lurched forward, grabbed his rough cheeks between her palms, and kissed him.
Graham sucked in a sharp breath and froze, his body going taut. She pulled back, the separation of their lips sending a faint wet sound echoing in the silence. Before she could fully process what she’d done and take it back, claiming momentary insanity, his face came into focus.
All awareness slipped away with her surprised exhale.
The way Graham was looking at her...
His ever-smiling mouth was slack and devoid of the quick, sarcastic words she’d come to expect. His pupils dilated and his usually playful eyes were dark and ominous.
Her heart pounded as his gaze dragged down her face, from her eyes to her lips, where they lingered for a long moment before slowly scrolling back up. A muscle ticked in his jaw as he stared at her, brow furrowed, as if seeing her for the first time.
Time stopped as they stood inches apart, his breath warm against her lips, chest brushing hers with each inhale. Heat rippled through her as she felt want rolling off him in thick waves.
Just when she’d decided she had to say or do something, Graham leaped into action. His mouth came back to hers, warm and hard and unyielding. His hands were in her hair, and his strong fingers threading between the strands sent a shiver racing down her spine. She gripped his shirt in her fists and pulled him along as she stumbled backward. She stopped when she hit the dresser and his body molded to hers, as if he couldn’t get close enough. Yes, closer. Something fell and hit the floor with a crash, but he didn’t seem to notice or care.