Flaming Desire - Part 2 (An Alpha Billionaire Romance) (2 page)

There, less than two hundred yards ahead, I saw the accident. Traffic had snarled and was already backing up. The right two lanes, blocked off by police and state patrol car units forced traffic to slowly merge into the fast lane. Looking past the cars slowly making their way toward the accident site, I saw that it looked like a three car pile-up.

One of the cars had rolled, another one had its front end smashed in, while the other vehicle involved had been rear-ended. Sirens from the police and state patrol vehicles rotated in alternating red and blue lights. Officers were out of their cars and on the scene, directing traffic and trying to keep it going despite lookie-loos. In a matter of moments, the paramedic vehicle, riding on the shoulder of the freeway, pulled up within a short distance of the accident scene, the fire engine not far behind, moving its way slowly past us while trying to navigate around a plastic fender, a few car parts that I didn't recognize, and a blown tire that lay scattered in the slow lane.

As soon as Patrick and Sean exited the vehicle, Matt and I followed behind. While I was a trained ER nurse and Matt certainly had experience as an ICU nurse, we were under the direction, at least for a while, of the fire department rescue squad, so this time, not wanting to repeat my lack of judgment from this morning, I quickly glanced at Sean, in a sense asking permission to approach the vehicles and to begin assessing injuries.

“Right behind you, Jessica,” Sean nodded.

I quickly rushed toward the closest vehicle, the one with the front end smashed in. A business man of about forty or so still sat in the driver seat, his face drenched in blood. His airbag had deployed and it looked like he had a broken nose from the impact, but at least his head hadn’t gone through the windshield.

“How’re you doing, sir?” I asked, Matt close behind. Matt quickly glanced into the passenger and then rear seats to ascertain whether any additional passengers were in the car. “No one riding with you today?” The driver began to turn his head toward me. “No, sir, just keep your head still until the paramedics can put a collar on you. Just answer yes or no.”

The man’s eyes darted toward mine, dazed, and he softly said no. Patrick approached the driver's side of the car.

“I've got this one,” he said, carrying a rigid collar and a kit that contained a number of dressings. Sean, hurrying up behind him, carried a short spine board, the drug kit and the ECG monitor/defibrillator/cardio unit. I knew each of the guys carried trauma scissors in their side pockets, along with pen lights, and sterile gloves. Matt and I also carried similar supplies in our scrub pockets.

I quickly moved onto the rollover. Miraculously, it looked like the driver had gotten out unscathed through the shattered windshield. A police officer stood over him as he sat on the dirt shoulder of the interstate, his hands shaking as he watched me approach. He had what looked, on initial glance anyway, to be several superficial bleeding wounds from shattered glass on his face and arms. Face and scalp wounds bled fiercely, but I knew better than to be terribly alarmed. Other than the cuts and scrapes, he appeared to be relatively unscathed despite the fact that it looked like his car had rolled at least once.

He sat on his butt, knees pulled up to his chest. As I approached, he wrapped his arms around his shins. I hunched down in front of him while Matt continued onto the other car, which had been rear-ended. Its front end now pointed toward the shoulder of the road, while its rear end extended partially into the second lane of the interstate. I heard the sound of crying from that car, and then Matt's soothing voice, trying to calm the driver, a young woman from the sound of it.

I quickly returned my attention to the man in front of me. He looked to be in his late twenties. I checked his pupils with my penlight. His pupils were dilated. I took his pulse and counted respirations while I continued to glance over him, looking for any further signs of injury, all the while speaking slowly and softly to him, asking him for any indications of pain, no matter how slight. Naturally, he was in a state of shock, but I didn't see any obvious injuries. Still, I knew better than to assume he was okay. He could very well have internal injuries, despite the way he sat, pulled in on himself. Internal injuries had a way of creeping up on you.

“Are you sure you don’t hurt anywhere, sir?” I asked him yet again. It took him a moment to respond to my question. “Does your neck or back hurt?”

“I'm not sure… no,” he said. “I don't know what happened… the car in front of me stopped for some reason. I tried to swerve out of the way and lost control… before I knew it I was rolling…”

I glanced at the police officer standing over him, and he made a slight gesture with his hand, mimicking a drinking movement. I said nothing. The cause of the accident wasn't my concern. I did know however, that when accidents involved a drinker, they often seemed to come out of the accidents unharmed, even in cases like this, where the car had rolled or was otherwise totaled beyond recognition. The theory was that their bodies were more relaxed, but I wasn't so sure. Maybe it was just dumb luck. Besides, I had seen plenty of drunks who were severely or fatally injured in the emergency room.

I heard the wailing of another siren and glanced back toward the on-ramp we had taken to approach the accident scene. I saw two ambulances coming up the ramp, one close behind the other. “The ambulance is on its way, sir,” I said, making eye contact with the driver. He avoided my direct gaze, but whether his dilated pupils were caused by alcohol or brain injury I had no way of knowing. “They're going to take you to the hospital and check you out, okay?”

He nodded, still in a daze, and I gave one more glance to the police officer as I stood. I couldn’t do any more for him now. I waited with the man until the EMTs arrived and took over. Then I made my way quickly toward Matt. It looked like either Patrick or Sean had brought him the first aid kit filled with a number of dressings; large trauma dressings about the size of a sheet of notebook paper, over two dozen sterile 4x4’s, occlusive dressings and an assortment of roller gauze, tape and more surgical gloves.

The front car, the one that had been rear-ended, looked like it hit the side rail and then bounced back into the slow lane, its rear end extending into the number two lane as well. The passenger door was crunched inward. Two passengers, both women sat in the front seats. The driver, the one speaking with Matt, was conscious, crying, and growing increasingly frantic despite Matt's efforts to calm her down. Her airbag had deployed, and like the first passenger I looked at, it looked like she might have a broken nose. It also looked like the side of her head had hit her side window, and it bled profusely.

Matt was in the process of clamping a large gauze pad onto the scalp wound of the unconscious female passenger, his sterile gloves already caked with blood. Ignoring the crying of the driver, as she was conscious at least, I quickly moved to the passenger side the car beside Matt, ready to help. It was then that I noticed the massive starburst pattern on the passenger side windshield. She hadn't been wearing a seatbelt. She was lucky she hadn’t been hurled from the vehicle. No airbag deployment for some reason, again not my specialty.

The woman's face was covered in blood and she had several severe lacerations on her scalp and face. I quickly snatched several more 4x4’s wrapped in lightweight paper wrappers and a roll of bandage. Just as I approached with the supplies to give Matt, Patrick also approached, carrying yet another backboard, this one longer, and sounding slightly out of breath as he opened the ECG kit.

“What have we got?”

“Several severe lacerations on the scalp, possible concussion or skull fracture, possible neck or back injury,” Matt said.

Out in the field like this, it was not our job, nor the paramedic’s, to diagnose, but to render first aid. Patrick accessed the communication device and I heard the crackle of his shoulder microphone as he spoke to a voice on the other end. I wasn't sure which hospital he was communicating with, but helping Matt, we quickly stopped the bleeding on the woman's scalp, and then helped hold her head still while Patrick placed a rigid collar around her neck.

Very carefully, trying not to jar her, I held her head, neck and shoulders as stationary as possible in case she had a spinal fracture, while Matt and Patrick lifted the woman out of the vehicle and placed her on the backboard. As Matt and Patrick assessed her injuries, I quickly made my way around the rear of the vehicle and took care of the driver, bandaging her bleeding scalp and trying to calm her down, a fruitless effort, it turned out.

The accident scene was chaotic, but between the paramedics, Matt and myself, as well as the EMTs, all four passengers were quickly assessed and then triaged into the ambulances based on the severity of their injuries. After the arrival of a third ambulance, and three of the four accident victims fitted with rigid collars and strapped onto backboards or short boards, they left the scene. The man who had rolled his car walked toward the rear of the last ambulance, a bit shaky on his feet, but otherwise seemingly okay. Nevertheless, he would be checked over thoroughly as well.

Police officers removed as much of the larger debris from the two lanes of the interstate as they could, quickly took measurements and pictures, and as the ambulances pulled away, a tow truck, a wrecker and a flatbed tow truck, along with a city road crew arrived to clear the highway.

In less than thirty minutes, we had arrived on scene, dealt with the injured, and were now on our way back to the firehouse. When we got back, Jeremy gestured to me as the others returned to the main room.

“Jessica, you got a minute?”

“Sure,” I said. I followed him to the front end of the garage, where he acted like he was checking gear in one of the closets. He glanced over his shoulder, prompting me to do the same. Oh God, I hoped he wasn’t going to ask me out.

He didn’t. I felt embarrassed for a second, but as his question sank in I frowned in confusion. “What?”

“Do you read the society pages?”

“Society pages?” I asked dumbly.

“Okay, do you read People or Entrepreneur magazine or anything like that?”

The question seemed so far out of left field that it took me a moment to reply. “No, why?” He didn’t answer me right away.

“Did you say his name was Matt Drake?”

I nodded. He frowned as if in concentration. “What? What is it?”

“I’ve seen him before, an article written about him in a magazine, but I can’t remember which one.”

“Matt? In a magazine?”

“You don’t know?”

I shook my head, my frown deepening. “Know what?”

“He’s a billionaire.”

Was he talking about
my
Matt? My Matt, the ICU nurse and Hotshot wildfire fighter? I was stunned. “Are you sure? You’re talking about Matt Drake? That Matt Drake in there?” I asked, gesturing toward the main room of the firehouse.

He nodded. “Pretty sure,” he shrugged.

Then, as if he were bored with the conversation, Jeremy left me standing there to join the others in the big room. I stood in stunned dismay for several moments. No, it couldn’t be. There had to be more than one Matt Drake. Why would a billionaire be working as a nurse? I shook my head, scoffing at the idea. Jeremy must be mistaken. I shrugged it off and followed him back into the main room, where the guys were laughing at something one of them had said.

I looked at Matt, thinking of what Jeremy said.

Impossible.

***

I couldn't quite believe it, but we didn't go out on another call for the remainder of our shift. Our hospital shift, that is, not the paramedic’s shift. I don’t know how the guys did twenty-four hours. I felt exhausted already.

No one said anything though, because like with the nursing staff, the firemen and paramedics knew that the minute they mentioned how slow it was, all hell would likely break loose. So, while some glances were exchanged, no one actually said the words.

When our shift came to an end, and after bidding farewell, Matt and I left the firehouse and walked to the parking lot in the rear where I had parked my car. He was silent, somewhat contemplative as he sat in his seat, fastened his seatbelt, and stared out the front windshield. I buckled up, inserted the key into the ignition, and then backed out of the parking space. I glanced at him a couple of times as I drove down the driveway toward the street. Pausing at the sidewalk to allow a few cars to go by, I spoke.

“You okay, Matt?”

He glanced at me, as if surprised by the question.

“Sure, why wouldn't I be?”

“I don't know, you do seem a little quiet all of a sudden.”

He grinned. “I don't get out often and do that much socializing,” he said, shrugging. “It was nice hanging out with all those guys today, but I think I’m all talked out.” He paused a moment. “Even though I should give you hell again for that scare you gave me this morning.”

I noticed that he sent another frown my way. This morning seemed so long ago. I sighed. I supposed I should explain, but I wasn't quite sure where to start. “Again, I'm sorry about that, Matt,” I said quietly. “I just…”

“You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to.”

He reached across the seat divider and placed a hand on my knee. The contact sent a sudden bolt of awareness through me. How was it possible that one simple, innocent touch could cause such a reaction? I had never been so chemically, hormonally, or sexually attracted to any guy before. What was so special about Matt?