Surge (St. Martin Family Saga: Emergency Responders) Book 3: St. Martin Family Saga: Emergency Responders (4 page)

Chapter 4

“Bug a boo.”
The hair at the nape of her neck rose and she giggled as he tickled the sensitive skin behind her ear. She turned, looking up into his eyes. “Coffee?” He held a steaming mug hovering just above her. Smiling she sat up and reached for the cup. The first sip of the smoky caramel notes awakened her senses and the liquid radiated warmth from her belly. He sat next to her on the bed in their apartment, sipping a mug of his own, already dressed in his paramedic uniform and ready to begin his long grueling day. His hand patted her head. “I gotta go start my shift at the station. Don’t forget I’m on nights this week so I’ll be sleeping at the hospital.”

She forced a slight smile on her face so he wouldn’t clue in to her quickly diminishing mood and set her mug on the bedside table. She didn’t know how he kept up with it all. His schedule made her dizzy. “I’ll miss you Cracker Jack.” She leaned into his side, and he kissed her head. They would miss each other in the morning when she left for work. Heck, he was probably going to try to work at the station when he left the hospital in the early morning hours. He’d been doing that lately—running between the two, racking up as many hours in a week as he could. She worried about his unrelenting schedule and his body’s need for sleep and relaxation. Sometimes he didn’t even eat. “Don’t forget the leftovers I packed for you. You can have them for dinner.”

“Oh yeah, almost forgot. Where would I be without my girl?”

Without his girl he’d be a lot better off financially. She was a burden, but he always said she was a burden he didn’t want to live without. He stood and she laced her hand through his, not wanting to break their connection.

He kissed her knuckles. “Don’t go back to sleep, okay?”

He knew her so well.

“Okay.” He attempted to walk away, but she wouldn’t release his hand and instead pulled him close to her.

“What is it?”

“I just don’t want you to go.”

He followed her body down to the bed, one of his legs nestled between hers. His hands framed her face before he went in for a deep kiss. He tasted of coffee and cinnamon and she reveled in it. He pulled away, but hovered close to her face. “I more than love you Bug. I want to stay here in your warmth, but I also want to provide us with a future and I need you to be proud of me.”

God his words cut her to the bone. “Jackson.” Her voice was a whisper. “I’ve never been more proud of anyone. I sometimes feel inferior to the man you are and strive to be. I should be the one saying I want you to be proud of me.”

“Silly girl, shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You shut up too then.”

“Gladly.” His lips descended on hers again and she wished more than she’d wished for anything that time could be frozen at this moment.

“I’ve got to go. Need to air up my bicycle tires.”

“Why do you have to ride that bike all the time? It’s dangerous—especially over the bridge.”

“How many times have I told you not to worry? I ride defensively.”

“I want to use my dad’s credit card to get your car repaired.”

“Absolutely not. You know how I feel about that. Now”—he squeezed her thigh—“I would love to stay here and argue with you all day, but I really must go. I more than love you.” He kissed her deeply.

“Be safe Cracker Jack. If you die, I die. Remember?”

“I remember how crazy you are.”

“Crazy in love with you,” she whispered and nuzzled behind his ear.

“Screw it. I need to be inside of you now.”

They made slow, deep love—all encompassing until she couldn’t tell where he ended and she began.

≈

At the restaurant, Mr. Moretti nursed a hangover and was crankier than usual. At six thirty in the morning she wasn’t in the mood to deal with his nastiness.

“What the fuck is this shit?” He held menus high in the air above her head.

She frowned and snatched the menus from his grip. “These are the new menus Lucian designed. They turned out quite nicely. She smiled at the memory of how proud Lucian had been when he’d showed them to her.”

“What the fuck was wrong with the old menus? Where is that cocksucker?”

“Stop!” She tugged him by the sleeve into his office. He reluctantly followed.

Shutting the door she said, “Mr. Moretti, what’s wrong with you? Without your son and his skills in the kitchen you are nothing. A new menu was overdue. It’s fresh and includes new dishes. Did you even see the scene he drew by hand on the back cover?”

His brow furrowed and he massaged his scalp with stubby fingers.

She hovered at the office door about to leave, but then turned back. “And one more thing Mr. Moretti.” He looked up at her from his office chair. “The next time I hear you call him that name I’ll be turning in my resignation.”

“He’s gay, Clara. What the fuck would you have me call him?” He ran a hand through his greasy sparse hair.

“Lucian or son.”

“Get out of here and take these with you.” She took the menus and placed them at the hostess station. She retraced the steps to his office this time bearing a cup of coffee and a Danish. He lifted his head when she entered the room with the steaming brew. The pain she saw in his eyes froze her in place.

“Mr. Moretti, I realize it has been hard, but it’s been hard for Lucian too. Mrs. Moretti would have wanted to see you two happy and connected. Love him while you are still able to.” She placed the breakfast on his desk. “Let me know when you’re ready for a second cup.” She wrapped her arms around his round form. His arms slowly rationalizing they too could reach out to her. Finally he embraced her.

She left him in his office and wiped the tears from her face before returning to the kitchen to get started on preparing the cheese exactly how Lucian had taught her.

Around eight thirty she left to attend her philosophy class. It was not a class she enjoyed. Actually, she didn’t enjoy any of her classes. She’d much rather be enrolled at some culinary school, but that would have required moving away from Jackson. It didn’t matter anyway because she had specific interests. She liked to talk about food. It may have started at the small cheese counter at the Italian shop, but her culinary interest had grown. In Austin, Texas she’d visited a cheese shop that had varieties of cheese from around the globe. Over one hundred cheeses had been on display and she and Jackson spent an hour in the shop tasting all the different varieties.

She realized she’d been sitting in class for thirty minutes and not heard a word. She felt her phone buzz in her pocket and discreetly fished it out.

Sunday off from hospital and FD. Calling it National Clara Day.

Sounds nice. It’s Dad’s birthday.

Right. I’ll drive you to the estate.

Told everybody I’d be there Saturday.

I’ll make it happen Bug. Love you.

It was around three o’clock when she returned home. She settled in to study for an anatomy exam on the female reproductive system. The birthing videos she’d been subjected to in class had made her stomach turn and she wished she’d taken geology instead.

An hour and a half later she got up to make a glass of chocolate milk and saw Jackson’s dinner in the refrigerator. It was nearing five o’clock. The ping of her phone disturbed her thoughts.

CODE C

OMW! Bringing U dinner.

Something must be wrong. Code C was what Jackson called a code Clara meaning he needed her asap. Recalling that he had a bed to sleep on in his office at the hospital, she thought it would be nice to spend the night in that bed next to him and wondered if such a thing were even possible. She’d been in the little room before when they’d needed privacy to talk. It was quiet and out of the way. With the tantalizing idea in her mind, she changed into yoga pants and a tank top and pulled on a hoodie in case she became cold. She slid her feet into flip-flops, grabbed his dinner and her books, and left for the hospital.

Once there, she went straight to his office and used the toaster oven to heat the leftover pizza. She went to the soda machine and purchased him a fruit punch drink with electrolytes so at least he’d be well hydrated. On the table in his office she set out the heated pizza, salad, and love note, and then she texted him.

In yr office. Dinner is ready.

Be there in five.

Clara set out her books and pulled a fresh stack of notecards from her backpack. Upon finishing her fifth notecard she heard the door snick open. She looked up and saw Jackson slumped against the door in his green scrubs.

“What’s wrong?” She guided him to the table. He folded into a chair and his hands clasped around her waist as he rubbed his face against her stomach. An agonized moan tore through the room.

“Jackson?” She’d seen him like this before, when he’d lost a patient. Her hand massaged his stiff neck. “What happened?”

“Bug.” He whispered as he continued to bury his face in her stomach.

“Talk to me baby.”

“There was a pile up on the I-10.” His swallow was audible. “Took us five hours to clear. I wanted to be done with the unrelenting death, destruction, and loss, but I couldn’t outrun it. When I got to the hospital all the victims were here to haunt me. Their mangled parts, the blood, the families.” His haunted eyes pierced her in place. “What if I lose you?” His hold on her was so tight it hurt.

He was frantic. “Hey.” She squatted in front of him and took his face in her palms. “Jackson, look at me.” His tortured dark blue eyes looked into hers. “I’m right here. I’ll always be with you. You won’t lose me. I promise.” At her reassurance his brow went smooth. “I’m going to stay the night here too, sleep on the cot. When you’re able, come to me. I’ll be waiting for you.”

He took her hand in his. “Thank you.” He kissed her palm. “I need you so much.”

She leaned in and placed a kiss on his lips. What he saw in a day’s work were things no one was meant to see. Any other person would have cracked by now, but not Jackson. He dedicated his life to helping others during their time of need. He knew firsthand what it was like to lose a family member. He’d lost two all at once.

“Can you eat?”

“I don’t know. Feeling kind of sick.”

“How about some juice and a little salad and bread?” He nodded and let her take care of him. She passed him the love note she’d written on the napkin and his thumb caressed it as he read.

“I’ll always love you, Cracker Jack. Thank you for making sacrifices so we can be together. I’m proud to call you my one and only. Can’t wait to be your wife.”

A lone tear rolled down his cheek. “Bug.” He gasped and pulled her into his chest. “I love you.”

“I more than love you.” As he ate she massaged his shoulders and neck relieving some of his stiffness. She finally sat next to him and took a few bites of pizza while she worked on her notecards.

Pulling the five-pound book toward him, he read the chapter she studied, “Anatomy of the Female Reproductive System.” His brow knit as he looked at her. “When I get my reporting done I’m going to assist you with your studies.”

“Oh really? Are we going to play doctor?”

“I want you to pass your exam so I’m going to conduct one of my own.”

They laughed and he clasped her hand where it rested on top of the table. “Thank you for being here. It makes all the difference.”

“I will always come running for a code Clara.”

“Code Clara,” he whispered.

≈

Things finally quieted around eight o’clock and Jackson was able to catch up on his reporting. Seated at the nurses station he typed away on one of the computers, fueled by what awaited him in his office—a snug Bug. The nicknames were corny, but they always made her smile and he’d make a fool of himself a million times over for a chance to witness her smile just once.

As he finished his reports a woman brought in her eight-year-old child who had taken a nasty fall from a bicycle. The skin beneath her chin hung loose and needed to be sewn on by a steady hand. A plastic surgeon would be best but none had answered the call. Jackson knew he could do it so he took the child and her mother into one of the curtained exam rooms.

Regarding the room with wide eyes, the child stood wearing a football jersey that functioned more as a dress than a shirt. “What’s your name little bit?” He tousled her head.

“April Crawford.”

He smiled at her. “I like that name. Are you a Cowboys fan?” She nodded as he injected her chin with a numbing agent. Not a tear was shed. The kid was tough, and with her short hair and denim jeans, had a boyish quality that reminded him of Clara when she was that age. While he patched her up they spoke about team stats and she named all of the players. When he finished he sat back and admired the stitching. The wound would heal without much of a scar, if any.

As he walked toward the back corner of the floor he felt his burning need for Clara. It scared him how much he needed her. He believed if anybody knew they would tear her away from him. Without her he would not, could not, survive. He knew it was anything but healthy, but their connection ran deep.