All I Need (Hearts of the South) (9 page)

She swallowed. Trust him to cut right to the point, when she didn’t know what the point was. “I’d like for us to be friends.”

Arms folded over his chest, he pinned her with a look. “What about the attraction?”

Somehow, having him acknowledge an attraction still existed made her feel better.

“We just…we deal with it.” She rolled one shoulder in a shrug. “If we decide to sleep together, okay. But I promise—there won’t be another incident like the other night.”

He gazed at her so long she wanted to shift uncomfortably, but finally he nodded. “Okay.”

She flicked a paint flake away with her thumbnail. “Georgia’s playing this weekend, and I usually go to my sister’s for those games if you’d like to do that together. We have a family baby shower to attend that morning, but we could go over for the game about five.”

“I can do that.”

The atmosphere hung heavy and uneasy between them. She wanted to throw up. She’d damaged something precious and fine, when her life was about helping, repairing,
saving
. And she’d done this with her own selfishness, a trait she’d berated Amy for over and over.

He glanced away, his jaw tightening. A muscle flicked in his jaw, and he swung his gaze back to hers. “The apology—it means a lot, Savannah. It really does.”

She nodded, her throat too tight to speak, and he tucked a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. A memory flashed in her mind, of the easy gentleness of a similar gesture, an easy, budding friendship, before she’d ruined it all.

“I’ll see you Saturday.” He let his hand fall away and turned to make his way down the steps. She watched him go, remembering the feel of his lips against hers.

* * * * *

Subdued music and muted laughter spilled from the storefronts along Broad Street. A hint of coolness tried to dispel the day’s warmth, and the spiced scent of apple cider wafted from the cup Savannah cradled in both hands while Amy flipped through a sale rack outside an upscale boutique. Savannah tried to enjoy the evening shopping event, something she and Amy had planned for weeks, but the uneasy distance between her and Emmett kept pushing into her thoughts. The fact he occupied so many of her thoughts, that she had actually wanted him to kiss her, made it worse, deepening her irritation.

“What is with you tonight?” Amy held up a filmy ivory tunic before the ornate mirror leaning against the brick wall.

“There’s…” She bit the words off. Maybe confiding in her sister would help her sort through the whole mess. “I tried to sleep with my neighbor, and it didn’t work out.”

“Didn’t work out how?” Amy slanted a glance full of intrigue at her.

“I basically seduced him and tried to stay as emotionally neutral as possible. I was only looking for something physical.” Savannah sipped her cider. She recoiled from the memory of Emmett stilling beneath her, his slightly sickened expression as he’d separated them and put her away from him. “Anyway, he, um, he stopped us right in the middle. I went home, and we didn’t talk again until today.”

“Wow.” Eyes wide, Amy looked at her over the rack. “What a totally bitchy thing to do to someone, Savannah.”

“Thanks.” She injected a heavy note of sarcasm into her voice, although she acknowledged that Amy was right to call her on the behavior.

“Sleeping with him won’t get you over Gates.”

The simple statement sent her irritation into anger. She narrowed her eyes at her little sister. “Like you would know. You’ve only been with Rob.”

“That doesn’t make me stupid.” Amy didn’t give at all, her expression intent. “I love Rob, the way you loved Gates. If I lost him, going to bed with some other guy would not fill the void. That is stupid. What were you thinking—never mind. You obviously weren’t.”

“Are you finished?”

“Temporarily, yes.” Amy lifted the ivory top along with a skinny, spangled tank in turquoise. “I need to pay for these.”

The transaction provided only a temporary reprieve. On the sidewalk, Amy fixed her with a stern expression. “Why were you seeing him in the first place?”

“I don’t know anyone here—”

“The real reason.” Amy paused, waiting. “What were you looking for?”

Savannah dropped her half-empty cup in the nearest waste receptacle. “Stop doing that.”

“What?”

“Interrogating me.” She glared at her sister. “I’m not one of your suspects.”

“I don’t have to interrogate you.” Amy sketched an airy gesture between them. “I already know why. You’re lonely, the way I’d be without Rob.”

“That is—”

“Right and you know it. You can bullshit him and you can bullshit yourself, but you can’t snow me. Losing Gates changed you, and not necessarily for the better.” Sudden sympathy softened Amy’s eyes. “You saw
something
in him that would give you back part of what you lost—not Gates, but yourself. You’re simply too stubborn to admit it.”

Savannah sucked in a shaky breath. “I hate you.”

“I hate you more.” A gentle smile curved Amy’s mouth.

“I cannot be in another relationship, Amy.” The panic tried to take control of her breathing, to constrict her throat, and she shoved it down, breathing through it. “I can’t.”

If anything, the sympathy in Amy’s gaze glowed brighter. “I think you already are.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Savannah spun on one heel and walked into the nearest shop, blind to the merchandise and people around her. This conversation was definitely over. Amy didn’t have a clue what she was talking about, and Savannah could prove it. She wouldn’t make the same mistake with Emmett twice, but she could definitely keep him in his designated spot in her life. Phone in hand, she tapped out a dinner invite for the following evening.

“What are you doing?” Amy frowned, her sympathy morphing into concern.

“Proving you wrong.” Savannah held the phone aloft as a terse
yes
came back as a response. “I can spend time with him, and it doesn’t mean anything.”

Mouth slightly open, Amy stared at her, then laughed quietly and lifted an Egyptian-style golden collar from a display of costume jewelry. “Here, you need this.”

“What?” Savannah scowled at her. “Why?”

“Because, sister dear, you are definitely the queen of denial.” Amy’s mirth died a quick death. “I only hope you get over that before you do some serious damage to him or yourself.”

Chapter Five

Savannah erased the just-discharged patient’s name from the board. Two slow days in a row, filled with more primary than urgent care. The hours had dragged, and she was ready to put this one to bed. Thirty more minutes, and she’d be on her way to dinner with Emmett. Down the hall, the emergency radio crackled and Mackey’s voice murmured in a tense exchange. The skin along her neck prickled in response to the stress in his low tone.

“Mills.” He strode down the hall to grab a paper gown from the shelf. “Multiple trauma victims en route. ETA two minutes.”

She snagged her own gown and pulled it on while following him to the ambulance bay. The two nurses on duty were already gowning up and pulling supplies. “Auto accident?”

“No, two with multiple GSWs.” Sirens whupped closer and closer, competing with his voice. A police siren wailed long and low in the background.

The first ambulance barreled into the bay. The EMT driving jumped down and ran to aid his partner in unloading the patient. The second ambulance jockeyed into position. A marked sheriff’s unit flew into the lot.

The pair of medics jogged up the ramp with the gurney. The shorter of the pair—the young paramedic Savannah had treated for a sprained ankle last week—called out patient stats. “Twenty-nine-year-old male, multiple gunshot wounds to the torso, intubated on scene, saline IV in place, pulse is 82, pressure is 90 over 40, decreased breath sounds on the right side, patient is not responsive, hypovolemic class two—”

“Take that one. I’ve got the next one.”

Savannah nodded and met the gurney, ready to assess the situation. Her throat closed. Blood spattered a blue emergency-medical-services uniform, sliced open to reveal occlusive dressings covering a pale chest. The same South Georgia Ambulance blue uniform she’d seen Gates put on countless times, the same uniform she’d taken off him as many times.

The same uniform he’d worn the night he died, when the blue fabric had turned purple with spilled blood, just as this one was.

She slammed the memories away. Her patient didn’t have time for those remembrances. As they entered the ER, she rattled off directions to the nurse. “Haley, type and crossmatch, CBCs, and start four units of whole red cells. Need a complete lab workup.”

One nurse. Damn it, she had
one nurse
when she needed at least two. She glanced over the gurney at the paramedic. “Can you start a Foley catheter?”

“Can I start a Foley catheter?” He snorted around a grin, although stress and concern dimmed the attempt at humor. “Watch me.”

“Thanks.” She palpated the chest and abdomen. “Haley, call radiography. We need a chest and abdominals. There’s fluid in his abdomen, so maybe a liver or spleen laceration. Let’s decompress the stomach, then surgery will need to know he’s going to be on his way after radiography.”

With the paramedic’s help, she placed the nasogastric tube to remove the patient’s stomach contents.

“Radiography’s backed up with two Labor & Delivery patients, plus Mackey’s just went up.” Haley hung up the phone.

“Okay. We’ll do it ourselves.” Savannah ground her teeth. Frustration curled through her. She jerked her chin at the medic. “There’s a sonogram machine in exam four. Can you wheel it in here?”

Hours later—longer than she liked—her patient was finally evaluated, stabilized, and on his way to be prepped for surgery. She peeled off her bloody gloves and gown and shoved them into the biohazard container. God, she was tired.

The paramedic—Dempsey, according to his nametag—had hung with her and Haley the whole time. He tore off his own gloves and went to the sink to wash his hands.

“Thank you for staying with us, Dempsey.” She snapped on another set of clean gloves and started clearing the debris. “You were amazing.”

“I always am. Ask anyone.” He grinned at her over his shoulder, but the smile morphed into a puzzled frown that she was too exhausted and on edge to deconstruct.

After she’d restored the room to order—Haley was down the hall, aiding Layla with a patient presenting with chest pains—Savannah used the desk phone to call surgery and check on the injured EMT. He had major tissue damage and associated internal bleeding, but the prognosis was positive. She propped her elbow on the desk and pressed her forehead against her fist. Her eyes burned, and she blinked hard.

He was going to be okay.

That was good.

“Do you know anything?” Dempsey’s terse voice carried from down the hall, growing closer, and she straightened. Nobody was going to witness her moment of weakness.

“Pinpointed the shooter’s position from the cell signal. He—or she—was on the bridge. Crime-scene techs didn’t find anything—no footprints, no vehicle tracks, no shell casings. Bet he used a brass catcher, so the son of a bitch knows what he’s doing.” Rob turned the corner with Dempsey and Troy Lee. “We have the recording of the call, but I swear it sounds like one of those voice-changing apps. The cell is another throwaway, I guarantee you.”

“Guess that rules out it being somebody’s stupid kid.” Troy Lee’s mouth was set in a tense line. His leather gun belt creaked as he rested his hips against the desk pushed against the opposite wall.

“The 5.56 rounds rule out it being somebody’s stupid kid.”

“I’m not feeling good about going back to work here, guys.” Dempsey leaned on the counter across from Savannah.

“Don’t get out of that bus without your vest from now on.” Rob paused, his concerned gaze lingering on Savannah. She looked away. He’d know what was going on in her head, and she couldn’t handle any tender emotions. “Are you headed home?”

She nodded, her throat too tight for words. She lifted a hand in silent farewell and walked away from the conversation. She didn’t need to hear any more.

Once the side-entrance door closed behind her, she sank onto the rough concrete step and rested her face against her hands. She would not cry. Simply one moment to get herself together, then she’d go home.

* * * * *

Emmett pulled the bow across the strings, wincing at how out of tune his violin was. He fiddled with it and tried again. Fine-tuning the instrument helped keep his mind off how damned mad he was, how damned tired he was of Savannah’s games. Invite him to dinner, then blow him off—first not showing up, then not responding to the text he’d sent to make sure she was okay.

His common sense tried to whisper that, hey, she worked in the damn ER. Stuff happened. She was busy and had been held up, that was all.

The hotheadedness that came out whenever he was hurt shouted that he seriously didn’t need this shit in his life. He didn’t need
her
in his life. He recognized the irrational nature of that voice and tried to calm it down. Hotheaded, hardheaded—neither of those traits ever led to anything good for him.