Worth the Risk(20)

Sitting here and thinking these thoughts makes me no better than Mick.

And that’s why I start my car without knocking on her door . . . because fuck dropping myself to Mick’s level. Fuck Sidney Thorton. Fuck the girl who used to push my buttons as a teenager and who is hitting a whole hell of a lot more as a grown woman.

She’s the type of woman I steer clear of. Materialistic. Shallow. Selfish.

It doesn’t make me want her any less.

I pound my fist against the steering wheel because that isn’t fair. That’s the teenager she used to be. I have no clue what she’s like now.

Goddamn gorgeous is what she is.

Shit. I’ve changed leaps and bounds since then. A lovestruck twenty-year-old who was so busy with himself and the day-to-day he missed every sign that the mother of his son wasn’t planning to stick around.

How fair would it be for someone to judge me as that man for the rest of my life when now I know it’s the little things you have to pay attention to? The frustrated sighs. The lack of responses. The back facing me every night in bed when it used to be lips nuzzled against my neck and fingers linked with mine.

Christ. My hands grip the steering wheel as I hit the red light.

People change, Grayson Malone. Look at yourself.

So why am I having such a hard time believing Sidney can, too?

Because she’s trouble with a capital T.

That’s a fucking fact.

The light turns green, and I rev the engine a little harder than I should. So much for apologizing.

And so much for not thinking about her, either.





The rain whips viciously against the windshield.

Cochran’s voice fills my head. “Goddammit, Malone. It’s too dangerous to fly in this storm.”

The thwack, thwack, thwack of the blades overhead is like a metronome to the sights and sounds.

Ignoring Cochran, I turn to my crew. “Who’s with me? You don’t have to fly, but I can’t leave them out there to die.” The concerned looks on the faces of my crew as I give them the option while dispatch frantically sounds off in the background.

Drunk driver in head-on collision. Four patients in serious condition. One more a trauma alert.

“You aren’t going anywhere.”

“Bullshit. They need us. I’ll fly on my own if I have to.”

The ambulance’s lights cut through the darkness of the night. Red flashes over and over as precious seconds tick down, each one another moment less to save the patient we’re about to transport.

“ETA Spiderman to Sunnyville General?” Dispatch’s voice crackles in my ear as I watch the ambulance doors open and my lone flight nurse help pull the stretcher out of the bus. A medic is straddling the patient, hands occupied somehow trying to save the life as they move across the grassy field. Their progress is hindered by the mud, but they push on. The rain is thick, the air is cold, and it’s frigid as fuck.

“We should be airborne in about five minutes.”

“Be careful, Malone. There’s an aircraft advisory.”

“I’m aware.” I squint to see through the rain.

“You shouldn’t be fly—”

“Our ETA is roughly thirty minutes out.”

“Ten-four. Keep us apprised. Staff will be on standby.”

“Will do.”

The doors open on the chopper and a burst of cold wind whips inside as the crew yells codes to each other above the roar of the rotors. I look back to Alyssa, my flight nurse, who looks wary as she glances at the weather whipping around us before looking at the patient that she’s helping to load. She meets my eyes briefly, and the subtle shake of her head tells me that the patient is worse than she thought. The medic from the ambulance doesn’t move from astride the patient as the stretcher is secured, and I overhear something about fingers holding the femoral artery.

The doors close as more codes fly between the crew in a symphony of chaos we all understand.

I look back, and for a split second, the crew parts, revealing the face of our patient. Fucking Christ. Blood covers every part of her except for a small section of her face, a face I know. Her petrified eyes are wide open and unresponsive.

Reese Dillinger.

I clench my jaw and turn forward, my hands gripped on the cyclic stick so I can take off as soon as everyone is clear.

Precious seconds tick by as I jog my knee and wait. This hits way too goddamn close to home.

Holy shit.

C’mon.

Tick.

C’mon.

Tick.

C’mon.

Tick.

I get the all clear, and with a deep breath, lift the bird up into the swirling wind. We’re jolted violently to the left by a pocket of air when we clear the trees, and Alyssa yelps in reflex, but there’s fear in her tone.

“Hold on,” I murmur to myself, with a quiet will to make this flight as quick and safe as possible to give Reese the biggest chance of survival.

I think to our interaction over the years. Elementary school with her hair in pigtails. Middle school with braces on her teeth. High school when she was suspended for helping steal our rival’s mascot. Hanging out at the mall. Birthday parties. She was a part of my memories growing up, even if she wasn’t front and center. A child of privilege and little responsibility but good, nonetheless.

The sounds of vitals and the determination of my flight crew sound off in my headset, spiking my adrenaline so high my hands start to shake.