Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 118733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 594(@200wpm)___ 475(@250wpm)___ 396(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 594(@200wpm)___ 475(@250wpm)___ 396(@300wpm)
Kent lifted the blankets, brushed her tangled hair aside, and kissed her cheek. “Have a good day at work.” He slipped out of bed and went into the bathroom to shower and get ready for work. Maeve would text him later after she left, and they’d text throughout the day, but they wouldn’t see each other for a couple of days. Kent worked twenty-four on, forty-eight off, for the San Francisco Fire Department as a paramedic, while Maeve had what she called a boring nine-to-five office job.
On his way to the station, he stopped at his favorite coffee shop, RoccoBean. He stood in the doorway for a second longer than he needed and inhaled deeply. He loved the smell of freshly ground coffee beans, which was the main reason he stopped there every day. The shop was one of those blink-and-you’d-miss-it places, and the only reason he knew about it was because he once responded to a call there. Ever since, it had become part of his morning routine. Sure, they had coffee at the station, but nothing beat RoccoBean.
He placed his usual order, added a slice of recently baked banana bread, and waited off to the side. By the time his name was called, he had finished the pastry and desperately wished he had bought two pieces, but he needed to get to work before shift change and made a mental note to double up tomorrow morning.
Kent arrived at the station an hour before his shift started. He had a routine and rarely deviated from it. The ten years he’d spent in the army as a medic had trained him in ways only other soldiers could appreciate, and because of this, Kent liked things a certain way. He set his coffee, and the one he’d bought for his partner of three years, Damian Caruso, down on a bench and went to his rig. It was his and Damian’s responsibility to restock the bus before their shift started, although most medics would do this after every call, unless they’d been out on calls all night. It was a rarity for Kent and Damian to have to fully restock before their shift.
Kent opened the back door and climbed inside. He checked the oxygen levels on the portable units and verified that they were securely in place. He ran his hand over the stretcher to confirm it was ready for use. Finally, he checked the first aid supplies and made a note on his phone of what they needed. In the event the alarm sounded now, they would have sufficient supplies in the field. Once Kent was satisfied with the inside, he went around to the driver’s side door, hopped in, and started the rig. While he waited for the red dial to reach the F on the gas gauge, he flipped the lights and turned on the siren, although the currently sleeping crew probably wasn’t thrilled. With the tank full, Kent turned off the truck and hopped out.
By the time he finished, the new shift crew had arrived. With both coffees in hand, Kent said good morning to the crew that was about to leave. Most were groggy, and he wondered if there had been a lot of calls the night before. Before he met Maeve, Kent would often volunteer to cover shifts or come in to help if needed. When they became serious, he scaled back and kept his days off for her. He even went as far as turning off his scanner when she was there. He had a fascination with needing to know where his coworkers were going when he wasn’t there.
Kent climbed the stairs to the third floor, where the medics spent most of their time if they weren’t out on calls. There was a fitness center on this floor, a kitchen and dining room, a lounge, and their dorm area for sleeping. He entered the locker room, went to his assigned space, and set the coffees down. He stored his keys and wallet and changed from his street clothes into his blue work pants and shirt and made sure his name tag and badge were straight.
The smell of bacon led Kent to the kitchen. His stomach growled despite the banana bread he’d eaten earlier. He found Damian at the stove, scrambling a large batch of eggs with some other crew members seated around the table drinking the unfavorable coffee brewed in the station’s coffeepot.
Every shift the medics took turns with the chores. Paramedic Isha Cortez had graciously made a monthly calendar for everyone to follow. For the next twenty-four hours, Kent had sweeping duty, which was much better than cooking for everyone. Kent was an okay cook—when he cooked for himself or Maeve—but add in a dozen or more people, and he didn’t know what he was doing. Doubling or tripling recipes never worked out well for him.