2. Banks

Chapter 2

Banks

Sitting at my desk in the small, cluttered office I share with the other guys at the fire station, I'm trying to focus on the never-ending stream of paperwork. It's amazing how much bureaucracy gets tangled up with saving lives. I tap my pen against the desk, staring out the window, half-listening to the muffled sounds of banter and activity from the rest of the crew. Just another day in Silver Spoon Falls.

Then, the radio crackles to life, pulling my attention away from the dreary office surroundings. "Bad accident reported on the road between Silver Spoon Falls and Midnight Falls," Martha's voice cuts through, crisp and urgent as ever. I can practically see her pushing her glasses up her nose and taking the call with her usual efficiency. "Multiple vehicles involved, possible injuries."

Instinct blazes through me, an urge so strong it nearly knocks me off my seat. I need to be there. Whatever this is, it's not just part of the job. I can't explain it but, in my heart, I know it's something vital to me. The overwhelming urge to go to the scene tears through me as soon as the call comes in. I toss the pen down, grab my jacket, and am out of the office before the details finish streaming in.

The guys are already assembling at the rig, their faces displaying the same focused determination I feel. Dacen, Evan, and Bodie are ready, moving with the mechanical precision that comes from too many shifts together. We've seen it all—or so we think. But every call is new, unpredictable.

As the rig rolls out, lights and sirens cutting through the afternoon, I hop in my SUV and follow them, keeping my eyes trained ahead, heart thumping in time with the rig's roar. Real life always beats the paperwork.

When we pull up to the scene, chaos unfolds like a movie set with a tangle of flashing lights and twisted metal. Two mangled cars dominate the scene, a hulking black SUV and a once-sleek little red sports car. I watch Dacen, Evan, and Bodie as they head toward the SUV. Emmett and Alessandro head to the little red car, and instinct draws me to follow them. Something tugs in my gut. I can't exactly explain it, but it's like a premonition, a sense of urgency.

As we jog over, I spot the driver of the sports car lying at the side of the road, swathed in a wool blanket. An officer must have placed it there while waiting for us, a small mercy against the chilly afternoon.

Emmett crouches beside her, speaking in low, steady tones. "Ma'am, we're here to help. Just try to stay still for me, alright?"

Alessandro pulls back the edge of the blanket, revealing blood trickling down the side of her face. The stark contrast against her pale skin causes concern to slice through the adrenaline-filled haze. This moment is always a gut-punch, seeing someone in pain and knowing it's our job to help.

I try to get a look at her, but an ever-diligent EMT obstructs my view as he begins assessing her injuries. He places one hand on her shoulder, the other gently but firmly keeping her head in place. "Let's not move your head now. We're going to put a collar on, just in case."

She tries to turn her head to the side, dazed but conscious. The EMT stops her with a gentle reminder, "Don't move, just breathe."

Finally, as the EMT works on stabilizing her, I catch a clear view of her face. My heart does an odd sort of leap like it's forgotten how to beat in a normal rhythm. She's stunning, even battered and bruised. Long, curly black hair spills around her like a dark halo. Her eyes blink open and, at first, I think they may be hazel, but as the light catches them, they turn out to be a startling, deep violet that seems to shimmer with an inner light.

I'm struck dumb. Not the time, not the place , a voice in my head chides, but reason has no hold. She's like a vision, even here in the wreckage of a highway accident.

"Hey," I manage to say, keeping my voice calm and steady, stepping around Alessandro and kneeling down next to the woman who just stole my goddamn heart. "You're doing great. We're going to get you out of here soon."

There's a flicker of a smile or perhaps just a twitch of her plump, pouty lips. Hard to tell, but it feels like a gift, nonetheless. Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, the world around us shrinks to just the two of us, this invisible connection between us.

The EMT finishes applying the C-collar and nods at his partner. "Cooper, let's get the board."

I watch stunned as they spring into action, fetching the backboard and some straps. While I watch in stunned silence, my blown mind keeps replaying the moment her eyes opened and the surreal rare shade of them that reminds me of a comet tail.

As we secure her for transport, I keep talking, mostly for her sake, a little for mine. "You're going to be just fine. What's your name?"

"Yvette," she murmurs, her voice barely audible over the surrounding clamor. But it's sweet, dulcet. A melody amid the chaos.

"Alright, Yvette, we've got you. We're gonna get you checked out by some top-notch folks, make sure you're all good."

She murmurs what might be a thank-you, her eyes fluttering as the adrenaline and shock start to take their inevitable toll. We lift her carefully, moving her to the waiting ambulance. Emmett's already coordinating with dispatch and the hospital, pure efficiency as he delivers status updates.

After we load the barely conscious Yvette into the back of the ambulance, she keeps muttering over and over again. Her words are barely more than a whisper, but they slice through the clamor with stunning clarity: "That creep ran me off the road on purpose."

Those words ignite something white-hot within me, an anger that floods through my veins with the intensity of a flash fire. The woman who, moments ago, had captivated me with her violet gaze now becomes the center of my universe. Yvette isn't just some stranger. She's someone precious and wronged, and I'm about to fix that situation. I find my feet moving before my brain catches up, an irresistible pull drawing me toward the black SUV.

I'm not even sure what I'm planning to do, but the rush of anger and protectiveness demands an outlet. The faceless, nameless idiot endangered her life. Rage becomes a living thing inside me, and I'm ready to unleash it.

But before I can get within swinging distance, Deputy Ashton Gannon, who's been a good friend of mine since we were kids getting into mischief in Silver Spoon Falls, intercepts me. His timing's annoyingly perfect, his grip ironclad as he grabs me by the arm, halting my forward momentum.

"Banks, what the hell are you doing?" Ashton's voice is a mix of authority and irritation, but I can barely focus, my gaze locked on the man standing on the side of the SUV, unscathed and insufferably smug.

"Let me go, Ash!" I bark, straining against his hold, every muscle screaming to launch at the guy. "I swear, I'm going to kill the asshole who hurt my girl."

The unflappable deputy tightens his grip, impervious to my struggle. Years of wrestling in high school taught him all my moves and how to counter them. He plants himself in front of me, blocking my view of the SUV driver. He's an effective barrier between me and the object of my wrath, and that's motherfucking unacceptable. "I'm saving you from becoming some big son-of-a-bitch's girlfriend in prison, man!" he hisses. "I doubt that gorgeous woman is going to wait around for you to serve twenty-five to life."

I glare, a wild mix of fury and desperation swirling in my chest. "It'll be worth it, Ash! This motherfucker ran my girl off the fucking road," I insist, the words escaping before I even realize how intensely I've begun to think of Yvette as ‘mine.'

But Ashton shakes his head, maintaining his hold, his voice low but firm. "The fucking Silver Spoon Falls water has another victim." I glance over at him, trying to absorb his words, but my brain isn't functioning properly.

I never put much thought into the local legend involving the "magic" water in town that seems to lead to a crazy number of love-at-first-sight matches. Until now. Now, I'm wondering if I am the water's latest target.

My musing is interrupted by Ashton. "Look, Banks, I get it. You're pissed, and you have every right to be. But beating the guy senseless here on the highway isn't going to fix a damn thing."

I take a deep breath, but it barely tempers my anger as the fire roars through my blood loud enough to drown reason. "She could have been killed!"

"All the more reason to let us handle it properly." Ashton gestures to the paramedics and officers working the scene, their movements practiced and efficient, more forks in the road of justice than chaos. "You want this dipshit to pay? Fine. But you've got to let me do my job."

His words finally manage to snake through the hot mess of my thoughts. Logic and reason begin to snake themselves through the angry fog, providing a tiny whisper of clarity. I can't help protect Yvette if I'm stuck answering for assault charges or sitting in a jail cell. I want to protect the curvy little knockout who's starting to matter more than anything else in the world. Crazy, I know.

With a heavy sigh, I sag slightly, my energy spent. Ashton slowly releases his grip, keeping a wary eye on me for any flare-ups of hotheadedness. "You good?" he asks, less like a question and more like a directive.

"Fine," I mutter, though the word tastes bitter. My hands clench and unclench at my sides as I glance over Ashton's shoulder at the smug face of the SUV driver. Hate flows through me followed closely by the determination to make sure he never gets close enough to breathe the same air as Yvette ever again.

"I'll take it from here," Ashton reassures me, his voice holding an edge of promise. "This guy's not getting away with anything. I'll make sure of it."

I nod tersely, watching as Ashton approaches the SUV driver, the two engaging in a conversation I can't hear but hope involves Ashton channeling his inner rule-following bad-cop. It's a fractured kind of solace, seeing the system at work, knowing Ashton's got my back while feeling absolutely fucking useless.

Exhaling the last vestige of my anger, I turn back toward the ambulance, where Yvette's being carefully secured. The EMT gives me a quick nod, a silent assurance she's in good hands.

The moment they secure Yvette in the ambulance, I feel this ironclad need to be with her. It's irrational, maybe, but something about her compels me, makes me certain she shouldn't be alone right now. I insist on riding along and, thankfully, the team knows me well enough not to argue. Maybe they see the determination etched across my face, or maybe they just don't want to deal with my stubbornness today.

As I climb into the back with her, the hustle of emergency personnel surrounds us, working quickly but methodically to ensure Yvette's stable. The ambulance rocks slightly with the road's rhythm as it speeds toward the hospital, sirens slicing through the air.

She's awake, but her eyes, those stunning violet depths, flicker with confusion and pain. The butterscotch warmth of the late afternoon sun filters through the ambulance windows, casting a soft glow on her face, illuminating the dried streaks of blood that mar her otherwise flawless porcelain skin.

I settle close by, tentatively reaching for her hand. Her fingers feel delicate, wrapped in a comforting blanket of softness that contrasts sharply with the world of metal and movement around us. I half expect her to flinch or pull away, but she surprises me, her fingers curling slightly in response. It's this small, fragile connection that feels like everything to me.

The EMT works diligently, adjusting monitors and speaking in a calm, reassuring voice. I know him well; we've been through countless emergencies together. When we pull up at the emergency room, he remarks over the steady beeping and hum of the ambulance, "I know better than to try to stop you from coming in with us."

"Good," I reply, a bit gruffly but with a touch of gratitude.

I focus on squeezing Yvette's hand gently, a silent promise that we're not just two strangers thrown together by circumstance. Well, maybe we are, but I'd like to think there's something more to this moment. Her eyes drift shut intermittently, whether guided by exhaustion or relief, I'm not sure.

"Hey," I murmur softly, leaning closer, "you just hang in there, okay? You're doing great." I'm not even sure what I'm saying, it's all platitudes and platonic warmth. But each word anchors her to me.

Her response is a faint, whimsical smile, like a ghost of amusement flitting briefly across her face. It's reassuring, a sign she's still with me, fighting through the fog.