17. Liam

CHAPTER 17

LIAM

My shift has less than an hour to go. The rain has been falling steadily all day, and I’m definitely ready to finish up and go see my woman. She’ll be at the wedding rehearsal now. I wanted to go with her, but in order to get tomorrow off, I had to work today. I’ll catch her at the rehearsal dinner tonight, but I’m looking forward to that. It’s been such a long time coming, and they’ve had so many things get in their way, but tomorrow… it’s happening. I’ve never seen Baxter more determined about anything.

Rachel’s been working her ass off preparing food and helping Lani and Asher set up the grove with fairy lights and picnic tables. It’s been good for her. It’s helped to distract her from the torture of waiting to hear from the adoption agency again.

I was so gutted when the last one fell through. I couldn’t really show it, because Rachel was struggling so much and needed me to be strong, but it was like a punch to the heart. I thought I was finally going to be a dad, but yet again, it wasn’t happening.

Sometimes I worry that the universe doesn’t want me to be a father. It’s not like I had a very good one—no decent example to follow—and I’m still a little terrified that I might turn out like him, which is why I don’t drink alcohol.

But I don’t want that hurting Rachel. She would be the best mother—so loving, sweet, and kind. She deserves to have a baby, and I hate that our bodies won’t let us do that. When the IVF didn’t work, it was gut-wrenching, after the amount of money we poured into it. I still owe Mikayla’s dad, but he keeps telling me there’s no rush.

“It’s an interest-free loan to pay back in your own time. Please don’t stress yourself out about it.”

We’re currently paying him back a thousand dollars a month, and it’s going to take forever at this rate. Thank God that adoption grant came through. Even with that, we’ve all but emptied our savings account to make this happen. So… it needs to fucking happen.

Holding my sigh in check, I glance at my partner, sitting in the driver’s seat and texting who knows. We’re parked across the road from the college, watching summer students dash through the rain.

I’m working with Dan today, and he’s always after low-key shifts, so we’ll often park in places like this and while away the hours waiting for a call. Rain can sometimes bring out the worst in people, but all we’ve had to deal with today is a shoplifter at the drugstore and a neighborly dispute over a barking dog.

I glance at my watch. Forty-three minutes to go. I’m nearly home clear.

“Unit Five, we have a 10-50 on Indigo and Twenty-Seventh. Multiple injuries. Possible fatality. Ambulance has been dispatched.”

Road accident. I wince, grabbing for the radio as Dan pulls away from the curb. “Copy that, dispatch. En route to scene.”

I flick on the sirens and the rain picks up, the wipers slashing across the windshield as we speed through town. Traffic makes way and we arrive four minutes later, my insides dropping as I spot the mangled car and steam rising from the crumpled hood. A dented delivery truck is sitting at an odd angle, obviously having plowed into the vehicle and sent it spinning into a lamppost. I have no idea who’s at fault, but the poor car didn’t stand a chance against that truck.

“Dispatch, Unit Five arrived on scene. What’s the ETA on that ambulance?”

“Two minutes out.”

“Copy that.”

I slip out of the squad car, pulling my hat down as I approach the two vehicles and the five civilians working hard to wrench doors open and gain access to the injured passengers. There’s a frantic energy buzzing between them as they shout suggestions at one another. I glance at the truck, noticing the crumpled door askew and then spotting a few people crouching down beside the shaken driver. He’s sitting on the curb, someone holding a T-shirt to his head, failing to mop up the stream of blood pouring from the gash along his hairline. His eyes are dazed and glassy, his skin pale.

“Keep pressure on it,” I call to the helpful woman. “The paramedics will be here in just a minute.”

I then turn my attention back to the car.

“Okay, what have we got here?” I ask the guy closest to me, my stomach plummeting when I notice the limp limbs at unnatural angles and the blood smeared across the cracked glass.

“I didn’t even see it happen.” The man’s voice trembles as he moves back from the door he’s failing to open. “I just heard the almighty smash and came running.”

“You three, step back, please. We don’t want any more injuries. Watch that glass!” Dan starts ordering the crowd around while I take a closer look into the written-off car.

From my brief glance, I can’t imagine there being much hope for the driver or the passenger, but I still pull on a pair of disposable gloves and pick my way around to the smashed window on the other side of the mangled wreck. One of the guys is arguing with Dan, insisting that he keep helping us.

As I reach in to examine the driver, I hear a soft wail, and my insides jolt.

“There are kids in there!” the man bellows at Dan.

Poking my head into the vehicle, I see the two car seats, and my stomach plummets.

Holy shit.

Racing to the back door, I try to wrench it open. My movements are frantic, the mangled metal making it impossible to budge the door.

“Dan, get over here!” I shout, willing my muscles to be stronger as I strain against this stubborn door.

He’s already on his way, the determined civilian following in his wake. My partner blinks against the rain and peers through the back window.

“Shit,” he mutters, coming to help me as the kids inside obviously pick up on our panic and start wailing in earnest.

The boy, who looks to be about three, is letting out these gasping sobs while his baby sister is kicking her legs and screaming. His cries are triggering hers, and I can feel their terror.

“That thing isn’t moving,” Dan puffs, resting his hand on his hip. “But it’s too dangerous to break the glass, and we can’t move those bodies either. Sir, would you please step back.”

“We need to get those kids out of there.” The man looks distraught.

“I know. Sir, we’re gonna get them out. Do you know these kids?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “But I have a young son, and I…” He points to the car.

“Okay.” Dan gently ushers him away from the car.

I stare at the crumpled mess and curse under my breath, pulling the radio off my belt and contacting the station.

“Dispatch, this is Unit Five. We’ve got children trapped in this vehicle. Need urgent assistance.”

“Fire is on the way. They’ve been delayed by another call out but should be there in five minutes.”

I slip my radio back onto my belt, then bend down to try and get the boy’s attention. “Hey, buddy!” I tap on the glass, swiping rain off my face. “Can you hear me?”

He stops screaming for a second, poking his head around the edge of his car seat so he can get a better look at me.

“Hi.” I wave my hand, smiling and wondering how distorted I must look through the splintered glass. “I know you’re scared,” I call to him. “But we’re going to get you out of there, okay? I’m a police officer, and I’m here to help you.”

His big brown eyes gape at me for a long beat, and then he starts wailing again. His poor little sister hasn’t stopped, and I feel helpless as I stand here waiting for support.

The ambulance arrives, the paramedics running to do their jobs, and thank God the fire crew turns up only moments later.

Dan and I work crowd control, two other units arriving to support us while I anxiously wait for those kids to be freed from the wreckage.

Dan’s questioning witnesses, and I should be, too, but I’ve just heard the deafening sound of screeching metal. I run back to the car, ready to grab those kids as soon as they come out.

The firefighter pulls the baby seat out, and I rest it in the crook of my elbow, then scoop the little boy into my arms as soon as he’s clear of the vehicle. Walking them through the driving rain to the squad car, I open the back door and get them inside.

The poor little girl has screamed herself back to sleep and is now whimpering, her little chest heaving as her brother climbs over my lap and stares down at her.

“Is this your little sister?”

Tears splash out of his eyes as he nods.

“She’s safe now,” I assure him.

The boy glances at me.

“What’s her name?”

He stares at me for a long, slow beat before finally whispering, “Lucia.”

“That’s a pretty name.” I smile, running my hand down his back. “And what’s your name?”

“Carlos.” He has a mild accent, so I decide to greet him in Spanish.

“Hola, Carlos.”

His head snaps around to face me, his eyes wide. I give him a soft smile and start speaking to him in Spanish.

I find out that he’s three.

And that his favorite color is blue.

It takes me about twenty minutes to get that much. He keeps looking out the window and staring at the crumpled car. I don’t want him to see his parents’ mangled bodies, so I distract him with my flashlight, keeping his face turned away as they’re pulled from the wreckage and covered with white sheets.

My stomach knots into a hard ball when Carlos starts crying again. A whimper bubbles out of his throat, and then the tears fall in earnest all over again. He flops against my chest, and I cradle his head, singing a Spanish lullaby and trying to calm him.

The rain eases to a gentle whisper, running down the glass as I stare at the heartbreaking scene and wait for the paramedics to come check on the children. Child services will no doubt meet us at the hospital and get these kids someplace safe for the night.

I hope they have grandparents or aunts and uncles nearby who can take them in.

These two precious kids have just lost their parents in one fell swoop.

How can life be so monumentally unfair?