“Yeah, yeah. How’s Jamie?”
Like the rising sun, Marc’s face brightened. “He’s good, man. Haven’t seen him since Tuesday morning though. Can’t wait to get home.”
Rhys nodded with as much pleasantness as he could muster, but the sight of someone else so nauseatingly in love turned his stomach. Marc and Jamie, Dylan and Angelo. Harry and his Cornish horseman soulmate.
Fuck’s sake.
Rhys slapped his headset on and listened to the briefing as it came through.Major fire incident. Multiple casualties. Location: Bedford.
“Bedford?” Rhys glanced at Marc. “That’s not in our jurisdiction.”
Marc shrugged. “Must be a bad one. Check your kit, then sit tight. Windy out there today.”
Great.Despite transferring to the air ambulance way back at the start of the year, Rhys had yet to get used to turbulent flights. Even the calm ones rolled his stomach when he didn’t have a patient to concentrate on.
He ran through the pre-flight checks and took his seat as the chopper came to life, closing his eyes to the roar of the rotor blades.
Marc nudged him. “Really? Still? Guess I’m navigating then.”
“Fuck off,” Rhys muttered without opening his eyes. “You’re the one who said it was windy.”
And it was. The chopper took off less than two minutes after Rhys had rolled out of bed and was immediately buffeted by strong gusts he hadn’t noticed when he’d sprinted to the helipad. He gritted his teeth, reminding himself that the pilots were ridiculously experienced at flying in all weather conditions, that they wouldn’t attempt a take-off if it was truly dangerous, but when that didn’t work, he settled for a method he’d come to rely on: fantasising about the one who’d got away, AKA Jevon. The charismatic dude who’d done a moonlight flit from Rhys’s bed.
Like magic, the juddering helicopter faded away, even with the crew still chatting through Rhys’s headset. He blocked their voices and pictured Jevon as he’d last seen him, padding to the bathroom, come splattered on his belly, his tattooed skin sheened with fresh sweat. He’d smelled amazing. Felt amazing, and his every nervous touch had set Rhys on fire, but it was more than that. Hooking up with Jevon had been nothing like Rhys had experienced before. Rhys was a natural bottom, and he’d never dominated a man like Jevon had invited him to. Until that night, getting dicked out had been his favourite escape, and he’d rarely called the shots.
Jevon’s way had blown his mind. Three months later and he was still thinking about it. Obsessing over it. Imagining what could’ve gone down if he hadn’t passed out drunk.Idiot.He was used to a hangover and an empty bed, but that morning had felt like the end of the world. Still did when he had time to stew on it—which was more than he cared to admit now he’d quit playing around at the club.
The flight out of London took twenty-four minutes. Thoughts of Jevon—his gentle, curious gaze and gorgeous cock—took up ninety per cent of the journey, but a couple of minutes before landing, reality kicked in.
“Jesus,” Marc muttered. “That ain’t no kitchen fire.”
Rhys peered out of the window at the huge clouds of smoke billowing from the compound below. “Might’ve started as one.”
“Nah. The fire doors would’ve contained it. If that shit ain’t deliberate, I’ll buy your lunch.”
Marc always bought lunch, so Rhys let the latter comment slide, and he respected Marc’s opinion too much to disagree with him. “What is this place?”
“Immigration detention centre,” Marc said darkly. “So either an inmate set the fire from inside—some kind of protest, maybe—or we’re looking at an outside terror attack.”
Rhys suppressed a shudder, but their time to speculate ran out. The chopper landed. Marc jumped out. Rhys followed, and they dashed to the pop-up control point to touch base.
Time ceased to exist. The detention centre housed families seeking asylum, and many of the injured were young. Chopper teams always copped the worst cases, and Marc was immediately assigned to a badly burned teenager. Rhys saw terrible things with such monotonous regularity that blood and gore went over his head. Screaming relatives affected him more, but the boy didn’t seem to have any nearby.
Marc stabilised him for transport and they carried him to the helicopter, readying for take-off a mere half hour after they’d landed. With him on board, Rhys went back to collect leftover equipment, and it was only then he noticed a second child crouched on a kit bag.
“Shift up, kiddo,” he said. “I need that bag.”
The tiny girl stared back at him, apparently oblivious to the chaos around her. “Brother,” she said.
Rhys glanced around. “Who is?”
“Brother,” she repeated.
“Rhys! Come on! We need to go!”
Rhys acknowledged Marc’s shout with a wave of his hand and, lacking any brighter ideas, scooped the girl up from the kit bag. He searched the immediate area for anyone with a fucking clue what was going on. Other paramedics and fire crews were all busy, but a G4S worker caught his eye. Rhys approached her, balancing the girl on his hip, the kit bag slung over his shoulder. “She was on her own,” he said. “But I think we have her brother in the chopper. Get her taken care of.”
There wasn’t time to wait for a response. He started to pass the child over, but she dug her fingers into his flight suit and tightened her legs around his torso. “No.”