Rhys shrugged and ordered the Thai chicken patty. When the server had gone, he rested his elbows on the table. “I’m glad we came out.”
“Me too. As much fun as losing a day to your bed is.”
Rhys sniggered and drank some expensive beer. “We do have fun, don’t we?”
“We do.”
Jevon stirred the ice in his rum and Coke. “It’s nice to see you smile, too. I reckon we should—”
A panicked scream and the screech of chairs being pushed back cut him off. Instinct turned Rhys around, his gaze quickly zeroing in on a table six feet away from them. A child strapped into a high chair was coughing, and the adults at the table were losing it.
“He’s choking!” A man lurched to his feet and moved to stick his fingers down the child’s throat.
Shit.Rhys dashed across the crowded restaurant, his stool crashing to the floor behind him. He reached the man before he could blink and shoved him away. “No! You’ll push the blockage further down.”
The child had fallen silent, coughing cut off by whatever was lodged in his throat. Rhys unbuckled the high chair straps. “How old?”
“Ten months,” the woman closest to the child gasped. “He’s ten months.”
Rhys pulled the baby from the high chair and laid him face down on his bent leg, supporting his head, and aimed five firm blows with the heel of his hand between the child’s shoulder blades.
Nothing happened.
Rhys tried again, but whatever was blocking the baby’s airway wouldn’t budge. He tried to remember the last time he’d performed abdominal thrusts on a living patient this small but came up blank. He’d seen Marc do it, but Marc was pretty much God.
Focus. Rhys sensed Jevon behind him and drew strength from the calmness that seeped from him anytime he was nearby with his clothes on. He turned the baby over and found the breastbone, pressing down sharply with two fingers. Again, nothing happened, but on the second cycle, finally, something moved. The baby coughed. Rhys turned him over and gently knocked his back until the wadded lump of bread spilled out of his mouth.
The entire scene had unfolded in less than a minute, but when Rhys looked up, it seemed like a lifetime had passed. “You still need an ambulance,” he said to the circle of adults around him. “There might be more that hasn’t come out yet.”
“I’m on the line with them now,” a man said. “They want to talk to you.”
Rhys took the phone and gave his details to the 999 operator, smiling inwardly at the relief in the baby’s loved ones when they realised he was an actual paramedic, not some nutter who’d snatched their kid and lumped it one.
A street crew was on their way. Rhys could’ve passed the baby back and returned to his dinner, but he didn’t, and he was still rubbing the tiny boy’s back when the ambulance rolled up a few minutes later.
It was a crew he knew. He handed the baby over, debriefed them, and only then did he go back to his table.
Jevon was waiting for him, new drinks and full plates of food ready. He was smirking.
“What?” Rhys asked tiredly.
“Nothing, brother. Eat your dinner.”
Rhys shook his head and did as he was told. Sometimes regaining control came from someone else taking the reins, and the burgers weregood.Rhys was hoovering up the last of the chips when a tall, broad-shouldered blond man emerged from the staff door of the restaurant and approached the table with a bottle of ridiculously expensive champagne.
“Tom Fearnes—I’m one of the owners of Misfits.” He extended his hand. “Oh hey, Jevon. I didn’t realise it was your table that saved the day.”
“Not me.” Jevon slapped the man—Tom—on the back. “It was Rhys.”
“Well, whoever it was, trust me, you’re not paying for your meal.” Tom turned to Rhys. “Thank you. I can’t even contemplate what could’ve happened if you hadn’t been here. Our team are first aid trained, but I’m not sure any of them could’ve handled it the way you did.”
Rhys shrugged. “Comes with the job. I can cook burgers at home, but not for a hundred people.”
“Still.” Tom held out the champagne. “We’d like to give you this as a tiny token of our appreciation. It’s people like you that remind us what really matters.”
He shook their hands again and walked away. Rhys watched him disappear into the kitchen, though he clearly wasn’t a chef, then cast a quizzical look at Jevon. “How do you know that hottie?”
“Tom?”