The last album still sat in the box. Curious, he wiped his cheeks and lifted it out. The bright yellow cover shone like a sunbeam. He opened the book, brushed past the parchment paper, and stared at the empty page. A flip through the other pages quickly confirmed they were all empty. He turned back to the parchment page and spotted his mother’s handwriting on the inside corner of the cover.
This album is for you to fill with new memories.
Love, Mom & Dad
…
“Have you talked to Savannah yet?”
Hunter’s question pulled him away from his silent countdown. Tick-tock. Six p.m., New Year’s Eve. By tomorrow at this time, she’d be somewhere over the Atlantic, winging her way to Venice.
“I sent a text to wish her luck tonight.”
“A good luck text? Hell, if that doesn’t convince her to stay, I don’t know what will.”
If Hunter hadn’t been driving the rig tonight, he would have punched him. “I told her I loved her, and I wanted her to stay.”
“You presented it wrong.”
Really, Einstein? “I presented it honestly. It’s not good enough for her.”
“And you know what? I respect her for calling you on your weak-assed bullshit. Life’s full of risk. Bad things happen to good people. Nobody knows this better than us. But good things happen, too. Savannah, for instance. She’s the best thing to happen to you in a long time. Same goes for the baby. Some people would give up a kidney to fall in love and be loved in return. I have a cousin who’s going through all kinds of crap right now to try to conceive. You’ve been given these gifts a second time. Focus on the good, and muster up some fucking optimism, instead of acting like you’re in love with her against your will—”
A call crackled over the radio, interrupting the Dr. Phil show. Beau picked up and listened as the dispatcher sent them onto the freeway in response to a fender-bender involving a vague report of a female passenger in distress. Hunter turned on the lights and siren, while Beau directed him to the scene.
“Motherfuckers,” Hunter cursed, honking at the slow-to-react drivers reluctant to give up their place in the bumper-to-bumper traffic. “I hope some dickhead drags his ass when you’re the one waiting for help.”
By the time they got to the scene a police cruiser had arrived and officers had placed flares around a late-model minivan with barely a scratch on it and an old Subaru Outback with a crunched-in rear bumper. Hunt pulled in behind the cruiser. Beau grabbed the primary response kit and headed toward the officer standing beside the minivan, talking to a middle-aged man who was presumably the driver of that vehicle. The officer waved him to the other car. Hunter fell into step beside him as he approached the Outback. He saw a female officer standing by the back passenger-side door, leaning into the car. He heard a woman cry out—the kind of cry that started low and slowly escalated to a scream—and quickened his pace. “What have we got?”
The young female officer scrambled away from the car as if there was a ticking bomb inside. “The miracle of birth. Thank God you’re here. I was trying to time the contractions but they’re coming so fast—”
“Where are you going? Don’t leave!” The frantic voice came from the backseat.
“You’re attending,” Beau said, and hung back to let Hunter assess the patient.
Hunter asked for the woman’s name, but the officer shook her head. “We haven’t gotten that far.”
And here’s why his partner made the better lead on this call. Hunter simply pasted on his reassuring smile and stuck his head into the backseat. “Hey there, Ms.—”
“Where’s the woman? Lady, come back. Please!”
Hunter hunkered down. “She’s a state trooper. I’m a paramedic. Right now, you want me.”
“I want a woman! Call another paramedic. Please. I’ll wait…I’ll—” Her breath hitched, and she braced against a new wave of pain. “Jeeeesuuuus. It huuuurts.”
“If you let me take a look, I might be able to do something about the pain.”
Beau left Hunter trying to talk her out of her panties and ran to get the panic pack. He returned in time to hear the mother-to-be say, “Oh God. I can’t believe I’m going to give up my underwear to a fast-talking guy with a pretty face. These kinds of decisions are what got me into this in the first place.” The sentence ended in another breathless cry.
“Would it help if I told you I’m gay?”
Beau put on gloves and then handed Hunter a pair, and admired his partner’s ability to think on his feet.
“Maybe,” the woman panted. “Are you?”
Hunter gloved up and offered her a grin. “Me and this guy”—Hunter nodded at him—“have been partners for a long time. Say hi, Beau.”
Beau leaned his head in and waved at the very young, very pretty, very scared woman stretched out in the back seat. “Hi…?”