The emergency room doors flew open.
"Twenty-six-year-old male, smoke inhalation! Second-degree burns on the left arm! Blood pressure dropping!"
The trauma team rushed into action.
Nurse Amara Brooks adjusted her gloves before stepping forward.
"One, two, three!"
The patient transferred onto the bed.
Behind the stretcher walked the firefighter who had carried him through a burning apartment building.
Six-foot-four.
Broad shoulders.
Dark navy turnout pants hanging low on his hips.
Soot covered his caramel skin while sweat dripped down his forehead.
His jaw was sharp.
His expression?
Annoyed.
He refused treatment.
"I'm fine."
Amara didn't even look up.
"No, you're stubborn."
The firefighter blinked.
"...Excuse me?"
She finally raised her eyes.
Chocolate brown met hazel.
The room somehow became quieter.
"You've got blood running down your forehead."
"It isn't mine."
"Congratulations."
"..."
"You still need stitches."
A few nurses snickered.
The firefighter sighed.
"I'm Lieutenant Ethan Walker."
She shrugged.
"I'm Nurse Amara Brooks."
He expected her to be impressed.
She wasn't.
"I don't care if you're the President."
The entire trauma room burst into laughter.
One of the firefighters slapped Ethan's shoulder.
"Oooooh."
"You got humbled."
Ethan rubbed the back of his neck.
For the first time in years...
Someone had absolutely no interest in his charm.
And somehow...
He wanted to see her again.
YOU ARE READING
When Sirens Meet
RomancePeople always said hospitals were where lives were saved. Fire stations? That's where people ran toward danger. Neither place had room for love. Or so they thought.
