68 Whiskey (POSSUM HOLLOW #2) by Erin Russell EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Erin Russell
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 4.5 MB
- Price: Free
TRISTAN
The Egg McMuffin I’m shoveling into my mouth is at least two hours
old. It’s a stone-cold mess of congealed and cheese, but it’s still the best
goddamn thing I’ve put in my mouth all week.
As depressing as that is.
Eight years in the military living off MREs and chow hall slop really
gives you an appreciation for any food that doesn’t come out of a vacuum
pack. On top of that, this has been a grueling fucking shift. It’s one of those
sweltering summer nights, the kind where it feels like the humidity is trying
to drown you, and there’s no reprieve from the heat. Even at 2a.m., I was
sweating out my body weight and it’s only gotten warmer since then. I’m
dehydrated and I’m fucking hungry.
Possum Hollow is a teeny, tiny little town in the middle of nowhere,
Missouri. It’s stereotypical rural poor, so working on an ambulance I see a
decent amount of action with bar brawls, overdoses, and diabetes
complications, but not a lot else. Most days, the shifts feel like a breath of
fresh air compared to all the lives I’ve lived before.
Tonight was an exception. There was a multi-car pile-up, which is not
something we see that often. My partner Cade—the EMT to my paramedic
—had to pop his solo-CPR cherry because there were too many casualties
to triage while we waited for other ambulances to be routed from nearby
counties.
He handled it, though, and I’m pretty damn proud of him. Not that I’ll say
so. He’s been on the job a little over a year, and this is when his ego needs
to be kept in check before he gets over-confident and accidentally kills
someone.
I’m not judging. He’ll fuck up and kill someone eventually; it’s a rite of
passage for emergency med. But as the person who sucked him into this
messy-ass job by convincing him to go to EMT school, I feel obligated to
try to shield him from the worst of it as long as I can.
Right now, he’s sitting still for once in his life; his head tipped back in the
passenger’s seat and his eyes closed. Cade normally has the energy of a
golden retriever puppy trying not to trip over his own paws. Instead, with
blood and vomit on his shirt and a fresh trauma running through his mind,
the atmosphere in the cab feels heavy.
“Eat,” I say, throwing his own gelatinous egg sandwich into his lap.
The grimace I get in response tells me he’s not feeling it, but I’m not
taking no for an answer.
“Trust me. You’re going to feel like shit either way, and your body needs
the fuel. The shift ain’t over yet. The last thing you want is for us to get
called to another fucking job and you start feeling faint half-way through.”
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