Page 1 of Trigger Discipline
CHAPTER 1
RADIO SILENCE
Blake always thought he would be dead when the world ended.
After all, isn’t the sun just one giant explosion? A ticking time bomb waiting to blow, taking the solar system and all life as they know it with it. That was a terrifying thought. But when the clock was counting down from eight billion years—well, you’d have to forgive his hubris in thinking the end of the world would have nothing to do with him.
Whenever a major world event occurred, everyone always asked, ‘what were you doing?’ Where were you when the Berlin Wall fell? When President Clinton looked into the camera and denied sexual intercourse with a White House Intern? When those planes crashed into the buildings?
Blake Lewis never thought his response would be that he was sitting in his ambulance, arguing about smoothies on a Tuesday.
“Look, 711 is a classic, but we can’t afford to stand on ceremony. Wawa has all the flavor options and additives.”The ability to add caffeine to his strawberry smoothie negated all other arguments in Blake’s opinion.
His EMT partner Tommy rolled his eyes, slurping the green drink he insisted on sucking down every morning. Allegedly, it had ‘super foods’ or some shit. Blake thought it looked like a puréed Chia Pet.
“Wawa tastes like pre-packaged preservatives,” he responded primly.
“Ok, health freak,” Blake grumbled, rolling his eyes as he finished the final sentence on his report from the last call. “The guy who looked merightin the eye and told me that ‘quinoa tastes better than mac n cheese’ does not get an opinion on taste.”
Tommy shrugged, finishing his drink and setting the reusable cup back in the cup holder.
It had been a slow morning. Blake never knew if that was a good thing or not. On the one hand, it afforded him prime napping time. Years of working as a paramedic had taught him to sleep when he had the chance. Against a wall, on the stretcher, head lodged between the window and theoh shithandle—he’d done it all.
The problem with a slow shift meant he felt every agonizing moment ticking by. Like he’d been working for hours when he’d only started at seven. Sighing, he settled back into the seat and closed the Toughbook, making sure it was plugged in and charging before dropping it into the footwell.
Tommy sang along quietly to the radio. Tommy Blevins was probably the least objectionable partner Blake had ever worked with. Competent, respectful, and he used deodorant. It might be that all-natural aluminum-free shit, but Blake would take it.
At twenty, he was nearly ten years younger than him, and his demeanor made him seem younger still. His fluffy light hair was always falling into his eyes, and he walkedaround with a bright smile and sparkling eyes. Even an early morning was something for Tommy to be happy about.
As much as Blake had tried to keep his work and personal life separate, Tommy had begun to blur the lines. He regularly came over to watch movies and hang out, one of the few people who could tolerate Blake’s interruptions for behind the scenes trivia and other irrelevant details. And to Blake’s unmitigated horror, he had bonded with his coworker turned begrudging friend.
Which probably said more about Tommy than it did about him. Tommy was quiet and pleasant, likable.
Blake was not.
If resting bitch face were to be personified and walking around in a paramedic’s uniform, it would be called Blake Lewis.
“Want to go back to the station?” Tommy asked as he drove through the late morning traffic.
They’d just dropped off a bullshit head injury call. It was always bad when he had to wade through a herd–or was it a pack? Maybe a pride? Of cats to get to the patient. But when she complained that her ‘Jesus Loves Me’ sign, held up with a tiny rusted thumbtack, had fallen off the drywall and hit her in the back of her head? Well. He’d had better calls. Worse, too.
He could practically feel the doctor’s long-suffering stare as he deposited her in the ED bed and skedaddled out as fast as the nurse could sign.
Blake and Tommy had an ongoing bet. They’d start a movie whenever they got back to the station and bet on how much of it they’d get to watch before the next call came in. Tommy had a supernatural sense for that kind of thing. He was currently kicking Blake’s ass.
“I guess,” he answered, looking out over the dewy morning. The sun struggled to pierce through the heavy cloudcover, and it promised to be a still day. “It’s your turn to pick the movie.”
“Sweet,” Tommy smiled as he brushed some hair from his face. “There’s a new documentary on animals in captivity I want to watch.”
He groaned, dropping his head back into the seat rest. “No. No way. I thought we banned documentaries?”
“You said no more vegan documentaries.”
“The last one actually had a woman who claimed she was the Veggie Prophet.”
Tommy bristled. “She was an aura reader.”
“I draw the line at ‘Veggie Whisperers’, Tommy.”