Fired Up: A Single Parent Medical Romance

  FIRED UP

  BAYSIDE HEROES

  K.K. ALLEN

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  Want More Bayside Heroes?

  Tangled Up Sneak Peek

  Dear Reader

  Center of Gravity

  More K.K. Allen Books

  Acknowledgments

  About K.K. Allen

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2021 by K.K. Allen

  Cover Design: Kandi Steiner

  Cover Photography: Perrywinkle Photography

  Editing / Proofreading: Red Adept Editing

  Formatting: K.K. Allen

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Contact SayHello@KK-Allen.com with questions.

  To first responders everywhere who put their lives at risk every day to help others. Your heroism inspired Asher’s character. Thank you for all that you do.

  PROLOGUE

  ASHER

  My chest feels like it’s going to explode. Heat ripples through me with each push as my shoulders and triceps take the brunt of the impact. Just a little higher. A little more. Beads of sweat slide down my neck as I grunt out the last few inches of my strain.

  “This is what you get for skipping the gym for two weeks, Moore. Let’s go.”

  I glare up at Aaron Jacobs, my best friend and co-worker who is spotting my bench press reps at the fire station’s in-house gym. He’s the worst kind of motivator—a tough love kind of guy—but he’s also providing the kick in my ass I know I need right now.

  After regaining my focus, I use my last bit of strength to finish the press.

  “Atta boy.”

  I let the bar down, and he helps me rack it. All the muscle tension I’ve been holding releases in one big whoosh. The second I get my breath back, I tip my neck back to catch the smug look on Aaron’s face. “You don’t have to be such a condescending asshole.”

  He chuckles. “Can’t help it. I never thought you of all people would let an ankle sprain take you out for two weeks.”

  I sit up and shake my head. “It wasn’t just the sprain. It was the damn back spasms that killed me. Chief threatened probation if I so much as set foot back in a gym until the doc cleared me.”

  I frown at the memory of the blast that forced me to jump from a second-story window. Not only did I land wrong on my feet, but I fell backward into a stack of rotting plywood. Everyone was too focused on the four kids my team had just rescued from the fire to poke fun at me then. But ever since, it’s been nonstop harassment from my crew.

  “Heard you missed the ladder, Moore. Better luck next time.”

  “I thought pussies always landed on their feet.”

  They didn’t go easy. They never go easy.

  Aaron chuckles. “Probably because your stubborn ass would have tried to hop straight into a fire on your one good foot. He knows you too well.”

  I’m not going to argue there. Chief Boone has been in charge at Station 24 in Tampa, Florida, during the five years I’ve alternated duties as firefighter and EMT. A father-son type of bond exists between us, especially after my pops passed away last winter, but the man is never afraid to remind me that he’s my boss. If anything, he’s harder on me than on most of the other guys here.

  I stretch out my right leg and rotate my ankle slowly, testing the motion as my foot makes several circles.

  “Look at that,” Aaron says. “Now, you’re good as new.

  I wink at him. “Just in time for your wedding this weekend.”

  “That’s right. Wouldn’t want my best man limping down the aisle.”

  I scrunch my face and wave away his comment. “Nah, who cares about that. In fact, the ladies would probably dig it. A wounded firefighter in a suit, in need of lots of tending to.” I wink and hop onto my feet. “I was thinking more about the after party.” I move my ass to the old Justin Bieber hit streaming through the gym speakers. Something about getting peaches out in Georgia. “Oh yeah. The ladies aren’t going to be able to resist these moves.”

  Aaron tosses his workout towel at my face and takes a seat on the bench. “You sure it was the fall that gave you those back spasms?” He points to my ass that I haven’t stopped shaking. “Or was it the way you throw that thing around?”

  I stop in mid move, make a face, and shrug. “No complaints yet.”

  “No women either.”

  The topic sours me instantly. I’m well aware of the drought that is my sex life, but after Sheena and I separated two years ago, I closed off the part of me that I’d given away too freely before. Now, even though the chains are broken, I can’t forget the hell I went through to get here. That’s one fire I can’t see myself ever jumping back into.

  “I was still technically married. It didn’t feel right.”

  Aaron wrinkles his forehead. “You have no excuses now.”

  I shrug. “I’m not going to argue. I finally feel ready to get back out there, but I’m in no hurry to jump into another marriage.”

  “You say that now, but you’re a commitment kind of man. You won’t be single for long. It will just take the right woman. Until then, there’s nothing wrong with a little casual sex.”

  I cringe at the thought of sleeping around. I married Sheena straight out of high school. Casual sex is not a concept I grasp easily.

  “You’ve been through a lot,” Aaron continues, “but it’s definitely time to get back out there. Sheena isn’t the only woman you’re ever going to love, but you’re going to have a hell of a time finding the next one if you don’t start looking. What’s it been, two years since you got laid?”

  I open my mouth and then snap it shut as heat rushes up my neck. “Not exactly.”

  Aaron’s eyes widen. “You just said you didn’t feel right…” I remain silent until Aaron connects the dots. “No fucking way. You slept with Sheena after you separated?”

  I shake my head. “It didn’t mean anything. It was the night the divorce was finalized. Emotions were high, and she wanted closure.”

  “Closure?” Aaron’s voice is high-pitched. It takes a lot to shock my best friend. “It’s not closure if the woman is still in love with you.”

  “It doesn’t change the reality of our situation. You know I tried. Even after I found out about the infidelity, I tried. But at the end of the day, we both deserve to have the things we want in a relationship, and the two
of us just aren’t right for each other anymore.”

  Aaron sighs. “I’m with you, Ash. I’m just saying, Sheena already spent the last two years putting you through hell by stalling the divorce and then trying to get you to change your mind at the last minute. What makes you think she’ll stop now?”

  “Because we’re divorced. It’s over. And I’m ready to move on.”

  He studies me with worried eyes, like he fears I’ll get roped back into what turned into a toxic situation of lies, deceit, cheating, and manipulation. He’s not wrong to think the way he does. He was there for me through it all. What he doesn’t yet realize is that while I may not be eager to jump into another marriage, I’m eager to move forward. I learned a lot about love and relationships from what I had with Sheena. I know what I want, what I don’t want, and I know there’s no rush. This time, I’m going to do things right.

  I plant myself behind him in an obvious attempt to change the subject. “Stop delaying, Jacobs. You have a wedding to get buff for.”

  He gives me a cocky wink. “Becca knows what she’s getting herself into. Now, that stair climb in a few weeks is another matter.” He points at me as if remembering something. “Speaking of, have you secured a photographer for the calendar yet? They’ll need to be at the climb.”

  I close my eyes and groan as dread fills me. “Shit. No, not yet. It completely slipped my mind with everything going on. I’ll get on it.”

  Aaron and I have been talking about starting a charity together for years. We want to raise funds for burn victims and their families. One of our first ideas is to put together a firefighter calendar that we can sell at the end of the year. Our plan is rock solid, filled with the support of local radio stations that will give us free promotion as well as local businesses that will help with things like catering and securing venues for special events. The only thing missing is a photographer.

  Aaron shakes his head. “You better. We don’t have much time left.”

  I wave him away and point to the bench to shut him up. “I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.”

  He glares as if he doesn’t know if I’ll pull through and then flashes me a grin before lying down on the bench. “Fine. Let’s do this.”

  We’re just about to jump on the treadmills for some cardio when the tones drop, alerting our fire and medic teams of an emergency. Just like always, the alarm chiming through the speaker system fuels the first dose of adrenaline that pumps through my veins, and I’m hyper focused on all that comes next.

  Our attention turns to the scrolling screen. Just by the red text, we know immediately we’re heading to a traffic accident. Of what caliber, we have no idea. That’s how the job is 98 percent of the time. Completely unpredictable. Mental preparedness is everything.

  Instinct has us jogging through the narrow hallway, down to the main bay, and to our assigned vehicles. I grab my shirt off the side mirror of the ambulance, where I’d left it before my workout, and slip it on.

  My paramedic counterpart today, Pete, climbs into the driver’s seat at the same time I hop into the passenger seat. We exchange a nod while listening to the communication coming from dispatch, which details the scene we’re about to approach. The gist of it—a foggy morning pileup on I-4. A mass-casualty incident. And we’re the fourth crew to be called out.

  “Shit. This isn’t going to be pretty.” I mutter the words while I simmer with sympathy, nervousness, and passion in equal measure.

  As proud as I felt serving in the army, this is where I’m meant to be. With this crew, at this station, jumping into an endless variety of situations to help those in need—it’s an honor beyond belief that I wouldn’t trade for the world.

  Pete turns on the flashers and sirens then shifts into drive. A second later, we’re pulling onto E. Davis Boulevard, which is just a block away from Bayside Regional Hospital on Tampa’s Davis Islands. We’re a good four miles from this particular accident, but thanks to our location, we have a unique advantage to get to the front of the scene.

  Pete maneuvers the city streets like a pro, flying past lavish Mediterranean-style buildings, pastel-colored condos, outdoor shopping centers, luxury marinas, and more. It’s a ritzy town— that’s for sure—but it also houses some of the best medical care in the world.

  By the time we arrive at the scene, it’s clear why we were called. We’re going to need everyone we can get out here. There’s got to be countless injuries, with the most severe happening right where we’ll pulling up to park.

  Holy fuck, what a disaster.

  The traffic backup stretches beyond my line of vision. While one crew is already working to clear a temporary path for traffic to start moving, another is tending to injuries and a third is loading up a passenger on a stretcher to make a beeline for the hospital. And since we got called, two other stations got the alert too.

  From what I can see at first glance, there are two rolled cars, several more totaled, and about a dozen fender benders. I hop out of the ambulance. Smoke is everywhere, the smell of burned rubber and oil overwhelming my senses. The sound of a saw comes from where the rescue squad is already sawing open the door of a car to retrieve an unconscious driver. Crying comes from near the car, loud sobs as a teenage girl waits to see if her mom is going to make it out of this alive.

  “Moore! Jeffries!” Chief Boone calls. We look up to find him pointing to the rescue squad from about fifty feet away. “You’ll need the basket for transport. They’re ready for you now!”

  And just like that, Chief moves his attention elsewhere. At a scene like this, amid so much chaos, he will be all over the place.

  “You got this?” Pete calls to me, already jogging toward our mission.

  “On it.” I unload the yellow basket stretcher, tuck it under my arm, and jog after him. At this point, my vision is a tunnel of exactly where I need to be while determining my quickest path to get there.

  I weave around a collision near the shoulder and halt as a dark-haired woman trips over a bumper lying in the road and stumbles backward. Just before she teeters over and falls on her ass, I lurch into action and curl an arm beneath her to catch her.

  She gasps and turns to me, her big green eyes just wide enough that I spot a swirl of gold within them. In a single glance, I can read her every emotion—surprise, fear, confusion, embarrassment. It’s just a split second, but I see it all. And that’s not all I see.

  I see a rare beauty with thick brows, long, fluttering eyelashes, a cute button nose, strong cheekbones, and two perfectly luscious lips.

  “Are you okay, miss?”

  “Yes. I’m so sorry,” she says. “I was just…”

  It’s my natural instinct to give the woman cradled in my arm a once-over to make sure she’s okay. That’s a mistake. She looks fine—better than fine. Maybe a little shaken up but that could have easily been caused by running into me. Either way, she’s a distraction that I need to tear myself away from immediately.

  An internal chastising jars me back into hyper-focus mode. You have a job to do, Moore.

  I start to lift her, steadying her until I’m certain she can stand on her own. “It’s best to leave this area clear so our emergency crews can get through.”

  Her face darkens in a shade of obvious embarrassment. “I-I didn’t know I was in the way.” She backs up, wobbling a bit, but she’s able to steady herself just fine. “I was taking photos for—“

  My hand rises to stop her as my gaze falls to the professional camera in her hands. Frustration rumbles through me. Taking in her pink-and-gray suit dress, I would bet money that she’s some sort of journalist or blogger. It all makes sense now.

  My eyes narrow and meet hers again. “I can’t tell you to put your camera away, but you should know you’re only a distraction out here. There are lives at stake.”

  Her face twists with more confusion. “But I—”

  “Moore, get your ass over here!” Chief’s voice booms.

  “Back to your car, miss.” My words
come out much harsher than I intended, but I’ve dealt with the media enough to know how it works. They’ll do anything to get the money shot, even if that means standing in my way.

  I level her with a stern look and a final message. “If you have to take your pictures, do it from the side of the road.”

  Without another word, I step away from the woman and head toward the vehicle currently being sawed in half in hopes to salvage whatever lives we possibly can.

  By the time we get to Bayside Regional, the bloodied man on my stretcher is in critical care. He’s unconscious with a bone protruding from his lower leg, and it seems he’s not the only one in dire need of help.

  Looking around, it’s clear that this accident has become an all-hands-on-deck situation. Code T is the alert currently being transmitted over the emergency room speakers as Pete and I burst through the automatic sliding doors.

  The adrenaline pumping through my veins has me moving quickly until I look up to find Beck Munroe, an internist and one of my closest friends, ready and waiting for the handoff.

  “Open fracture, left lower leg, good pulse,” I call out from the head of the gurney. “I’ve administered two milligrams of Dilaudid,” I tell Beck, conveying the urgency of the man’s condition by my tone.

  Beck tells me he understands with a nod, and that’s all the signal I need to step back to clear the way amid a flurry of activity.