Heating up the Holidays

Time stopped and so did Cristina’s heart as she watched Dustin jerk. She dove for him as the deranged brother fell, and they all hit the floor in unison.

“Shit, shit, shit,” she gasped, grabbing Dustin as he doubled over and grabbed his leg, his face a mask of agony.

The room was suddenly filled with police and everything was a blur.

Except Dustin, still in her arms, eyes closed, his precious blood pumping out of a hole in his thigh. “Dustin.”

James was suddenly there, as were two paramedics from station #33, all getting in her way, pulling Dustin out of her arms.

“He’s going to be fine,” she told them, stepping back out of the way so they could get him on a gurney.

Blake was there. He hugged her hard, and into his chest she said it again. “He’s going to be fine.”

“I’ll take you to the hospital,” he said, far too solemnly.

Which was odd because Dustin was going to be fine. Fine.

BLAKE GOT Cristina to the hospital right behind the ambulance. As they rushed into the E.R. alongside Dustin, Cristina never took her eyes off his pale, pale face. A nurse cut away his pants while a doctor barked orders over his head.

Cristina tried to get a good look but another nurse eased her back out of the way. But she stayed in the room. “Look at that, Dustin. I’m getting you out of your pants without even trying.”

Dustin’s mouth quirked, but his eyes stayed closed. “Be gentle.”

There was a lump in her throat the size of a football. “Hey, I’m always gentle with the lightweights, ace.”

“I’ll have you know I’m no lightweight. I know what I’m doing…”

Cristina choked out a laugh. He did. He did know what he was doing, always. “Dustin-”

“Yeah…” His voice was fading away, which terrorized her. But it was just the drugs, she told herself.

He was fine.

Out of the speakers came some soft, elevator Christmas music, reminding her that tomorrow was Christmas Eve. Someone had the small TV at the nurses’ station on CNN, muted, and ticker after ticker spelled doom and gloom for their economy. “You know, it’s really not a good time to be selling a house,” she whispered.

Blake reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Cristina-”

“Seriously. He should just forget about selling his damn house.”

“I think I can get this bullet out without sending him to surgery,” one of the doctors said.

“Do it.” Dustin sounded as if he was breathing through gritted teeth.

“Give him more pain meds,” Christina demanded. Why weren’t they giving him more? “Blake-”

Blake held her back, whispering in her ear. “They know what they’re doing. You know they know what they’re doing.”

“Do you feel this?” the doctor asked, poking at Dustin’s bare foot.

“Feel what?”

Oh, God. “He’s going to be fine…” She stared at Dustin’s too-pale face. “You hear me, Dustin Mauer?”

The doctor gave Blake a look that had the firefighter holding on to Christina very tightly, but she was very aware that no one was making any promises. “He’s going to be fine,” she repeated for herself.

“Yes,” Blake said, sounding a little tense. “He is.”

The alternative was far too painful to contemplate. A world without Dustin? Without those eyes, that smile, that gentle, giving, sweet nature that he could turn just a little rough and edgy when he had to? No way. She couldn’t imagine not having him in her life. “Goddammit, we have a picnic to go to.”

Dustin didn’t respond to that and she tried to move closer to the gurney, but Blake caught her. “We have to stay back or they’ll make us leave.”

“He practically jumped in front of that gunman!” she cried. “To protect that girl. To protect me!” She did the saving, dammit. No one needed to save her.

Blake kept a good hold of her, probably afraid she was going to jump the line of nurses and start yelling at Dustin again. She gripped the front of Blake’s shirt, giving him a shake when it was herself that needed one. “I’m not done with that man!”

Very gently, Blake pulled her in for a hug. “I know.”

“I have things to tell him.” She wasn’t exactly sure what they were yet, but she’d figure that part out. She tried to look at Dustin through the throng of people now working on him. “Do you hear me, Dustin Mauer? I have things to tell you!”

“Cristina, come on now,” Blake begged her. “The drugs have just knocked him out. Stay back. You’ll get your second chance. Everyone gets a second chance.”

If anyone should know, it was Blake, who’d come back from the dead, literally.

But suddenly everyone in scrubs was on the move, with Dustin between them, far too still and quiet on the gurney.

“Going into X-ray,” the doctor called back. “Checking bullet and bone placement. Is his family here?”

“Not yet,” she managed, her gut tight.

“We’ll be back.”

It didn’t escape her that he moved off without having ever given anything away.

In the movies that never boded well. As Dustin’s gurney moved past her, she reached out and touched his foot. It was all she could reach. “You’re going to be fine,” she whispered after he was long gone behind the double swinging white doors. “You are.”

9

DUSTIN LAY in the hospital bed, wriggling his toes. He was never going to get tired of wriggling his toes, not ever again. That was the good news.

The bad news? He hadn’t quit his job soon enough.

“You feeling sorry for yourself?”

Dustin craned his neck and eyed Jason, sitting by his bed. “Hey. What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for your pansy ass to wake up. So…does getting shot hurt as bad as everyone says?”

“Nah.” He sat up and grimaced at the pain. “Piece of cake.”

Jason’s smile faded. “You scared the shit out of us. Don’t ever do that again.”

“Believe me, I don’t intend to. They got the bullet out.”

“Yes.”

“And I’m okay.”

“Yes.”

“And the other guy who got shot?”

“Also okay.”

“So do you have the getaway car?”

“You’re not clear to go yet. And Cristina and Blake had to go to the police station to give statements, but they were going to come back to see you.”

“I need out of here.”

“But-”

Dustin struggled to toss off the covers. He was wearing a hospital gown. Great. “Either drive me or call me a damn cab. And where are some damn pants?”

“Jeez, those drugs you’re on are supposed to make you happy.”

“I’ll be happy. Out of here.”

BY THE TIME Cristina got back to the hospital, she was seriously losing it.

Dustin was recovering.

She knew this because she’d called every ten minutes. “I need to see him,” she said to Blake, who was sitting in the passenger seat.