Chapter 21: The Phone Call
Wednesday, June 27, 2018 - Ethan's Mansion, 2:47 PM
Emma's card sat on my desk. Professional white cardstock, embossed hospital logo, direct line number written in neat handwriting.
For case follow-up.
I'd been staring at it for twenty minutes.
Just call. It's professional. You need patient status for the report.
I dialed before I could overthink further.
"St. Vincent Medical Center, Trauma Surgery."
"Dr. Shaw, please. Officer Mercer calling about patient Marcus Collins."
"One moment."
Hold music. My danger sense stayed quiet. Just normal nervousness, not actual threat.
"Officer Mercer." Emma's voice was professional but warm. "Patient's stable. Surgery went well. Expected full recovery, though he'll be in custody when discharged."
"That's good. Great. Thank you."
Silence. I should hang up. Professional call complete.
"You did call specifically for me," Emma said. "Could've gotten that information from any nurse."
Caught. "You said to ask for you directly."
"I did." A pause. Her tone shifted, less doctor and more person. "Coffee sometime? Off the record. Not about cases. You look like you could use someone who understands the aftermath."
My recall played our previous conversations. Community event. Brief ER visit. She was offering more than professional courtesy.
"Yeah. I'd like that."
"Saturday? There's a place near the hospital. Decent coffee, terrible pastries."
"Saturday works." The heist was Saturday, but morning. Coffee could be afternoon. "After noon?"
"One o'clock. I'll text you the address."
We exchanged numbers. The call ended. I sat holding my phone, processing.
Dr. Emma Shaw just asked me to coffee. That's basically a date. Right? Or is it just two people who deal with trauma comparing notes?
My recall would overthink every word, every tone, every implication.
Thursday, June 28, 2018 - Nolan's Porch, Evening
Nolan found me on my own porch, staring at Emma's contact information in my phone.
"You're smiling at your phone," he observed. "That's either very good or concerning."
"Dr. Shaw. From the community event."
"The one I completely ruined your conversation with?"
"That's the one. We're getting coffee Saturday."
Nolan's face lit up. Genuine, earnest happiness. "That's great! She seemed really nice. Smart. Pretty. And she gets the job."
"It's just coffee."
"It's never just coffee." He sat beside me. "You deserve something good, man. You've been carrying a lot since you got here. It's nice to see you actually happy about something."
"I'm overthinking it."
"Of course you are. You overthink everything." He clapped my shoulder. "Just... be yourself. The actual you, not the deflecting, joking version you do at work."
The actual me is a transmigrated accountant with impossible powers trying to prevent TV show deaths.
"I'll try."
"Good." He stood. "And Ethan? She asked you out. That means she's already interested. Don't sabotage it."
Friday Morning, June 29, 2018 - Tim's Shop
Tim Bradford's POV
Mercer was distracted. Not dangerously—he still checked corners, maintained situational awareness, executed procedures correctly. But his mind was elsewhere.
"You good?" I asked during a break.
"Yeah. Just thinking."
"About the shooting?"
"That. And other things."
"Other things like the doctor who gave you her number?"
He flushed. "How did you—"
"I was standing right there, boot. I have eyes." I sipped my coffee. "She seems solid. Handles trauma work. Understands the job."
"It's just coffee."
"It's never just coffee." I'd heard Nolan say the same thing last night through our shared fence. "She asked you out. That's good. You need something outside work. Balance."
"Says the guy who lives at the station."
"Do what I say, not what I do." I started the engine. "The shooting still bothering you?"
His hands tightened on his knees. "I keep replaying it. Everything that could've gone wrong. If my positioning had been off, if the ambulance had been faster, if—"
"Stop." I'd been there. The endless what-ifs after your first shooting. "You made good decisions under pressure. The suspect's alive because you didn't freeze. That's what matters."
"Doesn't feel like enough."
"It never does." I'd told him this before, but he needed to hear it again. "First shooting stays with you. You'll remember every detail forever. But you learn to carry it. And eventually, you have enough good saves that they balance the weight."
He nodded, processing.
"The coffee date will help," I added. "Something normal. Something good. Take it."
Ethan's POV - Friday Night
I reviewed the shooting one more time before bed. My recall played it perfectly—the suspect's panicked face, Tim's controlled return fire, the blood soaking through my gloves, Marcus's weak voice asking if he'd survive.
But also Emma's words: You did good. That's why he's alive.
The balance Tim had mentioned. Bad memories needed good ones to counterweight them.
I texted Emma: Looking forward to Saturday.
Her response came quickly: Me too. Fair warning: the pastries really are terrible.
Noted. I'll eat first.
Smart man.
I set my phone down, smiling despite the weight of recalled trauma.
Tomorrow was the heist. Saturday afternoon was coffee with Emma. Sunday was regular shift work.
Life was becoming more than just survival. More than just preventing deaths.
It was becoming real.
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