"Brother," I pulled the cigarette from his mouth. "You can't smoke in the hospital. There are these little things called oxygen tanks that make the hospital go big boom."

Nick laughed until he grimaced. "Just stitch my damn arm, Nurse Trovatto."

I pulled the curtain closed. "Let me guess, Little Lady-you were playing with the big boy toys again?"

"This," he smiled, "Is insuring that I get swapped from driving the ambulance on the ground to the ambulance in the sky."

"Nick," I began, as I pulled a kit to suture the gash on his left arm. "If you can't handle four wheels on the ground I doubt they're gonna trust you with no wheels in the sky."

"No," he argued, "You see I had my first patient pick up, tonight. When we landed to air lift him, the medics on the ground still hadn't pulled him from the car. But then Sergeant Petros showed up and saved the day. As fucking usual."

"And the two inch gash I'm working on?"

"We'll talk about your love life later, Cal. Right now, let's focus on me being a hero."

"Prick," I replied, pulling a little tighter on the needle than needed.

"I didn't really think I'd like this shit, you know? But I have to admit, after a night like tonight, I could get comfortable here. I could see myself doing this for real."

I laughed. "That's the evil drug that keeps you coming back, Nick. You get one good night that means something and three-hundred-sixty-four others that beat you down in every way imaginable, only leaving you burdened, bruised, and questioning your life. Like, for instance, why didn't I take my father's money and become a life guard."

I wrapped his arm, and tossed the kit into the trash. He patted my work and then said, "You doing all right down here? And don't give me the bull, Callum. Are you all right?"

"I'm here," I said. "I'm here."

"Tatum keeps asking me about transferring. She's worried about you."

"Because she will worry less if she sees me moping around the hospital every day?"

He smiled. "That is exactly what I said."

"That and something about pizza," I laughed.

"Have you had good pizza since you moved from New York, Callum? Yeah, didn't think so. No pussy, no pizza, a shit job, no family. Why did you leave, brother? Are you just a masochists or something?"

"Or something," I said.

"Well, you better still come home for the Fourth every year. Girl or not, love or not, we have traditions in our lives that cannot be put on the backburner or forgotten. Understand?"

"I copy, Sergeant," I said. "I copy."

He hopped down from the bed, and saluted me. "'Til next time, Doc."

"Don't make two inch gashes a habit."

"Yeah," he laughed, "I could say the same."

But I didn't laugh. Nick smacked my shoulder. "I'll see you on the Fourth, Cal."

"Hey," I called, "Will you do something for me?"

"Name it, brother."

"I need a good conspiracy behind red balloons in the sky on the Fourth."

He stepped closer, all playfulness wiped from his expression. "What the hell did you hear?"

I had to laugh. "No . . . it's . . ." I had to sit. "It's Everly. She wants a story made up about her death."

"Faking her death?" He exclaimed. "Oh hell yes. I am all in."

"I'm not faking her death," I said. "After she dies-really dies-she wants me to do something for her in Montauk, and I need a story, but I'm not very good with that kind of stuff."

He rubbed the scruff on his chin, nodding. "I'll see what I can do."