My Calling
Authors: Lyssa Layne
Table of Contents
Holding the Other by Lyssa Layne
The Right Pitch by Lyssa Layne
Loved by the Linebacker by Lyssa Layne
Fear of Striking Out by Lyssa Layne
Until You Fall in Love by Lyssa Layne
Love & Famiglia by Lyssa Layne
Everybody's After Love by Lyssa Layne
My Favorite What If by Lyssa Layne
My Calling
Lyssa Layne
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, or events is coincidental and not intended by the author.
If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher. In such case the author has not received any payment for this “stripped book.”
My Calling
Copyright © 2016 Lyssa Layne
All rights reserved.
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MY CALLING
Fresh out of paramedic school, Saylor Warner can’t wait to start saving lives. At sixteen, she watched the man who raised her be gunned down while she stood by, unable to do anything except shed tears and watch her uncle die. It’s taken her six years to be able to fulfill her calling of helping others but the day has finally arrived and she’s anxious to get started.
Jonathan “Beck” Beckerdyte isn’t exactly what you’d call a people person. He’s spent the last six years trying to stay out of the public eye but now, his calling has led him into the field of civil service. Less than excited about his new job riding in a rig all day and attending to medical emergencies, Beck deals with it because he’s made it his mission to watch over Saylor Warner… except Saylor doesn’t know that.
CHAPTER 1
Saylor
Big, pouty duck lips face me in the mirror as I smear on my bright red lipstick. Some people might think it’s “too loud” as my ex-boss would say but I think it’s just perfect. It shows the world that I’m not afraid to stand out and that a little pop of color can go a long way. I roll my lips together, making sure the lipstick is perfectly spread. Satisfied with my effort, I make a loud
pop
with my lips when I think the color is evenly distributed. Smiling at my reflection, I give myself a wink.
“Perfect, Say,” I mutter and pick up my mascara.
If my uncle succeeded in one thing while raising me, it was that he made darn sure that I was confident. It doesn’t matter the situation, I could be asking for chocolate sauce on my French fries, my guilty pleasure, or an extension to pay my rent, and I’ll hold my head up, be bold, and ask whatever it may be. Most of the time it’s a trait that is a blessing but it’s also caused me to be a bit fearless which may have found me in a few slightly precarious situations. However, nothing has ever resulted from those almost-dangerous situations and I’d like to think it’s because my Uncle Eddie taught me how to handle anything that’s thrown at me.
A couple swipes of the mascara brush, a thick stroke of eyeliner, and then I’m just left to work with my eyebrow pencil. I know, it’s a contradiction of being confident and hiding beneath layers of makeup, right? Well, I grew up covered in grease and oil from my uncle’s auto shop and I’ve spent the last couple years making up for it by actually being girly from everything from makeup to lace thongs to high heels for grocery shopping. And maybe makeup is also a way for me to cover up my past but that’s way too deep of a thought for today.
I lean forward toward the mirror, my mouth hanging open as I use the pencil to fill in my eyebrows. My stomach flutters in anticipation of what today is going to bring. I’ve been waiting for this new beginning for almost six years and in about an hour, the wait will be over. I throw the pencil back in the makeup bag, take one more look in the mirror, and give a sideways smile at my handiwork.
Now, it’s on to my hair. Picking up my flatiron, I run it through my blonde hair a few times but this task is much less mundane than drawing on my face. Nerves are starting to creep up on me, distracting me from what I’m doing until pain sears through my fingertip.
“Fudgesicle!”
I stick my finger in my mouth, sucking on the burn and then stop. I’m starting as a paramedic at South Bay Ambulance District today. What kind of paramedic burns herself then sticks her finger in her mouth to treat it?
Come on, Saylor, get in the mindset!
Running cold water, I move my finger under the stream, letting the coolness take the burning sensation away.
“Don’t say a word,” I warn him, laughing as I do. “I’m just nervous. Ever since tenth grade and well, you know... I’ve wanted this. I want to help people. I want to save lives. I want to do everything you raised me to do.”
I pause, waiting for him to answer, but I get no response. I turn the water off and pat my finger dry. Glancing into the mirror again, I sigh. Half my hair is straightened while the other half is a frizzy mess. Looking at my phone, I note that I have about ten minutes before I need to leave so I’m not late. I grab a few bobby pins, pulling back half my hair and clasp it in place. Fluffing the bottom half, I shrug, it’ll have to do.
I run my fingers over the freshly pressed, light blue uniform until they touch the SBAD badge on the arm. I break out in a grin, suddenly giddy, because today is the day I start living my dream. Grabbing my backpack, I run out the front door, kissing my finger and placing it over the picture that sits on the table by the front door.
“Wish me luck, Uncle Eddie! Today’s for you!”
Beck
Dammit, Saylor, don’t make us late. Usually her perpetual tardiness is kind of cute, except when it involves me and today it does. She’s the one that wanted to be a paramedic so therefore I had to do the same because my life is dictated by Saylor Warner. I’m not a fan of this profession for many reasons but to list my top three, in no particular order, they would be one, I hate working with the public.
Two, I don’t do uniforms, yet here I am sitting in my old beat-up Ford F-150 in a baby blue button up shirt, a pair of BDU pants, and combat boots. To be fair, I don’t mind the combat boots but the fact that I’m wearing a long sleeve Under Armour shirt to cover up my tattoo sleeve is putting me in a pissier mood by the minute.
And lastly, my biggest peeve with Saylor working in this profession is it puts her face to face with any number of situations that I can’t always be prepared for and that, my friends, makes me want to punch my fist through a wall.
I swear I’m not a violent person. Well, let me rephrase that. I’m not as violent of a person as I used to be. Back when I was a kid in my early twenties, I was kind of keen on the idea of making bad decisions. The worse they were, the better, but it eventually caught up to me which is why I’m sitting in the parking lot of South Bay Ambulance District headquarters, waiting to be reprimanded for being late to a job that I haven’t even started but already hate.
Tapping my fingers on the steering wheel, I look at my dashboard for the time once more. Three minutes before we’re late. Well, technically, we’re already late because an old mentor always taught me that if you’re early, you’re on time, if you’re on time, you’re late, and if you’re late then you’re in trouble. Granted, back in the day, I wouldn’t have minded trouble, but these days, my goal is to lay low and stay out of the limelight.
Whipping around the corner, Saylor’s neon green Mustang flies into the parking lot. She jerks the car into a tight parking space, not leaving much room for her to get out. I sigh, shaking my head and wishing she’d get a less flashy car but knowing there’s no way in hell Saylor will do that. Big and bright is what she loves, just take a look at her lipstick.
I open my door, stepping out into the sunlight and wincing at the brightness. I’m not a fan of early mornings but it looks like I’d better get used to it with my new job.
Across the lot, Saylor turns sideways to squeeze between her car and the Honda Civic less than a foot away from the Mustang. Saylor hoists her backpack on her shoulder. God only knows what all she crammed in that bag for a twelve-hour shift. If I had to guess, it would be anything loaded with sugar, a liter of Mountain Dew, and her Kindle filled with Rachelle Ayala novels. I can always tell which book of Ms. Ayala’s she’s finished based off what type of guy she’s on the prowl for. How the hell she stays so fit is beyond me because the woman survives on a diet of Mountain Dew and sugar. I wait for Saylor to get closer before I turn to walk toward the building myself.
Now, side by side with her, she looks at me, a smile on her lips as she nods toward the building. “Come on! Don’t be late for the first day!” she says and darts ahead of me, making sure she’s not the last one to clock in.
Clenching my jaw, I close my eyes and say a silent prayer. I may not be a religious man but I’m going to need something to get me through this.
CHAPTER 2
Beck
Smoke hangs thick in the air of the tiny bar directly across from the headquarters of South Bay Ambulance District and caddy corner from the South Bay Hospital. The irony isn’t lost on me that the place is filled with doctors, nurses, and paramedics who chastise their patients on the risks of smoking. Even more odd is the fact that smoking is banned almost everywhere in South Bay. Still, somehow the bar owner has an exception that I’d guessed was supported by some big bucks thanks to a few doctors that favor this establishment.
“I really thought I’d be able to handle blood better.” The redheaded paramedic chick looks like she might ralph just at the mention of the bodily fluid. I have a feeling she won’t be coming back for day two of her shift.
Saylor pats her hand. “I’m sure it’ll get better, Annie,” she says in her sympathetic tone that I hate.
Seriously, Saylor is always trying to be the positive cheerleader, helping everyone achieve their goals. Yeah, yeah, it’s endearing and all that shit, but I’ve seen it almost bite her in the ass a few too many times. Like the time a guy told her he’d lost his dog and asked Saylor to help her look for him. It seemed innocent enough except that I’d seen the guy arrive at the park, no dog in tow. The second Saylor was out of his sight, I stepped in and told the guy to get lost before I called the cops. It’s her nature to nurture but Saylor couldn’t tell a bad guy if he was wearing a hook for a hand.
