2

“Yeah… Go for it.” Rip huffed irritably. “Sorry, I’m really tired.”

“I know. And you can rest up after.” Otto patted Rip’s thigh, then slipped a finger into the tight, wet confines of the pocket to snag the key ring. He palmed the keys, his heart twisting as Rip closed his eyes and shuddered. Bringing one hand up, he brushed the dark strands of damp hair off Rip’s forehead. “You want to tell me how everything went down? Buster here dodge you and send you nose diving into the river?”

With a weak laugh, Rip shook his head. “I thought he’d fall in, so…so I tried to cut him off and stepped wrong.”

“No good deed every goes unpunished, huh?” Otto stroked Rip’s hair again. The sirens were getting closer. “So what do you do for a living, Rip? From your outfit, I’m guessing you’re a reporter. You’ve got this whole Peter Parker thing going on.”

Rip’s lips curved. “I’m an art teacher at Eastway High.”

“Cool.” Kinda. Otto hadn’t been the best student in high school. He’d made up for that training in the Marines, his military career landing him an amazing job working with service dogs despite his lack of education.

But a man like Rip was probably an awesome teacher.

Getting him to talk about that would keep him from falling asleep.

Hopefully.

“So you said you were late. Dude, it’s almost 8:30. Your kids ain’t done for the day?”

“Parent teacher night.” Rip rolled his shoulders and winced. He cleared his throat. “Was supposed to be there at quarter to.”

“I’m sure they’ll understand.”

They’d better.

Otto chuckled at his own thoughts. He was feeling all protective of his little teacher. A normal enough reaction, considering what had gone down, but he couldn’t help wonder what Rip would think of a gay grunt with way too many tattoos and piercing watching over him.

Not something to bring up now, though. And the EMTs had finally arrived.

He stepped out of the way as a small black woman with a sleek, practical bun and a tall skinny guy with bleach-blond hair rushed over carrying a stretcher. Otto helped them carry it up the path where they’d parked the ambulance behind his bike. The dog followed them, keeping a few steps behind Otto, thankfully not getting underfoot.

“How long was he unconscious?” The woman asked, her tone brisk.

Accustomed to the no-nonsense attitude of medics, and exactly what they’d need to know, Otto answered quickly. “No more than two minutes. He lost consciousness while I was trying to get him out of the water, but still had a pulse when I assessed him. He wasn’t breathing so I began resuscitation. He’s been responsive, but almost sacked out a few times.”

Arching a brow, the woman studied him curiously. “You a soldier?”

“Marine.”

“Same here.” She smiled as they lifted Rip into the back of the ambulance, getting his IV set up as she spoke. “Camp Lejeune.”

“Camp Pendleton.” Otto grinned, always happy to come across a fellow Marine. “Retired?”

“A few years now. Wanted more time with my babies.” She looked at the tattoos covering the lengths of both his arms and jutted her chin. “You?”

“Medical discharge. Messed up my knee.”

“That’s tough.” Dismissing him, she crouched down as her partner finished examining Rip. Taking his hand, she spoke softly. “Can you tell me your name?”

“Rupert Martinez.” Rip was starting to sound a bit better, snug under the blanket the EMTs had laid over him. He whispered something and the woman squeezed his hand.

She climbed out of the back of the ambulance, nodding to Otto. “He asked me to tell you ‘thank you’. And to please take care of the dog. We’ll be bringing him to Bellevue.”

“Sounds good.” Otto glanced down as the dog sat by his leg with a huff. He grinned, scratching behind the pup’s ear. “Let him know I’ll swing by soon as I can.”

“Will do.” Her lips curved slightly. “You two make an odd couple, but it’s adorable. We’ll take care of your man for you.”