The guy I'm kinda sorta seeing is a cop.

This is, I know, an inherently dangerous job. I get that. He gets that. We've talked about it before. We've had long, in depth talks. He has no family out here. His ex-wife moved to Vegas to be a showgirl. We had a very extensive talk when he asked me if he could put me as his emergency contact about a month ago. He's got friends, but they're all on the force, and his current emergency contact was his captain.

And when my grandma went for her operation to remove the golf ball sized cancer from her breast, he was there for me. And when my little sister snapped her femur in half the day after my grandma's operation, he was there for me. We've gotten closer, and closer still. He's begun to mean a lot to me, whether or not I feel seriously about him.

And now, he needs me. One often hears about officers hurt in the line of duty, killed in the line of duty, etc., but I've never had to actually deal with it. Until now. early this morning, I get woken up by my phone. It's the hospital. I'm his emergency contact you see. He was shot while pulling a suspected drunk driver over. It missed the vital bits, organs and the like, but the first one hit the kevlar he habitually wears and cracked his rib, and the second one tore through the muscle right above his elbow. He's been discharged. He'll be on limited duty in a couple weeks, and back to work once the doctor clears his rib.

Thank the gods he's as paranoid as I am! I don't even want to think about what could have happened if he didn't wear his vest.

Now, I need to eat something, call him, and write. Still, he's looking out for me. He's hassling me to make my quota while he's laid up after being fucking shot. What's that about yo?