The realization hits with brutal clarity. I can’t live like this. Can’t love someone whose job is running into danger. Can’t spend every shift waiting for the call that he’s not coming home.
“Laney? You still there?”
“Yeah.” My voice sounds hollow even to my own ears. “I’m here.”
“I’ll call again when I can, okay? And I’ll be home soon. I promise.”
“Okay.”
“I love you, Solarin.”
The endearment—the one that’s supposed to be healing, that’s supposed to mean I’m his light—feels like a weight around my neck.
“I love you too,” I whisper, because it’s true even though it’s killing me.
After we hang up, I sit in the quiet cabin with only Peanut to keep me company as I make a decision.
When he comes back—if he comes back, and oh God, what if he doesn’t come back—I have to end this. I have to let him go before loving him destroys me completely.
Because I’ve survived abandonment before. I’ve survived being left.
But I don’t think I can survive losing him to his job. Losing him to fire and smoke and the heroism that makes him who he is.
“Stupid lady,” Peanut says, softer than usual.
“Yeah,” I whisper, tears hot on my face. “Stupid lady is terrified.”
And for the first time in my life, I’m not sure if love is enough.
Chapter Twenty-One
Ryder
Five days into the wildfire, and I’m running on fumes.
We’ve been rotating shifts—twelve hours on, six hours for food and sleep, then back at it. The fire fought us every step of the way, jumping containment lines, flaring up in unexpected places, and threatening homes and lives.
But we’re winning. Slowly, painfully, we’re winning.
“Stone, nice work on that eastern firebreak,” Thrall says, passing me a water bottle during a brief lull. “Saved us half a day’s work.”
I take a long drink, too tired to do more than grunt acknowledgment. My mind isn’t on the fire. It’s on a mountain cabin, a pretty woman with brown eyes.
“You’ve been leading like a boss all week,” Kam adds, appearing with protein bars. “Cool under pressure. Making good strategic calls. The chief’s noticed.”
I should care about that. Should be thinking about my career, my reputation, and my future with the department.
Instead, I’m thinking about Laney checking the news obsessively. Imagining her jumping every time her phone rings. Wondering if she’s spent five days talking herself out of loving me.
Chief Brokka finds me in the mess tent on day six, as I force down food that tastes like ash.
“Fire’s at ninety-five percent containment,” he says, sliding into the seat across from me. “Another six hours and we can call it done.”
Relief should hit me. Instead, all I feel is urgency. Six more hours before I can be on my way to her.
“You’ve done exceptional work out here,” Brokka continues. “The kind of leadership I need in my lieutenants.”
The promotion. Right.
