It’s not much, but it’s something.
My phone mounted on the dock rings, and Oliver’s name flashes across the screen.
One of the other guys who’d been with me when the fire trapped us. Thankfully, he came out mostly unscathed.
Can’t say that for our brother.
I punch the accept button, chest suddenly tight again, my thoughts starting to spiral towards the night of the lodge fire. “Yeah,” I mutter, voice tense.
“Hey man, what’s happening?” he asks. In the background, I hear little Lily giggle.
My heart clenches in my chest. I can’t help but think about her dad—he used to be my probie to look after, my responsibility to get out of the fire, and I failed. Now, she’s without both her parents, orphaned way too young.
“Just stocked up and heading back up the mountain,” I say through gritted teeth, hands tightening on the steering wheel. “Why?”
I don’t know why I ask, because I already know the answer. It’s the same thing every time he calls. Or when Captain Page stops by. Or when Cooper decides to bring beer and ‘hang out’.
“Maggie wants to know if you’d like to stay in the guest house to ride out the storm,” he says carefully, like he’s talking to a wounded animal. “We don’t like the idea of you being up there alone during a blizzard, man.”
It warms a small part of my heart, knowing that they still care. That there’s still something left of our firehouse even if the physical thing is gone.
It really isn’t, though. The building still stands, but funding was cut after the lodge fire. Now, most of the guys do it as volunteer work until they can get it back up to standard and convince the county it’s necessary to have a station and not just the rescue team on the mountain.
“I’m fine,” I reply, jaw clenched. “Don’t worry about me.”
Oliver sighs. “You’re a stubborn bastard, Grey.”
“Don’t you dare give up that easily!” Maggie shouts. There’s a clatter of dishes, and I can almost see her ripping the phone from Oliver’s hand. “Noah Grey, you should not risk being up in that cabin during a blizzard!”
I almost roll my eyes, though I know better. Maggie Rhodes can sense that sort of thing. She was basically our house mother, being a paramedic for the firehouse before it all fell apart.She’s essentially a single mother now, raising her brother’s child, and it’s only by help alone that she’s surviving.
That same help just barely keeps me afloat.
“Trust me, Mags,” I say as the truck barrels through the snow already coating the roads, making a whirring sound as it does. I pass the old firehouse, the pressure in my chest almost too overwhelming at the sight of it. “I can take care of myself.”
The memorial stone, cut from granite and bordered with pine from the forest surrounding our town stands tall and dark against the snow. The building looks abandoned even though it isn’t. It just isn’t home anymore.
“Fine, be that way.” She huffs and must hand the phone back to Oliver, because I can hear them arguing on the other end.
Eventually, she leaves, and he snickers. “She’s pissed, man. Thanks for that.” There’s a pause, and he clears his throat. “Be careful, yeah?”
I turn away from the building and slow to a crawl as the sky turns black. We’re about a day out from a white out, and although most of Willow Ridge knows how to handle a blizzard, there are a select few naive enough to brave the storm regardless of the consequences.
“I will,” I reply, some of the tension easing. I suppose they know better now than to press for more.
Oliver sighs; I can almost imagine him running his hand through his dark curls, wanting to say more. “Okay then,” he mutters. “Let Coop know you’re okay. He might try and get you to stay with him. I’ll tell Cap you’re good.”
At the mention of Cooper, my mind wanders to his little sister. My Angel. The real reason I survived the months of long nights in the burn ward, the year-long rehab stint, the initial wounds and all the pain after.
I wanted to die. But then she arrived.
I make a sound in the back of my throat as the phone blinks off, the call ending.
A shaky breath falls from my lips as I turn towards the winding mountain road leading towards my isolation. The lanes branching off it towards hidden cabins and residences remind me of roots, and the stump is the lodge. Long burned to the ground with no hope of being revived.
Maybe that’s an appropriate way to describe my life now. Except the lodge is the axe that cut me down.
And there’s no way to survive that.
