Firefighters pile out of their trucks, running hoses across the street and dispersing the masses. It’s a thrum of activity I don’t enjoy, but the masochist in me remains on the street, gawking as much as the next dude, eyes peeled for casualties.
After a while, it becomes clear that the hostel had been evacuated before the fire took hold, leaving only fixtures and belongings inside. Relief makes me sag against V and V’s old walls. I don’t know anyone at the hostel, but I’ve learned the hard way you don’t need to know a soul to grieve for them. Or feel responsible for the premature end of their life. I lean hard against the wall, dampening anxiety I haven’t earned tonight. A shiver passes through me, but not from cold, and I let my attention wander, cataloguing my surroundings to anchor myself to the present.
The fire is still burning, but the fire crews have it under control. And the crowds have thinned out too; only a few distraught hostel guests remain at the barrier the first responders set out to keep people back. Some of them are arguing with the firefighters—pleading with men who’ve seen horrors they can’t imagine—to go back into the burning building and rescue their gadgets and snowboarding gear they can’t even use yet. It’s irritating enough for me to look away and swing my gaze carelessly until it lands on a set of slumped shoulders.Broadshoulders, that belong to a lone figure crouched on the ground a few feet back from the rest of the hostel residents. He has his head in his hands, and for a moment appears so lost that an emotion I can’t quite name stirs in me.
I straighten up. The man stands too, and seems to give himself an internal shake. Then he turns his back on the flames, shoulders a bag, and walks away, gifting me a perfect view of his face.
And man, what a face. With his golden hair and high cheekbones, the dude is gorgeous. I’m betting he has blue eyes, and long lashes—I can’t see from here—and I’m digging the scruff on his chiseled jaw. I admire the determined set of his strong shoulders too. It’s clear he’s lost something to that fire, and he’s forcing himself to make peace with it fast.
Making peace is a skill I’ve never had. I fester and brood, until the time for healing has passed, and old wounds become permanent scars that keep me awake. Until they don’t and they haunt my dreams too.
But still. The man is beautiful. Perhaps I’ll dream of him instead tonight, because he sure seems like a face I won’t forget.
* * *
Jax
I walk away from the smoldering hostel, resigned to the fact that unless I want to kick it around Burlington in full hiking gear, the sweatpants and hoodie combo I’m sporting are my only clothes in the world. Fuck it. Maybe I’ll go get drunk. At least my wallet is safe in my pocket, and most of my kit—save what I have in my bag—is stashed at work. If I’d lost that too…damn. I can’t contemplate it without my eyes getting hot and my chest too tight.
The urge to head back to HQ and check on my collection of secondhand cameras, lenses, and rigs is strong. Only the reality that I need to find a bed for the night stops me. I don’t fancy sleeping in the currently unheated offices of Wildfoot Adventure. I’m a summer child at heart.
Yeah? Shoulda stayed in California then, shouldn’t you?
Scratch that. Maybe I should’ve stayed on my own side of the Atlantic. Maybe then I’d have more to my name than a couple of cameras and some kick-ass snow boots.
I keep walking with no clear idea of where I’m going. Aside from my boss, I have exactly one friend in Burlington, and she lives in a tiny studio apartment she’s about to vacate. No couch. And a moody boyfriend-not boyfriend who won’t take kindly to me snuggling up to his girl, even if he is rarely in town.
Besides, I’m not the kind of dude who rocks up on his BFF’s doorstep asking for help. I deal with my own shit. It’s easier that way. And it’s not that cold yet. Maybe I’ll head up to HQ after all. My legs are already beat, but I can handle the walk.
As the thought processes, my phone buzzes. I fish it out of my pocket and answer with a sigh I can’t quite help. “Let me guess. You saw the smoke from your window and you’re checking I’m not bacon right now?”
Eve laughs a little. “I know you’re not bacon because I can alsosee youfrom my window. Are you okay?”
“Course I am. Not bacon, remember?”
“What about your stuff? Your cameras weren’t in there, were they?”
“No, I left them locked up at the office. They’re safer there even without catastrophic fires. Pretty sure my iPad is dust, though. And I now have even less clothes for you to bag on.”
“I don’t bag on your clothes.”
“Stop trying to get me to wear flannel shirts, then.”
Eve laughs again, and despite the gloom settling over me, I chuckle too. But I must do it real badly, because Eve’s laughter fades fast. “Right,” she says. “Come over to my place. I’ll fix you some dinner and you can have my bed for the night.”
I snort. “As if I’m taking your bed. Where will you sleep?”
“I have a zillion girlfriends.”
“Lucky you.”
“Am I? Thought you’d sworn off the fairer sex for good?”
“I’ve sworn off all the sexes for good, but that’s not really the point. I’m not taking your bed.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to. I’m not your problem. We went to the same uni for six months about a million years ago. We’re not siblings.” It comes out harsher than I mean it to, but I know she won’t flinch. Despite every word that’s just left my mouth, we were close enough once that I probably could sleep naked with her and not get wood. She’s also the only person I can talk to without measuring my words a thousand times first. It’s a habit I’m trying to break, but life keeps getting in the way. And today my life has literally gone up in flames and I’m taking it out on the person who cared enough to pick up the phone. “Sorry I’m such a dick.”
