“Slate.”
His greeting is as no-nonsense as he is. Nohello. Nohow’re you holding up?Just my last name—same as it’s been since I was eighteen and dumb enough to think I had something to prove.
If you want sunshine and rainbows, Carl’s not your guy.
“Hey, boss.” I temper my expectations and my bullshit because he’ll sniff that shit out like a cadaver dog.
“This guy.Hey, boss.You don’t call; you barely text.”
“You know me. Not big on feelings and talking.”
“Well get big on it. You almost died and you can’t pick up the phone to call one of the few people who tolerate your salty ass?”
“I’m calling now, aren’t I?”
“And why’s that?”
The question is rhetorical, and when I pause a beat too long, he pounces.
“There’s only one reason you’re picking up the phone, and we both know it. So quit wasting my time and tell me what you want.”
I can practically see him shaking his head on the other end.
“You’re a body short and the season’s not over.” I stare at the wall as I say it. “I want what we both want—me back on the fire line.”
A derisive snort crackles through the speaker.
“A body short. And that right there is your problem, Emmett.”
The sting of my government name has my fingers tightening around the phone. Carl only pullsEmmettout whenSlateisn’t cutting it. And judging by the pressure building behind my sternum, he’s probably not wrong.
“You think that anyone on my crew is just a body—thatyou’rejust a body to me?” Carl lets out a disgusted grunt. “For fuck’s sake, I’ve known you since you were a lanky eighteen-year-old without a damn clue.”
“You called me Edward for an entire fire season.”
“At least it wasn’t dipshit. Seriously rethinking that now,” he mutters. “You really think I’d risk your safety and the safety of the rest of the crew because you’ve got ants in your pants?”
“I can handle it.”
“No, you can’t.” He clears his throat like he always does before he goes from boss to pseudo-father figure. “Your work-status paperwork hit my desk today. Minimum six weeks off theline. That means six weeks, and I’m not signing off on an early return . . . not even for you.”
I grind my molars.
“You haven’t even asked how I’m doing.”
Carl snorts. “Now you want to be coddled?”
“I need out.”
Without missing a beat, he says, “I’ll come get you. You can stay with Betty and me until your head’s on straight.”
Every muscle in my body locks. “No.”
Carl sighs. “Listen, Emmett . . .”
And just like that, my stomach drops.
“This isn’t just about your ribs. You got tunnel vision out there, and it’s been going on too damn long.”
