Page 118 of Worth the Fight

“I sang a song. For me. The label wants to record it and release it as a single.”

“You did?” There is so much pride in his voice, and in lieu of what he’s facing now, I almost feel guilty for talking about me. But I have a reason. “You actually went into the label and asked for studio time and recorded a song for yourself?”

“Yes.” The white lie rolls off my tongue. My need to give him encouragement is more important than the semantics of how it all went down.

“God. I’m so proud of you, Dyl. You did it. You really did it.”

“And I know you can do it, too.” I wipe the tear away that slips down my cheek. “This is what you love more than anything, Grady. Your job. Your calling. This is the last step you need to take to get back to the new and improved Grady Malone.”

“I wasn’t aware I needed improving.” His chuckle this time is warmer.

“I’m a fan of you however you are.”

“Malone. Gear up. We’re heading out in five,” a voice calls in the background, and I want to beg for just one more minute.

“You gotta go.”

“I’ve gotta go.” He sighs.

“Be safe, Malone.”

“Always.” I’m not sure who he’s trying to convince more, himself or me.

“Grady.” I’m not sure why I say his name, but I can’t let him go just yet.

I miss you.

Come back to me.

I love you.

“Two-in. Two-out. Promise me that.”

“Two-in. Two-out,” he murmurs. “When this is over, McCoy, you and I need to have a talk.”

And then, before I can say another word, before I can tell him I agree, the call drops.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

GRADY

“If this shit was easy, Malone, everyone would do it.”

I look at Veego as the rig we’re on bumps and jostles while it heads up the mountain. The fire rages on the ridge in front of us. She’s a mean, nasty bitch, consuming every piece of brush she can find. The wind serving to add gasoline to her fury.

I don’t respond other than a nod because I don’t have the words. How can I when I’ve spent every call, every minute, scared of the one thing that makes me feel alive. Putting out fires.

My fear and my salvation are one in the same.

The rig stops at a makeshift basecamp that is ready to go on the fly should the wind switch and fire swing, and we unload in one big mass of equipment and anxious energy.

The next hour or so is spent double-checking our gear and stocking up on any supplies we’re going to need in order to keep a line up on the ridge above us.

When we get the go-ahead, we begin the climb into the belly of the beast to be tried by her flames.

My fears are eaten by the adrenaline.

My doubts are eroded by each cut we make into Mother Nature to stop her progress.