Page 106 of Honeyfires

Hope.

Hope that maybe I could have this. That maybe I deserved this. That maybe loving someone and being loved in return could be enough to outweigh everything I'd lost.

"I love you," I whispered into the darkness, knowing she couldn't hear but needing to say it anyway. "Thank you for seeing me. All of me. And choosing me anyway."

Vera sighed in her sleep, her fingers flexing against my chest, and I finally let myself drift off, held safe by the woman who'd somehow made me believe in second chances when I hadn't even thought I'd deserved first ones.

Go. Save Them.

Chapter Nineteen

The phone alarm tore through the pre-dawn darkness like a chainsaw, all shrieking urgency and mechanical violence. I was awake before my eyes opened, muscle memory pulling me from dreams of Vera's hands in my hair, her warm breath against my neck, the vanilla-coconut scent of her skin. I was awake before the second scream of the alarm, my hand shooting out to silence it before it could fully wake Vera.

Too late. I felt her stir against me, her body comfortably warm and limp where she was pressed along my side, one leg tangled between mine, her hand splayed across my stomach. We'd fallen asleep like this, tangled together, hands mapping each other’s bodies.

I grabbed the phone, squinting at the screen's harsh light in the darkness.

CODE RED - ALL HANDS - Eagle Ridge - Major Wildfire - Report Immediately

My stomach dropped. Code Red. All hands. That meant every available firefighter, every station, everything we had. That meant bad. Very bad.

"Petra?" Vera's voice was thick with sleep, but I heard the worry already creeping in. She knew what a four-thirty AM call meant.

"Fire," I said quietly, already swinging my legs out of bed. "Big one. I have to go."

I didn't wait for her response. Couldn't afford to. My body was already moving on autopilot, years of training taking over. I crossed to the chair where I'd laid out my clothes the night before—fire season habit, always have your gear ready—and started pulling them on in the dark. Underwear and sports bra. Pants. Shirt. Socks.

Behind me, I heard Vera sit up, heard the rustle of sheets. The bedside lamp clicked on, flooding the room with dim yellow light. When I glanced back, she was watching me, her hair a wild tangle around her face, her eyes already carrying that look I'd come to know too well.

Fear. Worry. The helpless knowledge that I was about to walk into danger and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

"How bad?" she asked.

I sat on the edge of the bed to lace up my boots, my fingers working the knots quickly and fluidly. "Don't know yet. Code Red means multiple stations responding. All hands. That's never good."

"When will you be back?"

I paused, my hands stilling on the laces. This was the part she hated. The waiting. Not knowing when I'd be back or if I'd be okay. The uncertainty that came with loving someone who ran toward fire instead of away from it.

"I don't know, baby," I said honestly. "Could be hours. Could be days. Depends on the fire."

I finished with my boots and stood, grabbed my keys and wallet from the dresser, and checked my phone again. More messages were coming through now. Incident Commander and dispatch confirming coordinates and helicopter departure time, Rodriguez confirming crew status. We were going in by air. Helitack. That meant it was bad enough that they needed us there fast, needed us to rappel in before the ground crews could even arrive.

I felt Vera's presence behind me before her arms wrapped around my waist, her body pressing against my back. She was still slumped and sleepy, and for a moment I wanted nothing more than to turn around, crawl back into bed with her, forget about the fire and the crew and the danger waiting for me in the pre-dawn darkness.

But I couldn't. People's homes were in danger. Maybe people's lives. And I'd signed up for this, chosen this life, accepted the responsibility that came with it.

I turned in her arms, looking down at her face. Even first thing in the morning, even worried and scared, she was beautiful. Her blue eyes were luminous in the lamplight, the freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks like constellations I'd mapped with my fingers and lips a hundred times.

"Be safe," she whispered, her hands coming up to cup my face. "Please be safe."

"I will. I promise I'll do everything in my power to come home to you."

It was the closest to a promise I could make. We both knew I couldn't promise to come home, not really, not in this job. But I could promise to try. To be smart. To use my training and experience and instincts to survive.

She pulled me down and kissed me. It was almost desperate, her lips clinging to mine like she could keep me there through sheer force of will. I kissed her back, trying to pour everything I felt into it. All the love, all the reassurance, all the unspoken promises I couldn't quite make.

When we finally broke apart, her eyes were bright with unshed tears.