Page 4 of Wild Fire

There’s an unsettling silence between us, and I swear I can feel his ache. Or maybe it’s the ghost of my own demons reminding me why I do this job.

I saved him.

I pulled him from the flames, and I saved him.

But there are plenty of people I didn’t save.

Like my dad.

Nate’s gaze remains on the house, on the dying flames and charred ruins left behind by the blaze.

He’s got a good profile: solid jawline, plump, full lips. But it’s his lashes that stand out, even against the setting sunlight. I’ve always been a sucker for a man with pretty eyes.

“I promise.” I nearly whisper the words, almost unsure if I even said them out loud, but when Nate turns to look at me with those bright, blue-green eyes, something in my chest tightens and my heart breaks a little at the devastation in those beautiful eyes.

I don’t know that everything will be okay. We’re not supposed to say things like that since it’s considered false hope, and when people are vulnerable, they latch on to things like that. Blame others when things aren’t okay.

You said it would be okay, AJ.

You promised.

My dad’s voice reverberates in my brain, but I shove it aside. Now is certainly not the time to go down memory lane. I know more than anyone how the damage a fire causes goes beyond what it consumes. Fire doesn’t just burn down buildings; it burns everything it touches. Including your heart and the things you love, leaving more than just ash in its wake.

Nate looks at me, his eyes searching mine as if he wants to believe me, and that alone makes me feel more exposed than I’ve felt in a long fucking time. Because maybe on some level, I want to believe if he can be okay, maybe one day I will be, too.

Nate leans a little closer to me, invading what little space is left between us.

“No,” he says, his voice full of exhaustion. “It’s not.” He lets out a sigh, his jaw tensing as he holds my gaze. I should look away, but I can’t.

Silence breeds between us, poisoning the air. The sun disappears behind the smoking house; the sky painted in shades of ochre, crimson and rust, shadowed by thick tendrils of smoke like a lingering protest of its own.

Normally, I’d argue. I’d find whatever words I needed to assure those who needed it. Then I’d guide them to the ambulance, give them a hopeful smile, and go back and finish the job, whatever that may be. Returning to the fire to pull someone else out, or maybe even a pet or beloved stuffie. Consoling a husband or wife, a mother or father, or even a friend.

And then, when all was said and done, I’d climb back on the rig and go home.

To the firehouse.

Or towards another fire, maybe.

And on the shittiest nights, I’d end up at the bar with JJ or back at Shadows & Sin.

I haven’t gone to the place in years, though. Can’t bring myself to go in after what happened with Cal. Sometimes I worry I’ve lost that part of me, too.

I shift my position once more, my knee bumping against Nate’s as I do so. He leans into my space again, without a second thought. Like he’s done it a hundred times before, even though we’ve only just met. I glance down at him, and he sighs in defeat. Tears pool at the edges of his red-rimmed eyes. I don’t usually get emotional with rescues. Not like this, not even when I was a probie. But something about Nate Barrett feels different.

Or maybe it’s just me. Maybe I really am that fucked up.

It’s been years since I’ve felt this kind of… closeness. And I like it more than I probably should.

Which means JJ is right… I need to get out more.

Or maybe I just need to get laid, if I’m getting all choked up over rescues like some leading man in a Hallmark movie.

So I shake off the weird feeling in my chest the best I can, and regrettably shift him away from my shoulder.

“Come on,” I say, tugging him up to stand. He follows my guidance, but he doesn’t let go of me. Instead, he clings to me like a second skin as I make a path through the crowd of people, the light of various sirens bathing us in an array of blue and red light. The chaos of the scene is familiar; the noises and chatter, and the aura of tragedy and hope dancing a macabre waltz in the ruins of the ashes it left.

“I’ll take him from here, AJ,” Lacey, one of the paramedics on scene, says, pulling me from my thoughts. I have the strangest urge to hold onto him—to Mr. Bright Eyes—and never let go.