I’M DEEPLY, DEEPLY EXHAUSTED. MY BODY IS SORE, AND MY mood is low.

    Surprisingly my incision is fine. But the mental and emotional toll of fighting a fire as destructive as this one never fails to knock me on my ass.

    And as much as I hate to admit it, I wasn’t ready to take this job. Not physically anyway. Emotionally, I was fucking desperate for it.

    I hip check the motel door open and suck in a lungful of filtered air. Outside feels downright apocalyptic. The sky is dark now, but it has an eerie, orange glow.

    We got called down while in the midst ofying out fire retardant, trying to cut some lines in the fire’s sprawl.

    But the winds weren’t cooperating and there weren’t any natural water sources a convenient distance away.

    Gwen would say that the universe was working against us, and I don’t know that she’d be wrong—that’s exactly what it felt like.

    A hard day on the job and the sinking feeling of wishing I hadn’t left the way I did haven’t helped my mood.

    I tell myself I did the mature thing. The right thing. But usually when I do the right thing, it gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling inside.

    Being mature to Cecilia? Satisfying.

    Giving Clyde a kidney? Satisfying.

    Helping Rhys get an rm system set up for Tabby while he was away? Also satisfying.

    Walking out and leaving Gwen to Tripp? I fucking hate myself.

    A hot shower to wash away the smell of ash doesn’t improve my mood. It’s not until I flop down onto one of the double beds and pick up my phone that I feel better.

    Because Gwen’s name is on the screen. I swipe it and open the surprise.

    In the past, we’ve exchanged text messages about Clyde. They’ve been mostly business.

    This one, though? This has nothing to do with Clyde, and it feels nothing like business.

    Gwen: Hi. I’ve been trying not to bug you, but I need a sign of life.

    I read it a few times, like my eyes are deceiving me. I wasn’t sure how she and I would interact with everything out on the table. Especially not with Tripp hanging around.

    Asking her out right in front of me.

    I’d wanted to give him a shake, tell him not to go after her just because he wants what he can’t have. I may not have a great track record with rtionships, but I know he only started thinking about her because he came face-to-face with her. He didn’t light up or stumble over his words—he didn’t even try.

    If nothing else, I’m offended by how careless he’s been with her. I’d feel worse for him if I bought his heartache. Instead, he reminds me of a little boy throwing a tantrum because he can’t get the toy he wants at the store.

    I know what it’s like to not be able to stop thinking about someone.

    I know because I’ve been there with Gwen. Even during an active fire, I think about her. Even when I know I shouldn’t, I think about her.

    That’s how I justify writing her back. Before I thought not answering her texts was the right thing to do. But tonight? I’m weak.

    Bash: Consider this a sign of life.

    She writes back instantly.

    Gwen: Oh, thank god. I’ve been watching the news, trying to catch sight of you. But it hasn’t worked. There are videos of the nes, but how am I supposed to know which one is you?

    Bash: You’ve been watching the news?

    Gwen: Yeah.

    She says it so inly. Like, of course, she’s been watching the news and looking for me. I smile at my phone like some lovesick loon.

    Gwen: Is it as bad as it looks?

    Bash: Yeah. It’s pretty bad. Early for fire season too.

    Gwen: How long do you think you’ll be gone?

    Bash: Hard to say. Why? Does Clyde miss me?

    Gwen: No. I do.

    The thrum of my heartes stronger and faster. She shouldn’t be able to make me feel like this with a simple text message.

    Gwen: I don’t have anyone to y strip poker with.

    I chuckle into the quiet room. I shouldn’t be this amused by her. Hell, she shouldn’t be cracking jokes like that. I kind of thought we both agreed we wouldn’t. And yet, here we are, unable to stop. After three days of darkness and destruction, teasing Gwen feels too good to turn away from.

    Bash: You could always y with Clyde?

    Gwen: Too far. Clyde is basically a cool, weird dad. And trust me, I’ve seen enough helping him post-op.

    The mention of dad has me wondering about her backstory. Her life. I want to know so much more about her. I’ve never asked because it’s never felt like my business, and it always seemed like a bad recipe for growing far too close to her. So I’ve tuned out every mention of her dad and her family life.

    Now doesn’t feel like the right time, either, so I deflect with a sad little dig about what has been irritating me since I walked out the front door.

    Bash: Maybe Tripp will y with you?

    Gwen: Oh, I bet he would.

    My mrs grind. I’ve instantly set myself on edge.

    Bash: Well, problem solved then.

    Gwen: No, Bash, not “problem solved.” I don’t want to y with Tripp. Plus, I sent him packing three days ago, which is what you really wanted to know, isn’t it? If you’d stuck around long enough to even say goodbye, you’d know that.

    I bristle, propping myself up against the pillows. Then I peer around the empty room as though someone might be watching me and chaperoning this text conversation.

    Bash: I wanted to give you guys space.

    Gwen: Oh, fuck off. You’re being a petty little bitch. Just admit it.

    I sigh. I am, but I’m not prepared to admit in writing that I’m jealous of my own son. That I felt a quick thrill of satisfaction knowing she turned him down—maybe even turned him down for me.

    Bash: He’s not good enough for you.

    I regret sending it the moment it’s gone. That was petty. Or maybe it wasn’t. At the very least, it’s true. If Gwen only remains a friend, I would stand by that assessment.

    Even though she can’t end up with me, I like her enough to want it to be someone better than Tripp—or at least this current version of Tripp. He’s got a lot of growing up to do before he can even hope to handle a woman like Gwen.

    Gwen: I know.

    Bash: Good.

    There. That was fatherly of me. I’ve steered our conversation into appropriate territory and feel almost good about it.

    Until Gwenes in with thest word.

    Gwen: I’ve decided to be patient. Wait for someone better.

    Frustrated by the thought of her dating anyone else, I put my phone away and flick on the TV. I haven’t been able to sleep much anyway.

    Which is probably why it feels like I stay up all night thinking I could be better.hr

    On day five of the job, we seem to have reached some level of containment. Homes have been decimated, wildlife has been lost, and even though I should feel satisfied with our aplishments, my heart is heavy.

    So much loss.

    And somehow the sentiment of “it could have been worse” rings hollow. Sure, it could have been worse, but for so many people, so many animals, this was the actual worst.

    Yesterday, I watched a husband console his wife as she sobbed about losing the only photos she had of her deceased parents. It broke me. I went numb just to get through the rest of the day.

    And when I got back to the hotel, I’d texted my mom just to say hi and tell her I love her. She retired and moved to Mexico five years ago to be near her sister and brother-inw. I’m happy for her. She raised me all on her own, working long and hard to provide the best life she could for us.

    I don’t know a single person who deserves a peaceful, warm retirement more than her. As her only child, I make a point of visiting her as much as I can—but in that moment, I missed her. It made me realize we don’t have forever.

    It made me ache for a family of my own even more than usual.

    It’s an ache that hasn’t left me today as I hop out of my single-engine air tanker. My boots hit the ground with a heavy thunk, and I feel it reverberate in my bones.

    “Rousseau!” the local fire chief calls from near the hangar. “Great work out there. Again. We’ve got it from the ground now. You can go home to your family.”

    A pang hits my throat, and I work to cover my flinch.

    But then I think of Gwen. And yes, even Clyde. My strange,plicated, ragtag little family. Or at least the only people who will be there, waiting for me when I get back. Which is better than no one.

    “You sure?” I approach him, removing my helmet and outstretching my arm to shake his hand. “I can stick around for a few more days.”

    Our palms p when they meet.

    “Nah, we’ll keep the local guys on call. You go on and get back to British Columbia. Hopefully they won’t need you this year.”

    I nod, my mouth twisting. It’s a nice sentiment, but it’s wishful thinking.

    “You look tired. A little pale. You all right?” His brow furrows as he looks me over.

    “Yeah, yeah. Just been a big few days,” I say, but the truth is, I don’t feel well. I feel monumentally tired.

    So I don’t fight him on his decision to scale back on the aerial approach. I take the out and head back to Rose Hill.