“DUDE, YOU’RE FUCKING TERRIBLE TONIGHT. YOU’RE LIKE the new Rhys of the team,” West teases.

    Ford, Rhys, and Clyde (who came along just to hang out) all get a really goodugh at my expense.

    The problem is, I don’t feel much likeughing. I feel downright distraught over my argument with Gwen.

    It’s been several hours since she walked out the door, and the coiling sensation of nausea rolling in my gut has only gotten worse with every minute that’s passed.

    “West, be gentle with him today. He’s already busy beating himself up.”

    I shoot a scowl Clyde’s way. “I’m fine.”

    He shrugs. “I don’t know. Things didn’t sound fine from where I was hiding in my bedroom. Gwenid you out, boy.”

    I roll my eyes. Fucking Clyde, always spying on us. “I deserved it.”

    The humor around me dissipates after I bomb everyone’s good mood with that depressing take on things.

    Four sets of wide eyes gawk back at me.

    “What? What are you all staring at?”

    Ford takes a sip of his drink, still staring at me. “Probably that you finally admitted there’s something between you and Gwen after months of pretending there isn’t when we can all tell that there is.”

    “Yeah,” West adds. “I feel like I’ve been in on a state secret that everybody knows about, but no one talks about. You and Gwen, you’re like Fight Club. You know what the first rule is.”

    I give them another of my signature eye rolls, which they interpret as me finding them funny. Ford, West, and Clyde chuckle between themselves as I watch them make their way to the bar, searching for another drink.

    But it’s Rhys’s intense re that has my skin crawling.

    “What’s the trouble?” he asks, his eyes concerned. Sure, he looks like a massive meathead, but underneath it all, he might be one of the most sensitive guys I know.

    I nce away, watching other teams take their turns as I search for the right words. “I don’t know. Everything feels so messy. You know, when we met, it seemed like it could be so simple. Like, just, I liked her, and she liked me, and we could meet up again sometime. Now it’s like my son’s involved, right up in the middle of everything, and I want so badly for him to be okay with it. But I just don’t know how to make him see that. And the guilt is eating me alive.”

    I let out a weary sigh. “I said some things to Gwen today that I shouldn’t have. I know I hurt her feelings, and I just…”

    Rhys’s deep voice rumbles across the space between us. “It’s just altogether too many feelings, isn’t it?”

    I look at him, realizing there’s a reason why this man is the one I connect with the most on our team. “Yeah, it’s just a lot of feelings, a lot of talking, and a lot of things that I haven’t felt in a really long time. Like I have something to lose. Like I have something to gain. Like I’m jealous. Like I’m just paralyzed by the realization that one wrong step could leave me with nothing when everything is so close that I can almost taste it.”

    He nods. “Believe it or not, I know the feeling. Tabitha and I weren’t always so clear-cut. I was used to keeping everything to myself, second-guessing everyone around me, never trusting a single soul. And then, you meet that one person who makes you want to break out of your shell. Who it’s worth taking those risks for. Who… without them, you’d stay on the same miserable path. Never improving, never changing, never bing a better version of yourself.”

    He shrugs now. “Sometimes when you’re paralyzed like that, it’s not because you don’t know what to do. It’s because you know exactly what to do. You know what’s right, but it scares you. It’s not indecision. It’s being grown-up enough to know that the world doesn’t revolve around you. There’s so much in there at y.”

    I let his wise words wash over me, rolling my beer ss between my palms.

    Rhys watches me for a moment, then he chuckles. “I think if you weren’t a little scared, you’d probably be stupid. And you’re a lot of things, Bash”—he holds his beer up now, clinking it against my ss—“but stupid is not one of them.”

    I nod and take a sip.

    “Don’t let her get away,” he adds.

    Before I can thank him for sharing his wisdom—Rhys isn’t a talkative person, and he just monologued some deep advice straight at me—the guys return to our table.

    I eye their pinched expressions cautiously because I’ve got that feeling when you just know something is wrong. That feeling rarely leads me astray.

    “There’s a fire on the back side of the mountain and it’s spreading quickly,” West says. “We just saw it on the TV.”

    Sure enough, when I check my phone, I have multiple missed calls. None of which are from Tripp or Gwen. And all of which are from our local Forest Service’s number.

    I step outside and dial back, quickly hearing the voice of our area supervisor, Dale, on the other end of the line.

    “Bash, we need you ready for tomorrow morning,” he says.

    “How bad is it?” I ask, cutting to the chase.

    “It’s bad. Windy as fuck tonight, and it’s dry back there. No one has burned the underbrush for decades. A dry spring means it’s basically a forest floor of kindling and pine needles.”

    “It’s not totally dark yet. I could get up there in time to at leasty out some fire lines. Get ay of thend. I know the other guys would too.”

    Dale sighs. “The wind is too much. We’re going to battle it from the ground tonight and see if we can stave it off, but it’s moving quickly.”

    “Well, even if I can’t do anything from the air, I’ming down there to help,” I say, already marching back inside to grab my keys and say my goodbyes.

    “I won’t say no to extra bodies,” Dale replies. He knows I’ve got several thousand wilnd firefighting hours under my belt. My talents are best used in the sky, but decades on the job give me a level of expertise not everyone has.

    “It’s heading toward town, Bash. Any help we can get will be an asset.”

    “I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” I say, stepping into the bar, where an eerie hush has fallen over the space. Usually, there’d beughter, bowling balls ttering down the wooden alleys. But right now, there’s just the low din of whispered conversation. Most heads are bent over their phones—some curious, some stricken with utter horror.

    I reach our table, and the vibe is no different. Clyde and West look especially concerned as they move a map around on West’s phone.

    “They just issued a round of evacuation alerts,” West says.

    “Orders or alerts?” I ask. “Because those two things are very different.”

    “Order for anyone who lives on the back side of the mountain,” West says.

    All eyes slide to Clyde. His features remain nk, but lines of stress frame his eyes. And it pulls on something inside me. Even heading into a kidney transnt, he didn’t look this worried.

    He waves a hand. “Good news! I’m already evacuated.” His words are meant to sound casual, but there’s nothing light about the way he says them.

    West adds, “Mine and Ford’s properties are under alert, but right on the edge. If it moves down the highway, we’ll be ordered too.”

    I nod at that. “Okay, alert isn’t the end of the world. That means you’ve got time, things can change, orders can be lifted. Nothing is the end of the world.”

    “Yet,” adds West.

    The bite in his voice takes me aback, and my features must show it.

    “Bash, I have thirty horses on my property. Less than half of them are mine. My trailer holds six. That means at least five trips there and back to wherever I can find that is able to take thirty horses in. And if we move to an order, the time crunch on that is going to mean leaving them behind.”

    “I’m sure we can work something out,” Ford announces. “Let’s start making calls, spread word online. People always band together in times like this. My property is easily evacuated. We can focus on helping yours.”

    West’s typically carefree face has worry etched all over it. He shifts on his feet, almost pacing on the spot as he taps his fingers against his lips. “I’m thinking. I’m thinking,” he says. “Everyone I know with a trailer will have their own animals to evacuate. I just… I gotta go.”

    He digs his keys out of his pocket and tosses down two twenties.

    “Same,” I say. “I’m heading down to the Forest Service offices to find out where they need me. I’m not flying until first light tomorrow.”

    I toss cash on the table, and West is already heading for the door. “West,” I say, raising my voice to grab his attention. He turns to face me, looking panicked. “I know someone who might be able to help. I’m going to call him.”

    He nods with a quick “appreciate it.” Then he’s gone.

    I head out to my truck, where I call Emmett, one of my most tried-and-true friends. The world knows him as Emmett Bush, suave, cocky, championship bull rider. But I know him as Emmett Brandt, sarcastic,plicated, longtime friend.

    “Call Emmett,” I say, already backing out of my parking space. All my earlier worries are now buried by a crushing need to jump into action and do my part for ourmunity.

    The phone only rings twice before his voice spills through my truck speakers. Which, in his typical fashion, is to shit-talk.

    “Why are you calling sote? Do you need me to sing you a bedtime song to help you sleep?”

    “Cute, really cute, but I’m going to cut to the chase. We’ve got a bushfire burning on the back side of the mountain in Rose Hill.”

    “Oh shit.” His tone turns serious.

    “Yeah, and one of my best friends needs—”

    “What the fuck, Bash? I thought I was your best friend.”

    “I said one of, you big baby.” I can hear the low rumble of amusement from the other end of the line. “Anyway, if you’re done being a territorial little bitch, I’ll finish my story. One of my best friends runs a training operation, a ranch with thirty horses, and he’s currently under an evacuation alert. It’s not an order—”

    “Yeah, but if it turns into one, he won’t be able to get them all out,” Emmett grumbles before I can even finish. With a family farm of his own in an area prone to fires, he knows the risks and the issues West faces. “Does he have a ce to take the horses?”

    “He’s working on it,” I reply.

    “I’d offer up our ce, but a trailerful is going to take five hours.”

    “Yeah,” I say with a sigh. “And unfortunately, his trailer only hauls six.”

    “Shit. Well,” Emmett says, and I can hear his feet stomping and the jingle of his keys in the background. “I’ve got an eight-horse, and I can be there in four hours. Send me the address.”

    “You just said five hours.”

    “Oh, nah. That’s with a trailer full. Empty trailer, middle of the night, I’ll be fast.”

    For a moment, I find myself smiling because that’s just the type of guy Emmett Brandt is. Kind of an asshole, but you don’t even need to ask for help before he’s promising to show up anyway—shaving an hour off his travel time, no less.

    I swear to god I could call him in the middle of the night and tell him I need to bury a body. The only thing he’d reply with is on my way.

    “You’re a lifesaver” is all I say to him before we hang up.

    Then I’m speeding down the darkened road toward the office, praying things don’t take a turn for the worse.