Page 10 of Hemlock Firestorm (Black Timber Peak Hotshots #3)

EIGHT

JO

My hands tremble violently as I wring water from my braid, the adrenaline crash hitting me with the force of a collapsing tree.

The inferno we narrowly escaped still roars in my mind, a hellish counterpoint to the gentle gurgle of the river beside us.

I force my smoke-addled brain to focus, cataloging our pitiful supplies with the desperate efficiency of someone clinging to routine in the face of chaos.

"Two emergency blankets, one first aid kit, half a canteen of water, and a single flare" I rasp, laying out our salvaged gear on a flat rock.

My voice is a broken thing, scraping against my raw throat.

"Your multitool made it. My fire-starting kit.

Some protein bars. It's not enough, Cole.

It's not nearly enough." We hadn’t drank nearly enough water with how hot that fire had been. We’d been sweaty and exhausted.

Both of us were dehydrated. I open the canteen and take a swig, passing it to Cole.

Cole's grunt of acknowledgment is barely audible over the pounding of my heart. He takes a drink and sets down the canteen. His sat phone is still attached to him.

"Damn it," he mutters, frustration clear in his voice. "It's dead. Must have gotten water in it during our little swim."

I fumble for my own phone, hope flaring briefly before being extinguished. I give it a shake and water sloshes inside of it.

Could the universe give us a fucking break here?

I frantically open the battery cover and see that the battery has exploded. "The heat." I say. That was how friggin close we came to being toast. The despair I've been holding at bay threatens to overwhelm me.

Cole's jaw tightens. "We've got the flare gun. It's not much, but it's something."

We share a look, both knowing the odds. A single flare might be seen, might bring help. Or it might be missed. But it's the only play we have.

With grim determination, Cole loads the flare gun and raises it skyward. The crack of the shot echoes through the forest, and we watch as the bright red flare arcs into the sky.

"Now we wait," Cole says, his voice tight with tension.

For a long moment of silence we stand there collecting our thoughts.

I shiver, breaking the silence. "We need a fire," I manage, the irony of the statement not lost on me. For a moment I think I might bubble up with hysterical laughter at the insanity of it.

Without waiting for a response, I set about gathering tinder and kindling on autopilot.

It's muscle memory, something I've done countless times before.

But tonight, every snapping twig sounds like breaking bones.

My nerves are frayed to breaking point, and I hate the vulnerability that radiates from me in waves.

Cole works beside me in a silence heavy with unspoken words. When he passes me a handful of dry moss, our fingers brush. The contact sends a jolt through me, and I nearly drop the precious tinder.

"You okay?" he asks, green eyes searching my face with an intensity that threatens to undo me.

I nod, not trusting my voice. His concern is a double-edged sword, threatening to shatter the fragile composure I'm desperately clinging to.

I turn away, fumbling with the fire-starting kit.

As the spark catches and flames begin to lick at the kindling, unbidden memories surface with brutal clarity.

Jacob's face swims before my eyes, his last words echoing in my mind with painful clarity.

The inferno that destroyed my family roars to life in my memory, and suddenly I can't breathe.

The smoke is choking me, the heat searing my lungs, and I'm frozen, paralyzed by indecision as Jacob disappeared into the flames.

A warm hand on my shoulder violently snaps me back to the present.

Cole kneels beside me, his touch an anchor in the storm of my mind.

Our eyes meet, and in that moment, I see my own anguish reflected in his gaze.

He doesn't say anything, he doesn't need to.

The understanding that passes between us speaks volumes of shared pain and survivor's guilt.

The fire crackles to life, casting dancing shadows that feel too much like grasping flames.

Its warmth is a lifeline when a mile or so away it’s a death sentence.

But it brings with it a new, pressing issue.

Our clothes, heavy with river water, cling to our bodies like a death shroud.

The Nomex fabric, designed to protect us from flames, now threatens to steal what little warmth we have left.

"We need to get out of these," Cole says, his voice rough with smoke and something deeper. "Can't risk hypothermia on top of everything else."

I nod, throat constricting. "Right. Yeah. Of course."

We turn our backs to each other, a pitiful attempt at modesty that feels absurd given our circumstances.

I struggle with the clingy fabric, every movement a reminder of aching muscles and new burns I am actively trying to ignore.

The urge to look over my shoulder is almost overwhelming, a primal need to keep Cole in my sights warring with professional boundaries that seem increasingly meaningless.

As I peel off my shirt, my elbow catches Cole's muscled back. The accidental touch sends a shockwave through me, a reminder that we're alive, we're here, we survived. "Sorry," I mutter, face burning from more than just lingering heat.

"S'okay," he replies, voice tight with an emotion I can't quite place.

I decide to pull off my sports bra and boyshorts, wringing them out before tugging them back on awkwardly, I wrap myself in one of the emergency blankets.

The material crinkles loudly, an alien sound in the primal quiet of our forest sanctuary.

I turn to find Cole similarly attired, his broad chest barely covered by the shimmering fabric.

The firelight catches on half-healed scars and fresh scrapes, a roadmap of near misses and close calls.

"Well," I say, aiming for levity and missing by a mile. "Aren't we a pair?"

His lips quirk in a half-smile that does funny things to my insides. "Regular fashion models."

"Something more akin to a really messed up episode of Naked and Afraid ."

Cole snorts, shaking his head. "That show," he trails off.

We stand there awkwardly for a moment, the weight of our shared ordeal hanging heavy between us.

Logic dictates we should share body heat, but the thought sends my pulse racing in a way that has nothing to do with survival instincts and everything to do with the man before me.

If it was anyone else this would just be survival.

Cole clears his throat. "We should, uh... it would be warmer if we..."

"Yeah," I say quickly. "Makes sense. Purely practical."

He settles down by the fire, opening one arm in invitation, the other is trying to cover his manhood behind his very tight and soaked boxer briefs.

As big as his hands were, it wasn’t doing the full job, and I feel my body flush.

My eyes snap to his and there’s a slight smirk on his face.

I hesitate for a split second before logic overrides my jangling nerves.

I sink down between his thighs, my back to his chest and other parts.

His arms encircle me, and I have to bite back a gasp at the contact.

Cole's body is a solid wall of warmth behind me, his heartbeat a steady rhythm against my spine.

Despite my best efforts to maintain some semblance of professional distance, I find myself melting into his embrace.

His breath stirs the wisps of hair at my temple, and I suppress a shiver that has nothing to do with cold. We are both absolutely exhausted.

I break a protein bar in half and give him the larger portion. "I think the flavor said cardboard."

He lets loose a sudden laugh that catches me off guard and I feel him press his forehead to my shoulder. My heart stutters. It feels intimate but I try not to let myself think it’s anything more than his way of comforting me.

We eat and sit in silence for a long moment, watching the flames dance.

The crackling fire and the distant rush of the river create a hypnotic backdrop, lulling me into a false sense of security.

I lean against him and he lays his head on my shoulder again.

In this bubble of quiet, with Cole's arms around me, I can almost forget the danger that surrounds us .

Almost.

"I keep seeing his face," I whisper, the words clawing their way out of my chest. "My twin brother Jacob's. Every time I close my eyes. It's like... it's like he's judging me for living when he lost."

Cole's arms tighten fractionally around me, a lifeline in the sea of guilt I'm drowning in. He didn’t know about my brother. I never told anyone about it because I didn’t want my past to color their impression of me. It’s a secret I’ve locked away from everyone around me.

"Tell me," he says softly, his words a gentle invitation.

I take a shuddering breath, steeling myself for the flood of memories I've kept dammed up for so long.

"We were twelve," I begin, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Just kids. The fire came out of nowhere.

The winds changed, and suddenly our whole neighborhood was engulfed in the middle of the night. "

I feel Cole shift behind me, listening intently. His steady presence gives me the courage to continue.