Page 14 of Hemlock Firestorm (Black Timber Peak Hotshots #3)

I jerk upright, a sudden wave of self-loathing crashing over me.

His fucking choice was made because of me.

The realization burns hotter than any fire we've faced.

I yank my sports bra from where it's tangled with our sleeping bags, my movements frantic and desperate.

"That's exactly what I'm talking about." The fabric catches on my elbow, and I fight with it, my movements sharp and angry, mirroring the turmoil inside me.

"You don't get to throw away fifteen years of experience because I—" My voice cracks, the weight of my mistakes threatening to choke me. "Because I fucked up."

"Jo—"

"Don't." I scramble for my clothes and boots, refusing to look at him.

I can't bear to see the compassion in his eyes, knowing I don't deserve it.

I shove my feet into my boots and march toward the water where I clean myself up.

The cold water bites into my skin, a welcome distraction from the emotional storm raging within me.

With jerky movements, I pull on my panties and pants, each action an attempt to rebuild the walls I've let crumble.

My socks are still damp and I fight to get them on my feet.

I go to tie my boots, but the laces slip through my trembling fingers.

Frustration wells up, mixing with the guilt and self-hatred.

"I didn't trust the process. Didn't trust the call.

I saw a chance to stop it and I just—" I yank harder, the rough cord biting into my skin, the physical pain a pale echo of the emotional turmoil I'm drowning in.

"You did what smokejumpers do," Cole's voice is closer now, gentle and understanding in a way that makes me want to scream. "You made a call."

"A shit call." I finally meet his eyes, hating the understanding I see there. "The kind that gets people killed. The kind that?—"

Just jump, Jo. Jacob's voice echoes in my head, a ghostly reminder of another choice, another failure.

Cole reaches for my shoulder. I step back, my boots crunching on pine needles.

"I can't." I gesture between us, at the wreckage of protocol and professional boundaries scattered like our clothes. "I can't be the reason you lose everything. Not like—" The words lodge in my throat.

"Like your brother?"

The words hit me like a physical blow, stealing my breath the way smoke had that night so many years ago.

The air prickles against my cold skin, raising goosebumps along my arms. Memories flood back –- the heat, the smoke, the desperate plea in Jacob's eyes.

The weight of responsibility, of lives lost and futures altered, settles on my shoulders like a suffocating blanket.

"That's not the same thing." The lie tastes bad in my mouth.

But it is the same. The same burning need to act, the same disregard for protocol, the same certainty that I knew better.

And now, just like with Jacob, someone else will pay the price for my impulsiveness.

The realization settles in my gut like lead.

I destroy lives. First my brother's, and now Cole's career lies in smoking ruins because I couldn't follow a simple order to wait, just like I couldn’t follow the order to jump.

My hands shake as I yank my shirt over my head, the fabric catching on damp skin. Each movement feels like another nail in the coffin of Cole's career. The guilt churns in my stomach, acid and burning.

"You need to stop." Cole's voice carries that tactical edge, the one he uses when calling commands over the radio. He grabs his boots, jamming his feet into them with sharp, angry movements.

"Stop what?" The words come out brittle. I can't look at him, can't bear to see the same intensity in his eyes that had been there when he'd followed me into the burning snag. "Stop feeling guilty that I just torpedoed your career? Stop hating myself for being so goddamn reckless?"

"Stop pushing me away because you're scared."

The accuracy of the statement slams into me. I jerk the zipper of my pack closed so hard it nearly breaks. "I'm not scared." Another lie. "I'm realistic. You know what happens to smokejumpers who break protocol. And Rick?—"

"Don't." The word crackles between us like static before a lightning strike.

I finally look at him. In the pre-dawn light, his face is all harsh angles and shadows, but I can see the muscle jumping in his jaw. Good. Let him be angry. Anger is easier than whatever this is between us.

"Why not?" I shoulder my pack, ignoring the protest from my bruised muscles. "That's what they'll bring up, isn't it? The Hotshot who lost his jumping partner, who swore he'd never break protocol again, throwing it all away for?—"

"For you." Cole steps into my space, close enough that I can smell pine needles and woodsmoke on his skin. "And I'd do it again."

"That's the problem!" The words tear from my throat. I shove past him, needing distance, needing air that doesn't smell like him. "I can't be that person, Cole. I can't be the reason someone else's life gets destroyed. Not again."

The forest presses in around us, ancient pines towering overhead like silent witnesses. Somewhere in the distance, a branch snaps. I startle, my nerves still raw from yesterday's jump.

"You think Rick's death destroyed my life?" Cole's voice is quieter now, more dangerous. "Or that what happened to Jacob destroyed yours?"

"You know it did." My throat burns with unshed tears.

"No." I hear him moving behind me, collecting our scattered gear. "What happened to Rick taught me that if you fuck around, you find out."

I hesitate. There was something more to that he wasn’t telling me.

"And Jacob—" He breaks off, and I close my eyes against the pain in my heart. "Jacob’s death didn't destroy you, Jo. It forged you into someone who would rather die than watch another person burn."

I clench my teeth. I know I should tell him the truth about Jacob but…

it didn’t matter right now; the effect was the same.

"And that's supposed to make it better?" I spin to face him, vision blurring.

"That I'm so fucked up from watching my brother’s life be de stroyed that I'll risk anyone's life, anyone's career, just to save someone else? "

The first hints of dawn paint the sky above us in shades of ember and ash. Ten miles of rough terrain stretch between us and the pickup site. Ten miles to figure out how to live with what we'd done. What I'd done.

"Let's be clear about something. You didn't make me do anything.

" He growls. "I made my choice." Cole squares his shoulders, and I recognize the stance, the same one he took when I argued with him during jumping practice.

"You want to push me away? Fine. But I'm still walking out of here with you.

Still facing whatever comes next beside you.

" He adjusts his pack, eyes never leaving mine. "Because that's what partners do."

The word 'partners' hangs in the air between us, heavy with meaning. My chest aches with something that feels dangerously like hope. Could I see something more with this man? The truth was scary because it would mean I'd have someone relying on me to make good decisions. To not fuck up and that’s about all I’ve ever done.

"We should move," I grit out. I turn toward the faint game trail that will lead us down the mountain. "Long walk ahead. "

I feel more than hear Cole fall into step behind me, maintaining that careful distance that somehow hurts worse than his anger. The weight of my pack presses against yesterday's bruises, each step a reminder of choices made and consequences coming due.

Above us, the sky continues to lighten, painting the world in the uncertain colors of dawn. Just like a jump, there's no going back now.