Page 15 of Hemlock Firestorm (Black Timber Peak Hotshots #3)

ELEVEN

JO

The pulse of the helicopter blades chop through the air like a war drum, but my ears are too full of the chaos inside me to care much about the way it makes my head ache.

I sit beside Cole, the space between us charged with an invisible weight.

Neither of us speaks, the hum of the engine a dull roar in the background as we fly over the fire, the world below us swallowed by flames.

The fire rages on, a massive, crackling beast stretching as far as the eye can see, alive and hungry.

Even from the sky, I can feel its heat pushing up toward us, like the world itself is burning, demanding that I feel its fury. As if I hadn’t already.

The silence inside the helicopter is suffocating, thick with everything we haven’t said.

I glance over at Cole, my heart hammering in my chest, but he’s staring out the window, his jaw clenched tight, his expression unreadable.

He’s somewhere else, lost in his head. So am I.

We’re both here, physically, but neither of us is truly present .

The memory of the last ten miles crawls beneath my skin—every step, every second, pulling at my limbs like I’d been moving through concrete.

The trek had drained every last ounce of energy we had left, no food, no water, our bodies screaming in protest. I know Cole’s body is just as spent as mine, if not more, but he doesn’t let it show.

We’re both hanging on by a thread, but the thread feels thinner with every passing moment.

I should say something. Anything to break the tension, but I don’t know where to start.

The reflection of the fire flickers in the glass, casting shadows across Cole’s face.

For a split second, I think I see something in his eyes—something like hurt, or maybe just exhaustion.

I turn away quickly, unable to hold his gaze for long.

My own reflection stares back at me, dirty despite the trip down the river, exhausted, too thin likely from dehydration.

For a moment, I don’t even recognize myself.

I’m too lost in the weight of everything that’s happened.

The base camp comes into view, small against the vastness of the fire, a little island of safety away from the sea of smoke and flame. I can almost taste the relief, though it’s bitter on my tongue. A relief I didn’t even know I wanted.

When the helicopter touches down, I’m surprised I can still feel my legs.

My body protests the movement, but I push through, forcing my feet to hit the ground.

The somewhat fresh air due to the current wind pattern is a welcome relief to my wrecked lungs.

I’ve never been more grateful for the swarm of medics rushing over.

They’re all business as they pepper me with questions and clip a pulse oximeter onto my finger, but I can barely focus on them.

Because the last person I'd ever expected to see was here.

"Jacob." I whisper like I've seen a ghost.

I can’t breathe for a moment, like the air is suddenly too thick.

He’s standing off to the side, scanning the chaos, his eyes sharp, cutting through the confusion around me.

How had he gotten here? No doubt our Dad called in a favor but it didn’t really matter.

He was here now. The moment our eyes meet, a thousand things I don’t know how to say crash over me, all at once.

Fear, relief, anger, guilt. All of it tangled up in a mess I can’t unravel.

He looks the same, but he doesn't. There are things I can't forget, things I didn't know how to fix, things I ran from instead of facing.

His scars are still there, but smoother now, silver-white in the harsh lights.

Thick bands of scar tissue wrapped across his forehead and cheek, telling a story I've tried so hard to forget.

His arm too, and the way his hand curls into a fist, stretching the scar tissue there, without thinking.

I can't stop my breath from hitching, but I force myself to keep my feet planted, because I don't know what else to do.

Running isn't an option anymore. Maybe it never was.

Jacob’s eyes narrow slightly, as though he’s not sure if he’s seeing me right. "Jo," he says, his voice rough, but with a note of disbelief, like he can’t believe I’m standing here, like I’m not supposed to be. He exhales as if a weight has been lifted.

"Jacob," I whisper again, but it feels like my voice doesn’t belong to me. I can’t get a full breath in my chest, and I can’t quite pinpoint the exact reason as to why I’m shaking. Maybe from the fire. Adrenaline overload? Maybe from everything I’ve been running from.

We just stand there. A distance between us that feels miles long, even though we’re right in front of each other. I know he’s thinking about all the ways I could’ve died out there. I knew it because he’s my twin… Hell, I’ve been thinking the same thing.

"You’re alive," he says, his voice tight and I see my own eyes looking back at me with our combined pain reflected in them.

The word hangs in the air, heavy. I want to laugh, but it catches in my throat. Yeah, I’m alive. But only because of Cole. Only because of the man who went in to save me.

But Jacob doesn’t reach for me, doesn’t pull me into his arms like he should. Instead, there’s just that awkward silence. And I can’t break it. I don’t know how.

Then I remember Cole. His presence is still right beside me, solid as a mountain, but it feels like he's miles away, existing in a different reality.

I glance at him, and the sight hits me like a physical blow.

His face is hard, eyes tight, jaw clenched so firmly I can see the muscle jumping beneath his skin.

The dirt and ash from our ordeal have left tracks on his face, like tear trails that never fell.

He's watching Jacob closely, like he's waiting for something.

I don't know what. The tension radiating from him is almost visible, a heat haze of unspoken questions and barely contained emotion.

"Jo," Jacob says again, his hand gently brushing my arm, pulling me back to him.

The touch is feather-light but it burns like ice against my skin.

"I heard the news, when they said a female smokejumper was stranded I knew it was you.

I had to come." His voice catches slightly on the last word, and the sound splits something open inside me.

A crack in the wall I've built between then and now, between who I was and who I've become.

His words hit home. He’s always been the one to fix things, to carry the weight of all the broken pieces in our family. But I wasn’t there when he needed me the most. I wasn’t there for him.

Jacob looks over at Cole, who’s still standing near me, silent, the tension between them thick enough to cut. Jacob’s eyes flick from me to Cole, and I know he’s trying to piece together what’s going on, but he can’t. He doesn’t know anything about the man near me because I haven’t told him.

Jacob extends his hand to Cole. His expression is guarded, cautious. Cole looks at him for a long moment, then steps forward. His handshake is firm, professional, but I can feel the chill in it, the distance between them.

"Cole Whitlock, Assistant Superintendent of the Black Timber Peak Hotshots," Cole says, his voice even but too tight. "Jacob, right? I’ve heard a lot about you," he adds, his tone still neutral but laced with something sharp, something I can’t quite place. "Glad we could get your sister out."

His words are polite, but I can hear the bitterness underneath, and it stabs at me, deep.

His gaze flicks to me for a split second, then back to Jacob, and the look in his eyes makes my stomach turn.

I let him think Jacob was dead, I realize with a sickening clarity.

I let him believe it because I had forced myself to believe it in an effort to live with myself…

Jacob’s face shifts, a flicker of confusion crossing his features. "Thanks for going in for her," he says, his sincerity clear, but his eyes never leave me. His gaze is filled with anger and sadness.

But Cole doesn’t linger. Without another word, he pulls his hand back, nods curtly, says "she’d have done the same for me," and turns away. His movements are stiff, deliberate, like he’s carrying something heavy, and I don’t know what it is.

I want to run after him. Explain. But I don’t. Now isn’t the right time.

My chest tightens as I watch the man I’d made love to the night before walk away, his back straight, his steps purposeful, each one a mile between us. I’ve broken something precious, and I don’t know how to fix it .

The superintendent’s voice cuts through the noise, sharp and commanding.

"Both of you are to see me as soon as the medical crew releases the two of you," he orders. His gaze darts between Cole heading toward the tent and me, but his anger feels distant compared to Cole’s. Teammates not currently deployed in the fire watch curiously at what’s going on, but they don’t approach.

No doubt they are feeling the waves of tension too.

Jacob watches me for a moment, his eyes full of things I can’t name.

I feel the weight of his gaze, but I can’t look at him.

I turn to watch Cole, the way his back grows smaller with every step, like he’s walking farther away from me, farther away from us.

How am I supposed to deal with both of them right now?

Jacob clears his throat, his voice softer now. "Mom and Dad were worried when the news hit. They’ve been glued to the T.V. keeping an eye on things." His words soften. God, what have I done?

"How are Mom and Dad?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. It sounds like an accusation like I’m asking because I’m not there.

Because I wasn’t there. Jacob’s been holding our family together for me, for years now, trying to rebuild the life we used to have.

I hadn’t seen the truth before but as I look at him now, I see the little boy in the hospital room pasting a smile on his face despite the agony he was in so that no one was uncomfortable around him.

So no one would act differently around him.

Jacob doesn’t answer right away. He looks away, like he’s not sure how to say the words. "They are doing okay," he says finally. "Dad’s been texting you. Mom can’t bring herself to."

I hadn’t checked my messages before being dropped in the fire. Dad would be worried.

"But they miss you. We all do."

The guilt rips through me. I wasn’t there for him. I wasn’t there for anyone. I failed.

"I’m sorry," I whisper, my throat tight and raw. My body shakes as I realize the depth of my pain for the first time. "For everything." The words feel like they’re being ripped from me, torn open. For my choices, for his scars, for all the things I can never undo.

But I don’t have time to say more, because the medics are insistent now, pulling me toward the medical tent. They don’t wait for me to respond. They don’t give me time to feel what I need to feel.

Jacob follows close behind, but the space between us grows with every step. He’s watching me fall apart from the outside, and I can’t hold it together.

When I finally collapse onto the cot in the medical tent, I can’t hold back anymore. My chest tightens; my breath comes in ragged gasps triggering a coughing fit.

Fat hot tears roll down my cheeks, not caring who sees. A needle is poked into my hand. The familiar stench of antiseptic and the beep of machines take me back to the hospital rooms I used to visit with Jacob when he was the one in the bed, and I was the one who caused it.

And just as the pain starts to settle over me like a weight I can’t move, I see Cole —his face grim, his eyes tired— slipping behind the curtain around my bed, pulling it shut.

He’s carrying an IV drip attached to himself, but his hands are trembling slightly.

He looks at me like he wants to say something but he doesn’t say anything. He just walks out.

And I’m left here, lost. Cut off from the people I love. All the words I need to say caught in my throat.