Page 19 of Hemlock Firestorm (Black Timber Peak Hotshots #3)

The setting sun bleeds across the sky like a watercolor someone's left in the rain.

My boots kick up dust with each determined stride across the base, the particles catching golden light like suspended stars.

Jerry's words still echo in my head, a gruff voice of reason cutting through my usual defenses.

"Stop running from the good things in your life," he'd said, those weathered eyes seeing right through me. "You deserve them."

The old Spotter had wormed his way into my business with the practiced ease of someone who'd spent decades watching young Hotshots and smokejumpers make the same mistakes.

I'd found myself spilling everything - about Jacob, and about Cole. About how terrified I was of letting anyone close enough to see the cracks in my carefully constructed armor. Then I threatened to tell his lovely crunchy wife about the greasy-ass burger I saw him eat if he told a single soul about everything I'd just spilled. He’d smiled and it made me smile. The old coot had stood up for me to the Super and I wasn’t in any trouble but…

Now, my heart thunders against my ribs as I sprint across the base, my boots kicking up dust with each determined stride.

My conversation with Jerry still rings in my ears; about protocols, about Jacob, about everything that's happened.

But right now, none of that matters. Because Cole is leaving, and the stubborn idiot didn't even say goodbye.

I spot his truck at the far end of the lot. My chest tightens at the sight of his duffel bag being tossed into the bed. Not like this. We're not ending things like this.

"Whitlock!" I shout, my voice carrying across the empty parking lot. He freezes, one hand on the driver's side door. "Were you really going to leave without saying anything?"

When he turns, the dying sunlight catches in his green eyes, making them look almost translucent, like sea glass worn smooth by years of tumbling waves.

Something flickers across his face - guilt, maybe, or resignation.

The shadows under his eyes seem deeper than usual, mapping the territory of his own unspoken burdens.

"Thought you needed space," he says quietly, his voice carrying that careful neutrality I've come to recognize as his own shield. "To deal with everything. With Jacob."

The mention of my brother's name makes my stomach clench. "Yeah, well, maybe you should have asked me what I needed instead of deciding for me." I close the distance between us, noting how he shifts his weight slightly, like he's preparing for impact. Good. He should be.

"Jo-" he starts, but I cut him off, the words burning in my throat.

"No, you don't get to 'Jo' me right now." I'm close enough now to see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers grip the door handle like an anchor. "You got suspended because of my choices, and then you were just going to disappear?"

"We've been over this. I got suspended because I made a choice," he corrects, his voice firm but gentle, like he's talking to a spooked animal. "A choice I'd make again in a heartbeat."

The conviction in his words stops me short, stealing some of my anger's momentum. I take a shaky breath, feeling the fight drain out of me like water through cupped hands. He’d said the same thing earlier but hearing him say it after having been suspended.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, and his eyebrows lift in surprise. "Not for that. I mean, yes for that too, but for not telling you the truth about Jacob. For pushing you away when?—"

"When I was just trying to help?" A ghost of a smile touches his lips, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah, you're pretty good at that."

"Shut up," I mutter, but there's no heat in it. "After the fire, after what happened to Jacob, I couldn't..." The words stick in my throat.

Cole's expression softens, and he takes a step toward me.

The familiar scent of pine and woodsmoke wraps around me, and something in my chest aches at how much it feels like home.

"I know. I talked to him." His voice is gentle now, understanding.

"He told me everything. About the fire, about what he said and how he handled learning about you joining the Hotshots. "

Ugh. Of course he did. "I should have told you myself." The words come out rough, scraped raw with regret.

"Yeah, you should have." His hand comes up to brush a loose strand of hair from my face, and the gentle touch nearly undoes me. "But I understand why you didn't."

The sound of approaching voices breaks through our bubble, and without discussion, Cole takes my hand, leading me toward the treeline where the pines offer privacy. The needles cushion our steps as we move deeper into the shadows, the setting sun filtering through the branches like stained glass.

When he stops, his grip on my hand tightens fractionally. "I need to tell you something too," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "About Rick."

My breath catches as he tells me everything. About the hastily packed chute, the failed ripcord, the weight of responsibility he's carried all these years. Each word seems to cost him something, like he's pulling thorns from deep wounds.

"That's why you're so adamant about protocols," I whisper, understanding blooming like dawn. I think about all the times I've pushed back against his rigid adherence to rules, all the eye rolls and arguments. Shame burns in my throat.

"Yeah." He lets out a shaky breath that seems to carry years of guilt.

"Every time I see someone take a shortcut, every time someone decides the rules don't matter, I see Rick falling.

And when I saw you tangled in that tree with the fire coming—" His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone like he's memorizing the curve.

"I couldn't lose someone else. Not like that. Not you."

I rise up on my toes, pressing my forehead to his. "I'm right here," I murmur. "I'm not going anywhere."

When I found out about Jacob, about what you'd been carrying alone all this time, I was angry. It took me a little to realize it wasn't just because you didn't tell me, but because I recognized that kind of guilt. That need to atone."

"We're quite a pair, aren't we?" I say softly and feel his slight laugh against my skin.

"Yeah, we are." His fingers thread through my hair. "Both too stubborn to admit when we're hurting. Both trying to save everyone but ourselves."

The look he gives me is so full of love and vulnerability that it steals my breath.

His lips find mine in the growing darkness, gentle at first, then deeper, more urgent.

The rough bark of a pine tree presses against my back as he steps closer, his body caging mine against the trunk.

The forest seems to hold its breath around us, the evening air heavy with the scent of pine sap and wood smoke and something electric, like the atmosphere before a storm .

"Jo," he breathes against my mouth, my name a prayer and a question all at once. His hands slide down my sides, leaving trails of fire in their wake, and I arch into him, wanting more, needing more.

The last rays of sunlight filter through the canopy above, painting patterns across his skin as I work the buttons of his shirt with trembling fingers.

Each newly exposed inch of skin demands to be touched, to be tasted.

His breath hitches when I press my lips to the hollow of his throat, feeling his pulse race beneath my tongue.

"Someone could," he starts, but I silence him with another kiss, deep and demanding.

"Don't care," I murmur against his mouth. "What are they going to do, suspend you? Need you. Now."

A growl rumbles through his chest somewhere in between a laugh and pure lust, and suddenly I'm being lifted, my legs wrapping around his waist as he presses me more firmly against the tree.

The rough bark scrapes against my back through my thin t-shirt, the slight sting only adding to the desperate urgency building between us.

His hands are everywhere at once, leaving trails of heat across my skin that have nothing to do with the summer evening. When his fingers find bare skin beneath my shirt, I gasp into his mouth, my own hands clutching at his shoulders, trying to pull him impossibly closer.

The forest darkens around us, the shadows growing longer, but I've never felt more alive, more present in my own skin.

The weight of the past was no longer bearing down on me.

Every sensation is heightened - the scratch of bark against my shoulders, the heat of his skin against mine, the way his muscles shift beneath my exploring hands.

The rest of the world falls away until there's nothing but this, nothing but us.

Later, as we catch our breath, still tangled together in the growing twilight, I press my face into the crook of his neck and breathe him in. His arms tighten around me, keeping me steady as my legs remember how to work again.

"Well," he says, his voice rough and amused, "that wasn't exactly how I thought you chasing me down in the lot would end."

I laugh softly against his skin. "Since when do any of our plans work out the way we expect?"

There is a comfortable silence between us. Only the distant sounds of the basecamp reach our ears. Things feel right. My heart feels whole.

"Cole?"

"Hmm? "

"I'm glad you didn't let me push you away."

He presses a kiss to my temple. "Sweetheart, if there's one thing I've learned about you, it's that sometimes you need someone to push back."

I look up at him, studying his face in the twilight. The worry lines around his eyes have softened, and there's a contentment in his expression that makes my chest ache. "I love you," I whisper, the words slipping out before I can stop them. I realize instantly, I don’t want to stop them.

His smile, slow and genuine, is all the answer I need. But then he pulls me closer in his arms, his lips brushing my ear as he murmurs, "I love you too. Even when you're being impossible."

"Especially then," I correct him, and his laugh rumbles through both of us.

I think about firestorms, about how it destroys but also clears the way for new growth.

How sometimes the things that seem like endings are really just beginnings in disguise.

Tomorrow will bring its own challenges. There's still the investigation to deal with, still bridges to rebuild with Jacob, still fires to fight.

But for now, this is enough. More than enough.

And I think, sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is let someone catch you when you fall.

Oof. I still need to text my parents .