Page 180 of Knotting the Firefighters

I should get to work.

I flip open my laptop, intent on losing myself in maintenance logs or payroll until the memory fades. Instead, my gaze snags on the desktop's cracked screen, where a notification pulses urgently in the corner:new message, flagged high priority.

I consider ignoring it—surely just another inventory reminder or a last-minute drill from the city office—but the persistent blink needles at my fraying self-control.

I click.

The email notification chimes again, insistent, pulling my gaze to the screen. The flyer blooms into view, all garish colors and rustic charm.

"Sweetwater Falls Line Dancing Extravaganza – Partners Welcome!"A cowgirl beams from the center, flanked by two broad-shouldered cowboys, their hats tipped low, arms linked in a triangle of easy companionship.

The image mocks me, that carefree trio mirroring the tangle in my own life—Wendolyn as the vibrant heart, Calder as the steadfast anchor, and me... the outsider gnawing on doubt.

I owe her that date, the one I bartered in the elevator's suffocating confines, with Calder dragged along like an unwilling chaperone. My lip stings where I bite it, the sharp pain grounding me amid the swirl of uncertainty.

Can I wedge myself into their equation without shattering it? Or am I just kindling for another inferno?

I shove the thought aside, minimizing the window with a click that feels too final. The station hums around me, distant clangs of equipment checks and muffled voices filtering through the walls, a reminder that life presses on even as my world tilts.

Pushing up from the desk, I tuck myself away, adjusting my uniform with mechanical precision. The fabric scratches against my skin, an irritant I welcome—it distracts from the ache deeper down, the one no amount of scrubbing can erase. I need air, space, anything to clear the fog of envy and longing that's settled in my chest like smoke from a contained blaze.

The hallway stretches empty, my boots echoing on the polished floor as I head toward the common area.

Morning light slants through the windows, painting everything in hues of amber and gold, but it does nothing to warm the chill knotting my insides. I pause at the threshold, senses sharpening as voices drift in—Wendolyn's light timbre intertwined with Silas's measured tones, Bear's booming laughpunctuating their exchange. They're gathered around the kitchen island, remnants of breakfast scattered like clues to their easy camaraderie:half-eaten toast, mugs steaming with coffee's bitter allure, a bowl of fruit gleaming under the overhead lights.

She stands there, radiant in the aftermath of her shower tryst, hair still damp and curling at the ends, her workout gear clinging in ways that highlight every curve I've fought to ignore.

Calder lounges nearby, his arm draped casually over the back of her chair, fingers brushing her shoulder in a possessive skim that sends a jolt through me. Their scents mingle—his earthy warmth blending with her vanilla wildness, a potent brew that tugs at my alpha instincts. I watched them, hidden in the shadows, my hand moving in furtive rhythm to their passion.

The memory surges, unbidden:her arched back, the steam veiling their forms, Calder's growls echoing off the tiles.

Shame burns in my veins, hot and unrelenting, but beneath it simmers desire, fierce and unyielding.

Silas notices me first, his light blue eyes flicking up with that clinical perceptiveness.

"Aidric," he greets, voice even, though a knowing glint lurks there. Has he guessed? Does he sense the turmoil radiating from me like heat from embers? Bear follows suit, clapping a massive hand on the counter. "Join us, man. Wendy's regaling us with tales of her LA exploits. From the sounds of it, she could teach us a thing or two about urban infernos."

I force a nod, stepping into the fray, my posture rigid to mask the storm within. Wendolyn turns, her green eyes locking onto mine, flecked with that hazel that shifts like autumn leaves in the wind.

A smile curves her lips, genuine and inviting, but I catch the flicker of curiosity—does she wonder about my absence, or worse, sense the weight of what I've witnessed?

"Morning, Aidric," she says, her tone laced with that warmth she reserves for the pack, the one that both soothes and scorches. "We were just discussing training drills. Care to weigh in, co-chief?"

The title grates, a reminder of our forced alliance, but I seize it like a lifeline.

"Drills," I echo, voice steadier than I feel. "Yes, we need to prioritize structural collapse scenarios today. The rookies showed weaknesses in last week's simulation."

It's deflection, pure and simple, steering us toward safe territory—work, where emotions can't intrude. Yet as I slide into a seat across from her, our knees brush under the table, an electric contact that races up my thigh. I stiffen, pulling back, but the damage is done; heat pools low, stirring echoes of my earlier solitude.

Calder's gaze meets mine over her head, amber depths unreadable, but I detect the undercurrent—the unresolved pull that binds us even now. He rejected me once, chose the allure of an omega over our shared fire, yet here we are, orbiting the same sun. Wendolyn chats on, oblivious or perhaps acutely aware, her laughter a melody that draws us all in.

I contribute sparingly, words clipped, focusing on the steam rising from my pilfered mug rather than the way her freckles dance across her nose when she grins.

Breakfast dissolves into action, the pack dispersing to duties. I volunteer for inventory in the gear room, seeking solitude amid the racks of turnout coats and helmets.

The space smells of rubber and char, a comforting assault that grounds me. I catalog hoses, checking for frays, my mind wandering back to that flyer. Line dancing—a quaint tradition, all booted steps and rhythmic claps, but with Wendolyn and Calder?

It conjures visions of her twirling between us, bodies brushing in the crowd's press, scents mingling under bar lights. My grip tightens on a coil, knuckles whitening. Vulnerability terrifies me — insertion into their dynamic means bearing the scars Calder left, means admitting I still crave him, still yearn for her.