Page 70 of Knotting the Firefighters

He approaches carefully, arms wrapping around me with practiced awareness of my back wounds. The embrace is warm, solid, carrying that maple-chestnut scent I'm rapidly becoming fond of.

His voice drops to a whisper against my ear.

"I'm glad you're okay. Really glad. But please, actually take things slow this time. Rest. Heal. Let us handle the emergencies for once."

He pulls back slightly, maintaining gentle contact while his dark eyes hold mine with surprising intensity.

"You're hot as fuck barking orders and taking command," he admits with characteristic bluntness. "But you're even more beautiful being able to recover and rest. Don't forget that strength includes knowing when to let others carry the weight."

Oh.

That's unexpectedly profound.

And genuinely touching.

"Thank you," I manage, meaning it more than my casual tone suggests. "I'll try to remember that when boredom makes me contemplate creative interpretations of 'restricted duty.'"

Bear laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest into mine.

"I'm sure you will. Just don't give Silas any heart attacks with your creative interpretations."

He releases me with a final gentle squeeze, heading toward the door with a backward wave.

"Get some rest, Chief. Tomorrow's going to be interesting once you're officially moved into the station."

Then he's gone, leaving me alone with Calder and the tension that's been building since everyone else provided a convenient buffer against actual conversation.

The silence stretches.

Expands.

Becomes almost tangible in its weight.

Calder remains by the window, staring out at Sweetwater Falls' modest skyline like it holds answers to questions he hasn't voiced. His shoulders carry tension I recognize from months of reading his moods, his body language broadcasting discomfort he's trying desperately to hide.

We need to talk.

Avoiding it only makes things worse.

I sigh, drawing his attention despite his apparent fascination with the view.

"Why don't we actually talk? Hmm?"

He doesn't turn immediately, doesn't rush to fill the silence with meaningless reassurances.

When he finally faces me, his expression carries weight I'm not prepared to interpret.

His voice emerges quiet, careful, delivering information like he's defusing a bomb.

"I've been requested to return to the LA Fire Department."

The words punch me straight in the gut, stealing breath with their implications.

What?

When?

For how long?