Page 82 of Knotting the Firefighters

Career advancement doesn't matter more.

But staying doesn't guarantee keeping her either.

Just prolongs the inevitable while destroying my professional future.

My lips find her forehead, pressing a kiss that carries the weight of everything I can't say aloud. The gesture is tender, reverent, possibly goodbye disguised as affection.

She doesn't stir, trusting even in sleep that I'll hold her safely, that my arms represent sanctuary rather than a source of her pain.

I'm sorry.

For being weak.

For not being enough.

For making you love someone who can't choose you the way you deserve.

The window reveals a night sky transforming—stars fading as the horizon hints at approaching dawn. Montana sunrise comes early this time of year, transforming darkness to light with gradual inevitability that mirrors my own approaching decision point.

A few hours.

That's all I have left before morning arrives, before real world intrudes, before I have to actually choose rather than endlessly deliberating.

I should sleep—need rest before whatever tomorrow brings, before navigating Station Fahrenheit's politics and Wendolyn'sintegration and the thousand complications that arise when four Alphas share confined space with Omega who drives them all insane.

But sleep won't come.

Not until I decide.

Not until I commit to a path that will define everything that follows.

Stay in Sweetwater Falls—maintain proximity to Wendolyn, watch her bond with Aidric's pack, accept professional stagnation as the price for a personal connection that might not survive anyway.

Or—

Return to Los Angeles—chase the captain position that represents everything I've worked for, abandon the one person who makes that achievement meaningful, trust that if we're meant to work out, then distance won't matter.

Except distance always matters.

Proximity creates bonds that absence can't maintain.

Choosing a career over her means losing her permanently.

The knowledge settles with crushing certainty, eliminating any illusion that I can somehow have both. This isn't a situation where compromise exists, where the middle ground offers a solution that preserves everything.

Choose one.

Lose the other.

Live with consequences forever.

Wendolyn's breathing remains steady, blissfully unaware of the crisis spiraling through my mind while she sleeps. Her trust is absolute, her vulnerability complete, her faith that I'll protect her even from my own destructive choices completely misplaced.

I should wake her.

Should have this conversation while she's conscious to participate.

Should give her voice in decisions that affect us both.