Page 2 of The Hotshot’s Prize (Praise Me Like Fire #2)

Zack

Ten miles. That’s the goal.

Same as yesterday, same as tomorrow. My normal routine. No excuses.

I breathe in deep through my nose and let it burn through my lungs as I run. The scent of hot stone and juniper needles coats the back of my throat. My boots pound the dusty trail in steady rhythm, and the sun’s already brutal, even though it’s still morning.

Weighted pack strapped tight to my back. Tools clipped in place. Full gear, just like I’d wear on a real callout. If my legs feel like jelly by mile six, good. That’s the point.

If it’s not hard, it’s not helping.

I hop a twisted root and push myself up a slight incline. My calves burn, sweat dripping from the back of my neck and soaking into my collar. It’s punishing, but it’s nothing compared to fire season. This is maintenance. Prep. Insurance against the next blaze that tries to eat someone alive.

I’ve seen what happens when you’re not ready. And I’ll never let that be me.

I reach a fork in the trail and veer right without thinking. Been running these routes long enough that my body knows them by muscle memory.

A raven caws overhead, its wings slicing through the pale blue sky. I glance up, for a moment thinking I see smoke. But it’s just clouds. A storm rolling in. I can hear thunder in the distance, but I’m pretty sure I can outrun it.

And if I get stuck out here? Well, I have all my gear with me.

The thing is, I like the solitude. I need it. But lately…there’s this quiet gnawing inside of me that I can’t shake. Like something’s missing. Like I’ve built my whole life around one thing, and maybe that one thing isn’t everything.

I shake the thought loose. It’s indulgent. Useless. What I do matters. Saving lives matters. Brotherhood, honor, purpose…that’s the fire.

But there’s still this itch, right beneath the surface. There’s this growing emptiness inside of me, a feeling that something isn’t quite right.

You’re just tired .

Fire season’s creeping up, the base is tense, the rookies are green as hell. I don’t have time for existential bullshit.

I crest a rise in the trail and pause, adjusting my pack. My shirt clings to me with sweat, and I gulp down half the water in my canteen in one pull. I turn, ready to keep moving—

“Help!”

The word cuts through the canyon like a whip crack.

I freeze.

It’s faint, but it’s real. A voice. Desperate and raw.

I spin toward the sound, scanning the ridge and the cliffside to my left. The trail runs close to a jagged drop here, maybe a hundred feet down into a steep canyon split. My boots hit the ground hard as I sprint toward the edge.

And that’s when I see her.

She’s perched on a narrow ledge, just below the lip of the canyon wall. Maybe ten feet down, wedged between a crooked boulder and the sheer rock face, trembling like crazy. She’s hugging her knees to her chest, and when she looks up at me, her eyes are wide and terrified.

But she’s alive. Thank God.

She’s alive and that’s all that matters.

“Hey!” I shout, kneeling fast at the edge. “I see you! Are you hurt?”

She blinks rapidly, then shakes her head. “I—I don’t think so. Just scraped up. But I…I can’t move.”

“Okay. That’s fine. You’re doing great,” I say, keeping my tone calm. Calm is everything. “I’ve got you. I’m gonna get you out of there. Just hang tight, alright?”

She nods quickly, but her sweet face twists like she’s trying not to cry. A flare of protectiveness goes off in my chest at the sight.

I swing off my pack and yank open the outer flap. Rope, harness, carabiners…all there. Thank goodness I don’t run without gear. And that I like to run off-trail. One twist of fate and she’d still be screaming into the void out here, and no one would’ve heard her.

“Alright, listen to me,” I say, feeding rope through my gloves as fast as I can. “I’m lowering a harness down to you. I need you to put it on, exactly how I tell you. Do you think you can do that?”

She peers up at me, her lip quivering. “I—I don’t know. I’ve never—” Her voice breaks and she shakes her head. “I don’t think I can do this.”

I can hear the panic in her voice. I see it in her tight grip on the rock, in the way her breathing shortens into shallow little bursts. I feel a sudden urge to wrap her trembling body in my arms until she knows she’s safe again.

Fuck.

Focus.

I lower my voice. “Hey. Hey, look at me.”

She complies. Barely.

“You’re safe now, alright? I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. Just breathe with me. Can you do that?”

Her mouth opens. Closes. Then she nods, once.

“Good,” I say gently. “Breathe in through your nose. Nice and slow. One…two…now let it out.”

We do it together. Once. Twice.

Her shoulders start to loosen. A little. It’s not much, but it’s enough.

“That’s it,” I say. “You’re doing great.”

She sniffles and swipes at her cheek with the back of her hand.

“I’m Zack,” I add, trying to keep her grounded. “What’s your name?”

“Ella,” she whispers.

“Okay, Ella. I’m gonna drop this harness down to you. I’ll walk you through it. All you have to do is follow my voice. You don’t have to do anything else, alright? I’ve got you.”

She nods again, eyes locked on mine now. Still scared, but focused. A little steadier.

I lower the harness slowly, using the cliffside to guide the rope. It sways once in the wind, but it lands right next to her. She grabs it with shaking fingers.

“Good. Now slip one leg through each loop. Then pull the waist strap around and buckle it in the front. Just like putting on a backpack in reverse.”

It takes a minute. Her fingers fumble, but she doesn’t give up. I watch every movement, ready to call out if she messes something up. But she doesn’t.

“You’re doing perfect, Ella. Almost there.”

Finally, she looks up. “Okay. I think I’ve got it.”

“Alright. I’m going to pull you up now. It might feel a little weird, but I’ll go slow. Just keep your back against the wall and let me do the work.”

She bites her bottom lip and nods.

I brace my feet, dig in with everything I’ve got, and start hauling.

She’s light, but the angle’s awkward. My muscles scream as I pull, hand over hand, inch by inch.

The harness creaks against the rope. She scrapes once against the rock and lets out a soft gasp that nearly undoes me, but she doesn’t panic.

Good girl.

Almost there.

“Just a little more,” I grunt.

And then her hand crests the ledge. I grab her arm and haul her the rest of the way, her body collapsing into me as we hit the dirt. She’s breathing hard, clutching the front of my shirt like she doesn’t know where she is anymore.

But she’s here. Alive. Safe.

I ease us both back from the cliff and sit her down gently against a flat rock.

“Hey,” I say quietly, crouching in front of her. “You’re okay now. You’re safe.”

Soft hazel eyes meet mine, still wet, still anxious…but she nods.

“Thank you,” she whispers in a faint voice.

And even though this was just another rescue, like a dozen others I’ve done, something about the way she says it hits differently.

I give her a half smile, trying to calm the part of me that wants to examine every inch of her for injuries. “Just doing my job.”

But I already know this isn’t going to be just a job.

Not with her.