Page 9 of The Pilot’s Good Girl (Praise Me Like Fire #3)

Ruby

It’s midmorning when I finally roll back into the retreat, Jake’s truck lumbering into the staff lot like a steel dinosaur.

I park way off-center and just sit there, my fingers still gripping the wheel like I’m bracing for impact.

My arms ache from how tightly I’ve been clutching it the entire ride.

I drove like a damn snail the whole way. Probably pissed off half of Sun Valley with how slow I was crawling through town.

But honestly? I’m glad I took the wheel.

Jake’s truck smells like him—like pine and smoke and something that just feels like home.

The steering wheel is too big, the seat too stiff, the console crowded with man things I don’t even know how to use.

But I’d do it all again if it meant keeping a piece of Jake with me.

It’s only been an hour since he flew off to be a hero, and I already miss him like crazy.

Which is completely insane.

What are we even doing?

I press my forehead against the window, letting the cool glass temper the burn in my chest. One day.

That’s all it’s been. Less, even. But the truth is, I’ve fallen for him.

Completely. Hopelessly. My heart’s not just in this, it’s out there with him right now, flying low over flames and risking everything.

And what if he doesn’t feel the same?

What if I’m just a fun distraction, a summer fling to forget once fire season ends?

My phone rings in the cup holder, jolting me from the inward spiral. I blink at the screen.

Mom.

My heart skips a nervous beat. It’s the first time she’s called since I left home.

I hesitate before answering, thumb hovering over the screen.

A part of me hopes she’s reaching out to say she misses me.

Maybe even to check in and make peace. But that’s wishful thinking.

We don’t do peace. Not since Morgan died.

I hit accept and bring the phone to my ear. “Hi, Mom.”

There’s a pause. Then her voice reaches me, tight and clipped. “You’re alive.”

I blink. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

She hesitates. “I saw the fire on the news. Was it near you?”

She actually sounds like maybe she was really worried. That’s unexpected. “I saw it up close,” I admit. “But I’m safe.”

She hums, not revealing any emotion. “So you really want to be a camp counselor?”

I bite back a sigh. “Yeah, I mean…it’s a great job for me right now. I get to help people, be outside a lot. It’s beautiful here.”

Another pause. “How nice for you. Some of us don’t get to escape.”

There it is. The old resentment, dressed up in politeness but sharp enough to draw blood.

I press my lips together. “I left because I couldn’t breathe in that house anymore. And I thought maybe you’d understand.”

“You thought wrong,” she says, flat. “You walked out. Just like you walked her into that car.”

The words hit like a gut punch.

My grip tightens on the phone. “I didn’t walk her into anything. We were just trying to get home.”

“You were exhausted. You shouldn’t have been behind the wheel. You shouldn’t have—” Her voice breaks for the briefest second, then hardens again. “You were the driver, Ruby.”

“I know,” I whisper, my throat tight. “Don’t you think I know that? I replay that night every time I close my eyes. If I could take it back—”

“But you can’t,” she snaps. “You can’t, and now she’s gone.”

My jaw clenches. “That’s why I left. Because all you do is look at me like I killed her on purpose.”

“I never said that.”

“You don’t have to,” I choke out. “It’s in every word you don’t say.”

There’s silence on the other end. Long and heavy.

“I didn’t call to fight,” she finally says.

“Then why did you call?” I ask, voice barely above a whisper.

Another pause. “Just wanted to know if you were still breathing.”

I let that sit for a beat. A bitter laugh escapes me. “Yeah. Still breathing. Sorry to disappoint.”

She doesn’t respond.

“I have to go,” I say, blinking fast. “The retreat needs me.”

“Of course they do.”

She hangs up.

I let the phone fall into my lap, my whole body sagging with the weight of that conversation. I press my fists to my eyes and take a deep breath, willing the tears to stop. Not now. Not here.

A sharp knock on the truck window makes me jump. I turn to see Leanne, our assistant camp director, peering in with her blonde hair tied up and a clipboard under one arm. Her brows are knit together with urgency.

I roll down the window. “Hey.”

“I’m so glad you’re back,” she says quickly. “We’ve got you on craft duty in an hour, and I also have a spot to fill for the rafting group tomorrow—one of the guides can’t make it.”

“Oh, bummer,” I say, getting out of the car. “I can do it, no problem.”

“Thank you! It’s just for this float. Doug’s taking the lead, but they need a second in the raft. Just in case.”

The moment she says Doug’s name, my stomach twists.

God, why him?

I hesitate, but I also know how fast these rafting trips can go sideways without backup. So I force a smile. “Great.”

***

The next morning, I find myself cinched into a life vest, helping guests into the raft. Doug stands at the back, paddle in hand, grinning like he owns the river. He catches my eye and gives me that smirky little nod he’s always throwing around like it’s supposed to make panties drop.

It does the opposite for me.

And now, it just makes me miss Jake’s cocky grins even more. I ponder the difference for a moment, realizing that Jake’s smirks make me feel like he wants to give me the world, while Doug’s make me feel like he thinks I owe him something.

I haven’t heard anything from Jake. No texts. No messages about when he might come pick up his truck.

I cling to the fact that he will have to pick up the truck at some point, so I’ll definitely see him again at least once. I’ll be able to figure out whether my feelings for him are as true as I think they are. And if they’re reciprocated, or if the whole night was just a fling for him.

The float starts out smooth, easy water, guests laughing, the sun glinting off the ripples. We coast past pine trees and granite boulders, the retreat disappearing behind us.

Then Doug starts talking.

“Leanne mentioned you drove back in the pilot guy’s truck yesterday?” he asks casually, voice low so only I hear it. “You two got something going on?”

I grip my paddle a little tighter, groaning internally at how quickly gossip gets spread around among staff members. “That’s none of your business.”

“Come on, Ruby. Don’t be like that.” He leans toward me. “You know he’s just messing around, right? Guys like him, they don’t stick. Especially with girls like you.”

My jaw tightens. “Girls like me?”

“You’re young. Sweet. A little lost. He’s gonna eat you up.”

“Is there a reason you’re talking to me, or are you just trying to hear yourself speak?”

He chuckles. “I’m just saying…you don’t have to settle for some flyboy who’s gonna be gone before your sheets cool down.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “If you’re trying to flirt, you’re failing miserably.”

He smirks, then glances back at the churning water up ahead. “Tell you what. Say yes to dinner with me tonight, and I’ll steer us through the Blender nice and smooth.”

I blink at him. “Are you kidding me?”

He shrugs. “You’re in my boat. I’ve got the power.”

“You’re out of your damn mind,” I snap. “We’ve got guests on board, Doug. Don’t be an ass.”

Doug laughs, like it’s all some big joke, and for a moment I think he’s bluffing.

But then the river gets louder. We round a bend and there it is up ahead—the Blender. A frothy, narrow, chaotic stretch of Class IV rapids known for chewing up rafts and spitting out chaos.

“Doug, pull left,” I say quickly, seeing the angle. “We’re too far right.”

“I’ve got it,” he mutters, but his posture stiffens.

He doesn’t have it.

The current grabs us too fast, too hard, and suddenly we’re sideways, the raft jerking violently as the front dips into a surge of whitewater.

Screams erupt from the guests as a wall of water slams over the bow.

“Doug!” I shout. “Back paddle, now!”

But he’s lost it. He fumbles with his paddle, then makes a bad move trying to power through instead of adjusting. The raft tilts. We slam into a rock, spinning wildly as water pours in.

“Hold on!” I yell, clutching the rope at the side of the raft and grabbing for the nearest camper. “Keep your heads down and stay low!”

We’re in it now. The river doesn’t care about egos or stupid boys trying to impress girls. It’s a beast, and we just handed it control. And I swear to God, if we get out of this alive, I’m gonna kill Doug myself.

I thought things couldn’t actually get worse, but they do.

We’re the last raft in the group—four campers, all young adults, plus Doug and myself. That means there’s no one behind us to spot when we capsize.

And we do capsize.

One moment we’re fighting the surge, the next we’re flung like rag dolls into the icy, violent current.

The world spins, whitewater crashing over my head, stealing the air from my lungs. I kick hard, fight to resurface, and gasp just before I’m dragged under again.

Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

I’ve been trained for this. I know what to do. But training doesn’t prepare you for the cold, or for the look on a camper’s face when they’re going under beside you.

I manage to grab a loose strap on the overturned raft, kicking hard to reach one of the guests who’s flailing nearby. “I’ve got you!” I scream, hauling her toward me, gripping the collar of her vest as we get slammed by another wave.

It feels endless.

Until finally, I spot a jagged rock jutting out of the water, dead center in the rapids’ path. It’s the only anchor in the chaos. I fight toward it, pulling the camper along with me, heart hammering, throat burning.

We make it.

I cling to the rock, planting my feet against its slippery surface. One by one, I grab hold of the other campers who’ve drifted close. I yank them up onto the rock, shouting over the roar of the water.

Doug?

He’s a few feet off, clutching a log, wide-eyed and paralyzed.

“Doug!” I shout. “Help me get them up!”

He shakes his head, frozen in place. “I—I can’t—”

“Damn it, Doug! We’ve got people in the water!”

But he doesn’t move. He just clings to that log like it’s his last lifeline.

So I do it myself.

Hands raw, legs trembling, I reach out to the last camper, a quiet boy named Marcus, just as he’s swept toward us by the current, catching his vest and dragging him up with everything I’ve got. My muscles are screaming, my vision swimming in front of me.

But I don’t let go.

Doug finally manages to climb up with us, and we’re six souls clinging to a rock in the middle of a raging river, soaked and freezing, our breaths coming in sharp, panicked gasps. Marcus’s arm is cut. One of the girls is sobbing. The others are too stunned to speak.

Below us, the rest of the rafting group has pulled off to the side and are yelling and waving, trying to figure out how to reach us.

“Don’t move!” someone shouts through a megaphone. “Stay where you are!”

Oh yeah? Not like we’re going anywhere.

I huddle the campers together, wrapping my arms around the youngest girl who won’t stop crying. “You’re okay,” I whisper. “I’ve got you. We’re okay.”

But inside, I’m shaking. Not just from the cold, but the fear that we might actually not be okay.

Then I hear it…a low thrum, faint at first, but growing louder, beating like a wild heartbeat across the valley. I look up, squinting through the mist and sunlight.

And I see it.

A chopper. Cutting across the sky. Fast. Determined.

My heart skips. There’s no way to know for sure, but I feel it in my gut. That’s not just any rescue chopper. It’s his.

Jake.