The Firefighter’s Angel (Praise Me Like Fire #4)

Chapter One

Cindy

Outside the car window, pine trees blur past like an endless row of sentinels guarding the road to Yellowstone. My headphones are pressed tight against my ears, but I’m not even listening to anything anymore. Just wearing them like armor.

Lenny is driving with one hand on the wheel, the other resting too comfortably on my mom’s thigh.

She doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, she hasn’t stopped smiling at him since we pulled out of the driveway.

It’s that tight, overcompensating smile she started using when she married him six months ago.

Like she’s trying to prove something to the world. Or maybe to herself.

Beside me in the back seat, Lyle shifts. His knee is pressing against mine again, deliberately this time. I inch away, pretending to adjust my seat belt. He doesn’t say anything—he rarely does, but I can feel his eyes on me. It’s like he gets off on being subtle. On watching.

I focus my gaze out the window, where the trees open up to a brief stretch of blue sky and distant peaks. My chest tightens.

Yellowstone.

This place has been on my bucket list since I was twelve, way before things got messy. Before everything turned upside down.

Dad and I were supposed to take this trip after my college graduation. We planned it for two years, mapping out trails, geysers, wildlife sightings. I had a whole Pinterest board of things to see and do. He even promised to take me horseback riding near Lamar Valley. And now he’s just…gone.

He used to make me wood carvings, little animals that are now lined up along the top of my dresser.

A bear. A moose. A bison. He was halfway through carving the wolf when he died.

And even though I’ve picked up the skill a little bit myself, I’ve left that one unfinished, its hind legs still stuck in a block of basswood.

The grief doesn’t hit as hard anymore. Not like a punch to the stomach. Now it lingers in quieter places, in all the plans that never happened.

Mom doesn’t mention him much. Not since Lenny came into the picture.

She says talking about the past only holds us back.

But sometimes I wonder if she just can’t face how fast she moved on.

One minute we were crying over Dad at the kitchen table, and the next she was dating Lenny, smiling like she was seventeen again.

Lenny’s not terrible. That’s the frustrating part.

On paper, he’s decent. He pays the bills, fixes things around the house, doesn’t yell.

But there’s something about him that makes my stomach twist. Something I can’t put my finger on.

Maybe it’s the deliberate obliviousness.

Or the fake cheer in his voice when he talks to me, like he’s auditioning for “World’s Best Stepdad. ”

But Lyle? There’s no pretending there. He’s only a year older than me, but he gives off major predator vibes. His eyes linger. His smile feels wrong. I caught him staring at me through the crack in my bedroom door last week. And when I asked, he said he was “just passing by.”

Sure. Passing by and breathing like a damn serial killer.

I talked to Mom about how there’s something creepy about Lyle, but she just doesn’t see it. She thinks I’m just being unreceptive. She suggests I be “more open,” and “give them a chance” since we’re a “family” now.

Family.

The thought leaves a bitter taste in my throat.

Lyle bumps my leg again. This time, there’s no pretending it’s accidental. I glance down, and he quickly turns his head, acting like he’s super into the trees outside. My skin crawls.

I look up front. “How much longer?”

“Not long. Thirty minutes, give or take,” Lenny replies without turning his head. His voice is smooth, practiced. The kind that knows how to charm and manipulate at the same time. “There’s a gas station up ahead if anyone needs a break.”

“I’m good,” I murmur, even though my bladder is screaming. No way am I getting out of this car alone with Lyle hanging around.

Mom turns halfway in her seat to smile at me. “Isn’t this exciting, honey? Yellowstone! Can you believe it?”

I force a smile. “Yeah. It’s great.”

Because what else can I say? That the national park trip of my dreams is being overshadowed by the nightmare of our new “family”? That I’d rather be home alone watching Naked and Afraid than out here with them?

I lean back and close my eyes, letting the hum of the car take over. In my mind, I picture the wide valleys, the steaming geysers, the wolves and bears roaming freely. That’s what I’m here for. That’s what I’ll hold on to.

Even though Dad isn’t here to remind me that Yellowstone is home to over half the world’s geysers, or point out every single bird we come across, or mess up my hair the way he always did when he told a dumb joke, I’m going to try to make the best of this trip.

If I can just make it through this week without losing it, maybe I can salvage something real. Something good. Something that still feels like mine.

Soon, we pull up to the Airbnb where we’ll be staying for the week. It’s a rustic, two-story cabin—all timber and stone with wildflowers pushing up along the steps. For a split second, my breath catches. It’s gorgeous…

But I can’t savor the magic of the place for long, because as soon as the engine shuts off, Mom and Lenny start to fight.

“You’re unbelievable, Lenny!” Mom says with a loud scoff. “I can’t believe you booked a place so far from civilization! And why is it so enormous?” She slams the passenger door.

“I told you I booked it for six people in case your family wants to visit!” Lenny fires back.

“I said it was just the four of us! Why would I want extra people here?”

“Maybe because you change your mind every five seconds?”

I sigh, pressing my forehead against the cool glass of the window for a moment before dragging myself out of the car. While Mom and Lenny continue to argue, Lyle slinks past me, bumping my shoulder like it’s a game.

Inside, the tension grows even thicker. Doors open and close hard, bags are dropped with too much force.

Lenny’s voice bounces off the walls, sharp and bitter.

Mom’s tone gets thinner and shriller by the minute.

They do this—fight like crazy one minute and then go back to pretending like everything is alright. The perfect little family.

We were supposed to hike today. There’s a waterfall not far from here, and I’ve had the trail saved in my notes for months. But no one’s in the mood for it now. The air in the cabin is so tight it feels like I’m breathing through gauze.

I grab my daypack from the hallway, stuff a water bottle and granola bar inside, and head for the door.

“I’m going for a hike,” I call over the noise.

Mom barely glances up. “Don’t go far!”

“I’ll come with,” Lyle says from the living room, hopping up like a damn golden retriever.

My whole body tenses up. “You don’t have to,” I murmur.

He shrugs, already grabbing a hoodie. “I want to.”

“I’ll be fine. I just need a little space.”

“I don’t mind.”

I swallow nervously, ignoring the urge to run my sweaty palms over my shorts. Saying no again would only start a thing, and I don’t need another fight. Maybe he’ll stay quiet. Maybe he’ll take the hint. Maybe I’m being paranoid.

But I feel it deep in my gut…this is a bad idea.

***

Two hours later, we’re deep into the trail. My legs are starting to ache, and sweat clings to my neck, but the sound of rushing water up ahead keeps me moving.

The trees grow thicker here, sunlight filtering through in golden shards. It’s beautiful. Peaceful. And yet…I can’t relax. Not with Lyle pacing too close behind, too quiet.

I keep glancing back, hoping to catch some normalcy in his expression. Boredom, maybe, or disinterest, but he’s watching me. Not the trees. Not the trail. Me.

A chill crawls up my spine. What the hell?

When we finally reach the waterfall, it’s even more breathtaking than I imagined. White water tumbling over black stone into a sparkling pool, mist rising like steam into the afternoon light. I step closer, almost forgetting everything else for half a second.

And then I hear Lyle behind me. Too close.

“Gorgeous,” he says. His voice is low.

I nod, trying not to give him anything. “Yeah. Definitely worth the hike.”

There’s a pause—a stretch of uncomfortable silence. Then he speaks again. “You know, you’re really pretty. I’ve been thinking about doing stuff to you.”

My stomach turns. “What?”

He steps forward. “I’m just saying. We can be more than siblings…we’re not really related, you know?”

I whirl around. “Stop it.”

He grins. It’s ugly. “Come on. You want it too.”

“No, I really don’t,” I snap, backing away. “We’re going back. Now.”

He lunges. I scream, stumbling backward, but he grabs my arm. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” he mutters, voice rough now.

I panic.

Pure, unfiltered terror floods my chest. Without thinking, I jerk up my right knee, catching him between the legs. He gasps, muttering a long string of foul words as he doubles over.

I don’t wait for him to recover. I turn and run, going off the trail, into the thick of the woods. Branches whip at my arms, roots catch at my feet. I don’t care. I run like something inside me has snapped loose.

Behind me, I can hear his loud, angry voice. “You piece of shit! I’ll find you!” he yells. “And when I do—”

I increase my pace, pushing myself by sheer will. The trees blur, and I barely feel the scrape of bark or the burn of my lungs. I just need to disappear. I don’t know where I’m going; I just know I have to get as far away from the monster as possible.

Suddenly, my foot catches on something slick. The world seems to tilt for a second, and I tumble down a steep bank, the sky vanishing above me in flashes of green and gold. Rocks slam into my side, and I land hard, rolling onto something that feels like gravel.

My ribs sting. My ankle throbs. There’s blood on my hands.

But I’m alive.

A dirt logging road stretches out beside me, empty and eerily quiet. I drag myself off the trail and into a low patch of brush, my heart jackhammering in my chest. I crouch down, clutching my pack like it might protect me.

Footsteps crunch along the ridge above me.

Lyle.

I press my hand over my mouth, holding my breath as he gets closer and closer.

Please, please no…

I can hear him now, breathing heavily. Calling my name. Each step sounds like a countdown.

I don’t know how long I can stay hidden.