Chapter 4
Gabe
Iwatch the truck peel out of the lot, taillights flaring through the mist. The truck’s loud, rust-orange, dented near the tailgate. Not exactly subtle.
Not that she is. She had that stiff-shouldered tension that only comes from trying to outrun something invisible. Or maybe it’s just the Memphis plates that have me curious.
Pink hair.
What the hell is that?
I nod toward the vehicle as it disappears down Harbor Drive. “What the fuck was that?”
Shepard shrugs like this isn’t news. “That’s Sadie.”
Sadie. Huh.
“She’s the muralist,” he adds. “Town beautification project. Starts this week.”
I grunt. “And how the hell do you know that?”
“We met this morning.” He glances at me, then adds, deadpan, “In the library.”
I scoff. “Of course you did.”
Only Shep would make friends with a mysterious runaway artist in the goddamn library at dawn. Not at a bar. Not in line at the diner. Not at the gym. The fucking library.
She had that dazed look, like she hadn’t slept, eaten, or breathed in twenty-four hours. She looked… hurt. And that makes me want to ask more questions than I usually allow myself.
But I don’t. Not yet.
Instead, I fall into step beside him as we cross the lot toward his car. Driftwood Cove’s not exactly bustling, but traffic’s still steady near the corner of the community center. A mom with two kids. A guy walking his husky. Life rolling on.
Boone’s already headed our way, paramedic badge still clipped to his belt and a pair of sunglasses perched on his head like he forgot to take them off. He’s got a sweat mark down the back of his shirt, and he’s got the same wild curl to his blond hair that his brother used to have.
I push the thought down.
“Jesus, I thought I was late,” Boone says. “You two just getting out of your post-shift bromance?”
“Library meet-cute,” I say, nodding toward Shepard. “Apparently, he’s got a crush.”
“I do not,” Shepard groans, even though I can see the nervous tics as he adjusts his glasses and looks away.
Boone raises a brow. “What are we talking about?”
I explain everything to Boone.
Boone gives Shepard a once-over. “You didn’t ask for her number?”
Shepard chuckles, unlocking his car. “Didn’t exactly come up. She was soaked in rain water and a little irritable. Figured that might be a weird time to shoot my shot.”
Boone and I both stare.
“Not like… I was not going to shoot my shot,” Shepard mutters. “She was soaked. Rainstorm. I gave her cocoa and a sweatshirt. She crashed in the library until the volunteer came in.”
Boone’s face softens. “She okay?”
“I think so, but there was something a little cynical and sad about her. I’m not sure. I may be overthinking it.”
Something in his voice makes me glance over, but he’s already rounding the car. He opens the back to toss in his bag, then closes it with a soft thunk.
Sadie. I repeat the name in my head.
I don’t know why it’s sticking the way it is. I didn’t even see her properly. Just a flash of pink hair, the quick flare of panic in her posture before she took off.
She looked at me like I was a ghost. Or worse—like she’d seen one.
Boone slaps me on the back as we cross the street toward the bar. “You’re being quiet.”
I grunt. “Maybe I’m just wondering why Shep didn’t hit on the mysterious hot girl who wore his clothes.”
Boone snorts. “Please. This man hasn’t gone on a single date since Camilla passed.”
That earns a tight pause between us. Shepard doesn’t correct him. He never does.
We all knew Camilla. Sweet girl. Soft voice. Kind to everyone. She and Shepard were one of those quiet, old-soul couples that made sense. And then she got sick.
Real sick.
Shepard buried her three years ago. He hasn’t brought anyone around since.
“She’s got that haunted look,” Shep says after a moment. “You don’t push women like that. You let ’em come to you.”
I nod, mostly to myself. That look. Yeah, I saw it too.
“Are you interested in this woman?” Boone asks me.
I shake my head but Shepard beats me to the punch. “Please, this one never dates.”
We duck into the bar. The usual. Dim lighting, clack of pool balls, somebody’s alt-rock playlist playing just a hair too loud. Ellie’s behind the bar, tapping her nails against the register as she rings up a couple regulars.
She sees us and nods toward the back.
“Our table’s open,” Boone says. “I’ll rack.”
Shepard grabs us drinks while I hang back near the table, watching the game in progress on the next felt. I don’t know why I’m distracted. Shepard’s right. I don’t date. Never really saw the point.
Too many obligations. Too much danger.
Besides, what we do—the fires, the rescues—it doesn’t leave a lot of room for things like romance. Not after watching Boone lose his brother.
Shepard slides me a beer. Boone breaks.
We play three rounds. I win two, Shepard wins the third. Boone curses us both and downs his IPA like it’s water.
The subject of Sadie doesn’t come up again until we’re packing up to leave.
“So,” Boone says, grabbing the chalk from the edge of the table, “you ever figure out why you were staring after her like a kicked puppy?”
I give him a look. “I wasn’t. And you weren’t even there.”
Shep grins. “You kind of were.”
I roll my eyes. “She just looked… familiar. That’s all.”
Boone leans against the table. “Maybe you’re the one with a crush on the girl.”
That lands heavier than I expect. My mouth goes dry. Maybe. Or maybe I just saw the same kind of hollow in her eyes that I see in the mirror sometimes.
“Whatever,” I mutter. “It’s not important.”
But it is.
It must be.
Because I can’t stop thinking about the way she ran.
Like I was something to be afraid of.
After we leave the bar, we make a pit stop at Jensen’s to pick up the new grill. One of those fancy four-burner outdoor beasts with a smoker compartment and a rotisserie hook.
I’d been eyeing it for months. Told the guys it was for the house, but really, I just needed something new to fuss over on my off days.
Boone helps me load it into the truck bed, muttering something about Alpha overcompensation. I flip him off. He flips me off back. We laugh.
That’s how we are, the three of us. Different as hell, but solid.
Boone and I met during fire academy. Him, me, and his brother Sawyer. We were young, hot-blooded, cocky as hell. Swore we’d climb every ladder, beat every record, rescue every damn kitten from every damn tree.
Then Sawyer died.
A factory blaze that went sideways fast. Boone was outside on EMT duty. I was trapped inside. I still remember the way his comms cut off. The smoke. The way Boone screamed through the mic. The funeral.
The silence after.
Me and Boone clung to each other like brothers after that. Not the blood kind. The bonded kind. We decided we’d build something new. Something that honored what we lost. A two-man pack.
And that’s how Shepard came in.
He’d lost his place in a fire—his memorabilia, all of it gone. We pulled him out of a collapsed staircase, still gripping a box of old books and a picture frame that survived.
We saw something in him. Gentleness. Grief. Hope. That rare kind of Beta energy that could ground a room just by being in it.
We asked if he wanted in, and he said yes.
Now we live in the same apartment building although they love crashing at my house. Boone’s always playing guitar in the living room. Shepard’s always falling asleep on the couch with a book in his lap. And I spend half my nights at the station because it feels safer.
But the place is ours. This life is ours.
Family by fire. Built by grief. Held together by stubbornness and coffee.
And for the first time in a long time, I wonder what it would feel like to bring someone new into it.
Someone like Sadie.
Not yet. I shut the tailgate. You don’t know her. You don’t know anything.
Still. She looked like someone who could use a place to land.