7. Frankie
Chapter Seven
FRANKIE
The helicopter ride back to Ember Heart is surreal. After the intimate cocoon of our cabin, the open sky and thundering rotors are a jarring transition. I sit beside Ryder, close enough that our shoulders touch, but there’s already distance between us.
It's in the way his body has tensed, how his answers to Hunter's questions have become shorter, more clipped. The easy flow of conversation we found in the cabin is drying up with each mile closer to town.
I tell myself I'm imagining things.
It's just the presence of his brothers; Axel at the controls, Hunter in the co-pilot’s seat, leaning back to fire questions about the other helicopter’s hydraulics. They’re making a plan to fly back up and fix it.
“Home sweet home,” Hunter announces, as we begin the descent. Ryder squeezes my hand, his calloused fingers warm against my palm.
The SAR base comes into view, and there’s a small crowd gathered on the landing pad. Word travels fast in Ember Heart. Henry stands at the front, arms crossed, relief evident even from the air. Beside him, I spot Nina and several other SAR team members. The official welcoming committee, ready with questions I don’t know if I’m prepared to answer.
As we touch down, Ryder's hand slips from mine. He squares his shoulders, his face settling into the serious mask I've seen countless times at the diner counter.
The moment the blades stop, Henry rushes forward, pulling me into a bear hug that lifts me off my feet.
“Gave an old man a heart attack, you did,” he scolds, setting me down. “What were you thinkin’, honey?”
“I'm sorry. I didn't know the storm would hit so fast.”
“Well, you're back safe, that's what matters.” Henry's eyes shift to Ryder. “Thanks to him."
Troy, as SAR’s medic, examines me as Ryder is debriefed by Logan. I catch his eye once, and he offers a small smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. Something has changed. I can feel it as surely as I felt the heat of his body this morning, wrapped around mine in that narrow bed.
When the formalities are finally complete, Henry insists on driving me home. I find Ryder talking with Axel by the equipment lockers.
“I'm heading out,” I say, hovering awkwardly at the edge of their conversation. “Henry's giving me a ride.”
Ryder nods, his posture stiff. “Good. You should get some rest.”
I wait for something more. Something, anything to acknowledge what we shared. But he simply nods again, his eyes shifting away from mine.
“I'll... see you around, then?” I say, hating how uncertain I sound.
“Yeah. See you.”
The walk to Henry's truck feels longer than it should, each step taking me further from the bubble of intimacy we shared. I tell myself it's normal, this awkwardness. We're adjusting, finding our footing in the real world. By tonight, things will feel right again.
But as Henry drives me home, chattering about how the diner managed without me and the town's reaction to my rescue, I can't shake the feeling that something fundamental has shifted.
Back at my apartment, I shower away the lingering scent of smoke and pine, of Ryder's skin against mine. As the hot water washes over me, I replay our last night in the cabin, searching for signs I might have missed. Was there hesitation in his touch? Doubt in his eyes when we were in bed? Or am I overthinking everything, manufacturing problems where none exist?
Inside my apartment, the silence is deafening. I kick off my shoes and curl up on the sofa, hugging a pillow to my chest. The emptiness of the space mocks me; no crackling fire, no pine scent, no Ryder.
My phone chimes with a message. My heart leaps, hoping against hope, but it's just Nina checking in.
How are you holding up? Coffee tomorrow?
I text back a quick confirmation, then check my call history. Nothing from Ryder. No missed calls, no texts, no explanations.
Just silence.
The tears, when they finally come, take me by surprise. I thought I was stronger than this, more resilient. But something about Ryder Blake has cracked me open, left me vulnerable in a way I haven't been since returning to Ember Heart.
Tomorrow, I'll be strong again. I'll open the diner, serve coffee, and smile at customers. I'll rebuild the protective shell around my heart. But tonight, I let myself mourn the loss of something that barely had a chance to begin.