Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
TRAVIS
K urt’s voice echoes in the room. “It’s all about LACES, and don’t forget it.
Lookouts, anchor points, communications, escape routes, and safety zones.
” He holds up a new finger each time he lists off an element in the acronym.
“There may be times when you need to take shelter in a safety zone, an area that has been cleared of fuel. In my twenty years, have I had to take an escape route? Yeah, a few times. But have I ever had to run from a fire? Never. That said, never say never.”
Fire season is getting ready to gear up, and it’s back to training for the twenty members of the Rough & Ready Hotshots. I’ve heard this speech from Kurt before, but I still focus. Distractions won’t do in a job where one mistake could put you or your fellow Hotshots in danger.
“But not every Hotshot crew is as lucky. We can’t forget the sacrifice of those who have gone before us and not always made it out.
We’ve got to learn from their lessons. Fires shift.
Sometimes unexpectedly, and if you and your crew get cutoff from your escape route, you can get overrun.
That’s why you’ve got to communicate, work your fucking asses off, and remember LACES. ”
I look around at my fellow Hotshots with a sense of somber pride. Much of the shit we do most people can’t wrap their heads around. Hell, thinking back on some of it, I’m not sure I can, either.
In the early days of a fire, when you and your crew are the first on the scene and resources are scarce, it’s not unheard of to work a thirty-six-hour shift, powered solely by caffeine and fucking determination.
It’s hell on earth, draped in smoke and working harder than you’ve ever worked in your entire life. Maybe you’ve also got to be a little crazy to do it. Who the fuck knows?
But there’s nothing like the camaraderie that develops with your crew while you’re out in the field together. Thinking back on my conversation with Wolfe the other day, I realize just how much I thirst for a sense of belonging.
I guess it’s a natural part of being a foster kid, but maybe it pushed me to pursue Faith more than I should have. I don’t know, but it’s not something to think about now. Instead, I continue taking notes, listening to everything Kurt says.
“Wildfires can burn millions of acres in the blink of an eye, consuming everything in their path. They can travel at speeds of fourteen miles per hour. That’s a four-minute-mile, motherfuckers, so don’t think you’re going to outrun it.
You’ve heard me say this before, but it bears repeating.
By the time you see fire coming, it’s too fucking late. ”
What he’s describing is the worst-case scenario and the cause of one of the worst disasters to ever hit wildland firefighting.
People often ask me how you stay motivated, working for days on end without sleep.
The answer’s simple. Your tail and those of your buddies are on the line.
One miscalculation, one hour of laziness can fuck everybody.
Of course, my work has ruined past relationships.
I’ve had girls who swore they love me disappear halfway through a fire season because they couldn’t go a week without a call.
If only they knew what the Rough & Ready Hotshots were doing to stay alive and keep fire from taking out homes and lives, they’d understand.
But you can’t understand it without experiencing it firsthand.
Maybe that’s why I fixated on Faith. Somehow, I got it in my head that she was different. The kind of woman I could count on. And I wish with all my heart it was so. But the more I think about the way she lets the church meddle in her life, the more reservations I have.
I’m a God-fearing man. Stare a wildfire in the face a couple of times, and there’s not a person on the face of this Earth who wouldn’t start praying. But what she’s mixed up in feels like a cult, and the more I think about it, the less I want anything to do with it.
“Alright, you’ve put in a good day of work. Pat yourselves on the back for being the elite of the elite. Go home and get some rest, you bums, and enjoy your days off.”
“Hey, Cartwright, you coming to Stonie’s Five Star with us?” asks Murphy, a smile stretching across his freckled face. He’s got a shock of burgundy hair and green eyes the color of khaki pants.
“Maybe later. I’ve got to go help out a friend for a bit, but I’ll text you.”
Rojas comes up behind me, clapping a hand on my back, “We better see you there, man. I’m counting on it. You’re my wing man, after all.”
I laugh. Talking to my old crew, I realize how much I tamed down off-season for Faith. I’m not sure what I was thinking, considering how things have gone.
But truth be told, I don’t feel like carousing right now. I’m more in a wound-licking stage, especially now that something I used to look forward to feels like torture. Counting down the days and hours to help Faith with her deliveries.
“Jose, you’ll do fine with or without me. Just do that Latin lover thing you do.”
“Nah, bro, ain’t nobody gonna fuck me without you around. Girls take one look at you, and suddenly they’re all over me. It’s like your good luck and charm rub off on me.”
“Maybe my height, too,” I joke, patting him on the head. Rojas is all of five-foot-ten, and me teasing him about his height always gets him red-faced and cussing in Spanish.
Kurt comes over. “You boys back to trouble, I see.”
“Actually, sir, I’m trying to stay out of it,” I reply with a laugh as Murphy pretends to air box with me. “But you know how riled up these fuckers get. They’re itching to go out and get wasted, and I’m not feeling it.”
My supervisor laughs. “Wait until you get to my age, son. Then, sipping a shot of bourbon on the back porch while your daughters play shitty ass music too loud upstairs is about as much fun as you get.”
I side-eye him hesitantly, “I don’t know, sir, you’ve got an awfully hot wife. Are you telling me Mrs. McCormick isn’t out there sipping bourbon with you? Because that doesn’t sound half bad.”
“She’s sneaking off with Trav,” Rojas jokes as Kurt’s face reddens. Even in a crew as tight as ours, there’s only so much ribbing that can go on.
“Shut the fuck up, Rojas. I’m the guy who comes through the front door, unlike you who’s always sneaking out the back.”
“Maybe with your mom,” he replies, dogging me. Everyone knows I was a foster kid and knew very little about my bio mother. But your mama jokes are par for the course.
I shrug begrudgingly. “Alright, y’all I’m off to do my community service, and then I’ll keep you posted about Stonie’s, okay?”
I head out to everyone’s goodbyes, feeling all sorts of deja-vu. During fire season, you spend nearly every waking moment with your crew. You see them more than you see your own family, and they become closer than brothers.
On off-season, though, everyone goes their separate ways, and it’s easy to start feeling like your firefighting life was another world, like a dream.
Thinking about Faith and how much I longed to make her mine, solidly mine before fire season, I started wishing it wouldn’t come so soon.
But now that I’m back in the thick of it with my buddies and meeting the new recruits, it’s almost like I never left. And I could believe it if it wasn’t for the chronic ache in my chest, thanks to the lovely owner of Jenkins Feed Store.
I’M sweaty from a full day of working out and probably look and smell like shit. Normally, I’d race home for a shower before stopping by to see Faith only to get sweaty and dirty again. But I’m over it now.
I have half a mind to tell her to find somebody new to help her out. She’ll have to once fire season starts, anyway.
Maybe she’ll get old Chuck Winters to replace me. Chuck is a guy from her church who’s been courting her awkwardly— and I mean awkwardly . He shows up at the feed store sometimes when I’m helping out. He’s got a stick so far up his ass I could hang a flag from his forehead.
But the uptight tool goes to the same church as her, which somehow makes him better for her than me, even though I can tell you right now he doesn’t give a flying fuck about her.
Unlike Chuck, there’s no limit to what I would do to please this woman.
But according to her church, I’m skipping down the broad road to hell, so it doesn’t matter.
The thought of her settling for that prick gets under my skin.
I doubt he knows how to have sex beyond missionary style, and as for orgasms?
He probably thinks “O” stands for Ovaltine.
I can’t do anything about it if she’s into the whole 1950s separate bed vibe.
But the thought of Chuck and her makes me nauseous.
In the two weeks since I made a move on Faith, she’s called me three times and acted awkwardly around me every time I show up at the feed store.
But she’s never mentioned the kiss, never tried to explain herself, and never made her feelings clear.
The mixed signals keep on coming, although I’ve found a semi-successful antidote in the form of not caring.
Yeah, I know what Wolfe suggested about trying to talk to her. But after a year in the friend zone, I’ve reached my last straw. At least, that’s what I tell myself. With fire season about to kick off, maybe it’s for the best anyway.
Parking the Chevelle in the dirt lot in front of the feed store, I trudge inside, feeling tired physically, mentally, and emotionally.
The highlight of my day has become a drudgery, and the worst of it is now I know how those sugar-sweet lips and that cotton-candy mouth of hers tastes.
And I know she responds to me physically the way I respond to her.
But if she can’t figure it out, who am I to try to convince her?
“Hey, Faith,” I grumble. “You ready to head out back and take care of this?”
Her face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning when she hears my voice, turning away from the shelf where she’s restocking rabbit treats and toys. Her cheeks burn, and she says breathlessly, “Trav, it’s so good to see you.”
Shit like that used to get my insides all tied up in knots, but I won’t let myself go there anymore.
Unlike Wolfe and Izzie, there’s not enough relationship between us to warrant reconciliation, let alone forgiveness.
Nope, there’s just a bunch of false expectations and disappointments with most of the pain caused by my unfounded desires.
I scowl as I realize she’s dressed up more than usual.
Her hair’s curled, and she’s got makeup on and pretty pink lip gloss that makes her mouth look like a juicy wild strawberry.
She wears a burgundy tank top that looks more like a corset, covered in tiny pink flowers and green swirling leaves and vines I long to trace with a finger—all the way down to the gap between her top and her too tight jeans, which hug her ass and her pussy to perfection.
Fuck. I may be over her, but my cock sure isn’t. I have to shift how I’m standing and discreetly adjust my jeans, so she doesn’t get the full show.
“What are you all dolled up for?” I growl.
“You, actually.” Her reply knocks the wind out of me.
What the fuck? Back to the mixed signals, I see. I refuse to head down that path with her again. Instead, I ignore her words, stalking right past her to head out back.
She calls after me, “The delivery came earlier than usual, and it’s already handled.”
What game is she playing? Turning on my heel, I kick a dark knot in the wood floor in front of me with my cowboy boot. “You know, you could have called to let me know. I’ve had a long day.”
Silence fills the room, forcing me to look up. Her eyes are wide, and if I didn’t know better, I’d swear tears pooled in them. No, no, no. I can’t let myself go there.
I can’t start micro-analyzing every breath she takes, the color of her cheeks, the part of her lips, the fucking flair of her nostrils. All of those details that I try to make add up to something that isn’t really there.
She draws in a deep breath and floors me again. “I’m sorry, Travis.”
Yep, there goes the ache in my heart. I rub my chest, sighing. “What are you apologizing for, Faith? You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Yes, I have,” she replies on a breathy exhale.
“And what’s that?” I ask in a guarded voice.
She steps closer, and I feel like I’m right back to two weeks ago on the verge of kissing her and making a total ass out of myself.
“I’ve been playing with your feelings,” she says quietly. “Even though I never meant to.”
Yeah, and so? But I keep my lips pressed together and my eyes narrowed.
She continues, “You’ve been forthright with me while I’ve kept mine hidden … for various reasons. I shouldn’t have done that, especially since you’re my best friend.”
I don’t just want to be your best friend. I want to be your lover, your man, the one who cares for you and provides for you.
I shrug. There’s nothing in what she says to get excited about. I think we both know she’s fucked with me, and it’s pretty damn clear she doesn’t feel the same way. Time to move on and get over it.
“I think I ought to go now,” I say, striding towards the door.
What’s done is done, but I don’t want to dwell on it, and I sure as hell don’t want to spend the next half hour dissecting it with her.
Maybe it makes me immature, but she’s burned through all of my reserves of self-confidence, and what’s left isn’t pretty.