5. Reid
FIVE
REID
Rolling down the two-lane highway, the engine hummed steadily beneath us. No sirens now—just tired silence filling the cab. Sweat dried stiff under the collar. Ash clung to skin and gear like we’d picked up a second coat somewhere along the way.
Marco sat in one of the jump seats behind me, slouched with his elbows braced on his knees, helmet off, hair sticking damp to his forehead.
Behind him, Griff and Boone rode quietly, helmets off too, postures gone loose the way they always did after a wildfire.
Not sloppy—just wrung out. Everyone knew the drill: you gave everything to the fire, and then you took the ride home slow.
We’re not on duty anymore. Not exactly off, either. Somewhere in between. That’s how it worked in a place like this—protocol strict when it mattered, relaxed when it didn’t.
Marco broke the quiet first. “Remember what I told you?”
I didn’t even bother turning around. “Told me what?”
“That Ari was trouble.”
My jaw locked tight before I could stop it because I knew what he was referring to.
Small towns chewed stories up and spit them out faster than we could clear a fireline. Everyone knew about Cael’s kitchen before today’s breakfast.
I’d been nearby when the alarm started blaring.
I’d been dropping off groceries for the Santanas—Mr. and Mrs. Santana both taught at the high school when I was there.
Spanish and PE. Good people. Rising housing costs had them downsizing to an apartment.
They didn’t get out much now, not with Mrs. Santana’s knee acting up, so I swung by once a week with their order.
I happened to be at the right place, at the right time.
“He didn’t cause the fire.”
“Trouble’s not always chaos,” Marco said, leaning his head back against the frame. “Sometimes it’s the way someone looks at you, knowing you’re gonna cave eventually.”
I didn’t dignify that with an answer.
He didn’t push it, just let the words hang there between us like a dare.
When we pulled into the station, the usual sounds greeted us—the low hum of the radios, boots hitting concrete. The place smelled like old leather, sweat, engine grease. Like work. Like home.
None of us bothered to head for the showers yet. Water came first. Hydration trumped hygiene every time, especially after hours in wildland gear with ash in your teeth. Someone went for the coffee, too—probably Boone, judging by the clatter from the kitchen.
I stayed in the bay, peeling out of my gear, careful of sore muscles that had already started to lock up. Boots hit the concrete with a thud. Gloves were stuffed in a crate for cleaning later. Wildland pants and shirt stayed on for now, stiff with dried sweat and soot.
I took a long breath, rolling my shoulders. But I couldn’t shake the thought of Ari—not really. His voice, his grin, the way he looked at me like I was already his problem.
Maybe Marco’s right, I admitted to myself. Maybe Ari’s trouble.
But I wanted it anyway.
It wasn’t just the age thing, though. Yeah, his twenty-two to my thirty-six was a stretch. And I couldn’t forget he was the kid who used to follow me around with scraped knees and a mouth full of questions.
Except now he wasn’t a kid. Now he was tall, and lean. Perfect height, really. Just tall enough to grab, turn, press against something solid and?—
Cut that shit out.
The warning didn’t stop the picture from rising anyway. The flash of Ari’s flirty grin last night, mouth soft, eyes brighter. All of it aimed at me like a challenge he knew I wouldn’t refuse.
I discreetly adjusted my dick. The thick, stiff fabric was no help at all. It would’ve been easier if I didn’t keep imagining how Ari’d look on his knees. Or worse—flat on his stomach, legs spread?—
I didn’t even need to know what he looked like. The wanting painted in all the blanks, vivid and reckless.
Heat flushed under the collar of my wildland shirt, sweat prickling beneath it, shame and want tangled so tight I didn’t know where one ended and the other began.
But worse—Ari was Sage’s little brother. Sage , who’d been my best friend since middle school.
Thirst finally shoved me toward the kitchen. Thirst finally won. I rolled my shoulders, worked out the worst of the stiffness, and headed for the kitchen.
The hall carried the acrid scent of coffee before I even got there. Figures—Boone was already banging around. The overhead lights in the kitchen hit hard after hours outside, but I blinked through it, crossing to the fridge first. Coffee could wait. Water came first.
I grabbed a bottle, twisted off the cap, and drank half of it before I even took a breath. It helped, but that grit from smoke and ash clung to the back of my throat, stubborn as hell.
Boone stood by the counter, filling a mug one-handed, and scrolling on his phone with the other. “Megan’s been texting. Think the morning sickness might be winning today.”
“Yeah?” I screwed the cap back on the bottle. “She got that appointment this week, right?”
“Day after tomorrow. She’s tough, but... you know how it is.”
I nodded. Megan was tough. So was Boone, in his quiet way. Like a house that wouldn’t fall down no matter how bad the storm got. They’d make it work. Always did.
I used to have that too—or thought I did.
Me and Tessa had been the kind of couple everyone expected to go the distance.
High school sweethearts, matching letterman jackets, the works.
We lasted longer than most. Married young.
I spent so much time holding back parts of myself that by the time I looked up, there was nothing left to hold onto.
She wanted someone all-in. I wanted someone too. I just hadn’t figured out who yet.
We’d been divorced for nine years now. It wasn’t ugly. We were better friends now than when we were married. The divorce didn’t ease the emptiness that I felt. Sure, I had brothers at work, and Sage was my ride or die. But I felt empty, lonely.
Boone clapped my shoulder gently on the way past. “Get some rest, man.”
“Yeah. You too.”
His boots echoed down the hall, leaving behind the hum of the overhead lights and the faint drip of coffee filling the pot.
I should’ve been heading home. But there was no one waiting at home. No solid weight leaning into me. No soft laugh in the hallway. No warm hands pulling me close like they belonged there.
Except—if I let myself have it for just a second—it wasn’t no one. It was Ari.
And not just Ari the way everyone else saw him—charming, too quick with his mouth, that snarky edge that drove me halfway to losing my temper most days.
No. It was Ari looking up at me, eyes soft, pupils blown, lips pink and parted like he was waiting for me to tell him what to do.
Ari sinking to his knees between my legs like he wanted to be there, not because I told him to but because he liked it.
Liked needing me. Trusted me to take care of him, even when his sharp tongue said otherwise.
I could see it plain as day—one hand in that chaotic halo of curls, the other cupping his jaw, tilting his face just the way I liked it. Good boy , I’d murmur, voice rough from smoke and wanting, just to watch the way that praise would wreck him.
And after... after it would be more . Not just the sarcastic, filthy edge, but the quiet after, the weight of him curling into my lap, letting me hold him like something precious.
Yeah. That was the part that gutted me the worst—the idea of being wanted like that . Needed like that.
Footsteps cut through the thought, dragging me back to the station.
Trent dropped into the chair across from me, coffee steaming in his hands. He hadn’t been out there with us.
“Lucky me,” he said, giving a small grin. “You got the flames; I got to wrestle with inventory reports.”
“I would’ve traded,” I muttered, wiping sweat from my brow. “Grass fire jumped a fence line. Took half a chicken coop with it before we got ahead of the wind. Marco’s still bitching about his boots.”
“Sounds about right.” Trent took a slow sip, studying me over the rim. How he could drink his coffee that hot was a mystery to me. “Boone said you were on the line with him and Griff.”
“Yeah.”
Truth was, the adrenaline was only just wearing off now. My thighs burned from the running hose up that ridge, boots sliding in loose gravel. Ash coated everything by the end. Even my molars felt gritty.
For a beat, it was just the hum of the overhead lights and the faint drip of coffee into the pot behind us. Familiar sounds. Calm, steady. It was the kind of quiet that always followed walking off the edge of something that could’ve gone bad but didn’t.
Then Trent tilted his head slightly. “Heard about the kitchen fire.”
I knew where he was headed now, even before the next words landed.
I didn’t meet his eyes. “’Twas a small one.” The look he gave me was one I’d seen before—half amusement, half warning. Like, Don’t bullshit me, Reid. I invented that game.
“He didn’t cause it,” I said before Trent could keep pushing.
“When did I say that he did?”
That heat I thought I’d left on the fireline crawled right back under my collar. Not from smoke this time. I lifted the water bottle to my lips and finished the rest of the liquid in one gulp.
Finally, Trent leaned back, stretching one arm over the back of the chair. “We all know you’re gonna trip over your own feet about him eventually. Just don’t break your neck doing it.”
I snorted before I could stop myself. “I’ve been doing just fine.”
“C’mon, man. Don’t lie to me. That boy’s been making heart eyes at you since before he could spell his own name.”
“Which is exactly why I’ve stayed out of his way.”
Trent snorted. “Yeah, you hiding from him every time he came home for break? Real subtle.”
“I didn’t want him getting ideas.”
“Too late.”
I’d seen the look on Ari’s face last night.
Hope.
Hell, maybe I was imagining it. It wouldn’t be the first time I convinced myself I saw something that wasn’t there. Maybe I just wanted it too much.
Trent kept going. “You know, we were talking about him last week, before we heard he was back. Remember that time he fell off his bike chasing after you and Sage? Wouldn’t let anybody help him ’cept you. Sage was ready to strangle him for it. Not really, though. You know how big brothers get.”
I remembered. Too well. Remembered pressing that ratty old Power Rangers bandage over his scraped elbow while he bit his lip hard enough to go white. Remembered thinking even then that Ari was gonna be more trouble than I knew what to do with.
And I was right.
“Cut it out,” I muttered. “That was years ago.”
“It doesn’t mean you didn’t leave an impression. The kid looked at you like you hung the damn moon. Some things don’t change.”
My jaw worked, teeth grinding down words I wasn’t willing to say.
“You know what your problem is?” Trent asked, standing and stretching like a cat who knew too much.
“Enlighten me.”
“You’ve got this whole grumpy thing going on, but underneath, you’re soft as hell for him. You always were.”
I didn’t answer. Hell, I didn’t trust myself to speak. Every damn person knew how I felt about Ari, except the boy himself... and his mother... and his brother, my best friend.
It was easier not to want things I couldn’t have. Easier to stay busy. I shouldn’t be yearning for Ari. Someone too young. Someone who deserved a guy who hadn’t already been bruised by life.
I rubbed a hand over my jaw, the scrape of stubble against my palm grounding me for half a second.
But I wanted him anyway.
And deep down, I knew—I wasn’t going to stop.
A knock on the station door startled me.
Trent stood first, stretching. “If that’s Ari bringing cookies, I’m gonna marry him myself.”
“Don’t even thi–” I said before I could stop myself.
“I thought so,” Trent teased. And with that, he wandered off, smug. Bastard knew too much.
There was another knock. This time louder.
Like the universe didn’t think I was suffering enough.
And the worst part? I was halfway hoping it was him .