Chapter 12
TWELVE
GAGE
The fire rages on the other side of the tree line. The wind screams through the branches, sending thick waves of heat and smoke.
The fire moves faster than I expect. It consumes the brush. I push harder, muscles burning, lungs raw from ash.
The eagle is out here. Somewhere. And if I don’t find her soon, she’s not the only one who might not make it back.
My radio is almost out of battery. My water is nearly gone. Still, I keep going.
I spot her just past the ridge. She’s perched awkwardly on a low branch, one wing dragging, her body tense. The poor thing is trapped by her injury and panic.
“Easy,” I murmur, crouching low. “I’m here.”
She flinches, feathers rising. I inch forward to move her into the carrier?—
And the ground gives.
I fall hard—pain explodes across my ribs, my shoulder. I taste blood and pine needles. My leg catches under a burned log, too heavy to move. I groan and try to move again. Nothing.
I’m trapped.
And stupid enough to have come alone.
The smoke thickens. I cough, blinking up at the hazy orange sky.
Then—
I hear her.
Not the eagle. Her.
Tessa.
The roar of an engine. The sharp skid of tires on dry dirt. Her voice, fierce and shaking, calling my name.
Tessa runs toward me like she’s part of the storm—long hair loose and wild. Her eyes are blazing. Rain misting down around her.
Rain. When did it start to rain?
“Oh thank God,” I mumble before croaking out her name.
“Don’t you dare,” she snaps, already dropping beside me. “Don’t you dare yell at me for coming.”
She has a First Aid kit open and places a bandage around my ankle, like she knows exactly where it’s hurt.
“You came after me,” I whisper.
“No one gets to be a reckless idiot on this mountain except me.” Her voice trembles, even as she works fast—cutting the branch, bracing my leg. “You scared the hell out of me, Gage.”
I want to say I’m sorry.
I want to say thank you.
But mostly I want to stay conscious until we’re out of here.
The eagle flutters weakly from behind us. Somehow, she made it too.
We’re all going to make it.
* * *
By the time Jesse gets us back to the cabin, the sky has broken wide open.
Rain falls soft and steady. The flames turn to smoke. The scent of scorched earth slowly begins to give way to pine and something cleaner .
Tessa helps me inside while Jesse offers to get our newest addition settled.
I’m soaked, sore, and clinging to what little adrenaline I have left. She doesn’t say a word. She just peels off my jacket and guides me to the couch, where blankets—and a worried Whiskey—are already waiting.
She kneels in front of me and takes my hand. “Are you okay?”
I nod. But it’s not the truth.
She sees it. Of course she does.
“Then why?” Her voice cracks as she lifts my soot-covered hands to her cheeks. “Why didn’t you wait for help?”
I close my eyes and swallow hard, though it hurts.
“Because I didn’t want you to see me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Helpless. Scared. Weak.”
She presses her palm to my cheek.
“I’d never see you as helpless or weak. As for scared…” She presses her lips to my knuckles. “We all get scared sometimes.”
“But want you to be proud of me.”
“I am proud of you. Always. tThat’s love, Gage. You don’t have to be the strong one all the time. Not with me.”
My chest caves in. Not from pain. From relief.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I admit.
She cuddles up next to me, wrapping her arms around me carefully.
Her hands slide into my hair. Her forehead rests against mine.
“We’ll figure it out,” she says.
And then she kisses me.
Slow. Steady. It’s not with the urgency we usually have. But it’s full of passion and healing and… love.
Her kiss pumps air into my lungs, strength into my body. Her arms offer me shelter.
“Come on,” she says, as we both pull back for breath. “We need to get cleaned up.”
“Are you just trying to get me naked in the shower?”
She arches an eyebrow. “Why can’t it be both?”
Later, after we’re both clean and damp from the shower, and cuddling under the covers of my bed, I hold her close.
I don’t plan on saying it. The words come on their own
“I love you,” I murmur against her skin.
She stills.
Then pulls back, just enough to look me in the eyes.
Her voice is a whisper, but it rings clear. “I love you too.”
I exhale, like a breath I’ve been holding for years.
This isn’t just about falling in love.
It’s about finding home and safety in each other.
Later, after we make love again—slowly, and sweetly, I watch from bed as she re-enters around the bedroom—barefoot, wearing one of my flannels, hair a mess, two mugs of tea in hand.
She’s here .
And I want her to stay.
Once she’s settled back in bed, I press a kiss to her temple.
“Thinking about clearing out a drawer,” I say.
She looks up, smiling. “A whole drawer ?”
“Maybe even closet space.”
“Well, damn.” She grins. “You sure know how to romance a girl.”
I wrap my arms around her and breathe her in.
Outside, the rain keeps falling.
Cleansing the land. Soothing the scars.
We step onto the porch, coffee mugs in hand.
She tucks herself into my side, her cheek pressed to my chest.
“I came here running,” she says quietly.
“But I’m staying,” she adds, “because I finally stopped.”
I press my lips to her forehead.
“And because you found something worth staying for,” I say.
She nods against me.
“Someone,” she whispers.
I know—without doubt, without fear—that this time, neither of us is going anywhere.