Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
J uniper
“Are you always this broody?” I smirk.
He turns, his brows furrowing. “Are you always this chatty?”
I laugh, shrugging. “Only when I’m stuck in a tower with a moody mountain man. You’re like a bear that got woken up too early from hibernation.”
That earns me the faintest twitch of his lips, but he doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he crosses the room, sitting heavily in the chair opposite me. The tower groans under his weight, the metal beams protesting, but it’s probably just my imagination. Flint seems like the kind of guy who makes the world shift when he moves.
“How long have you been making movies?” he asks.
“For as long as I can remember. Even as a kid we had an old VHS recorder and I carried it with me everywhere. I never considered doing anything else.”
“You didn’t want to make big Hollywood blockbusters?”
“Never. I always wanted to make things that matter,” I admit.
His eyes narrow, and I can tell he’s thinking—really thinking. “And that’s enough for you? Just making people care?”
I hesitate, his question hitting a little too close to the parts of me I try to keep buried. “It’s not just about them. It’s about me too. It gives me… purpose.”
“Purpose,” he echoes, like he’s testing the word on his tongue.
“What about you?” I counter, leaning forward. “Why do you really do this? Risk your life every fire season?”
He runs a hand over his face, the stubble on his jaw rasping against his palm. For a moment, I think he won’t answer. Then, his voice drops, quieter than I’ve ever heard it.
“Because I couldn’t save them.”
The weight of his words settles over the room, pressing against my chest.
“Who?” I ask softly.
He doesn’t look at me, his gaze fixed on some invisible point beyond the walls. “In the military. There was a school... kids inside. Someone strapped a bomb to themselves and walked right in. We didn’t know. By the time we got there, it was chaos.”
I don’t breathe, afraid the wrong move might shatter the fragile moment.
“I went in. There was a little girl, maybe six or seven, hiding under a desk. I got her out, but…” His voice cracks, just for a second. “Not everyone made it.”
“Flint…” I don’t know what to say.
He finally looks at me, his eyes burning with something raw and untamed. “That’s why I do this. Why I’ll spend every damn day fighting fires if it means no one else has to feel that kind of loss. Not on my watch.”
The air between us feels charged, like the static before a lightning strike. I want to reach for him, to close the gap and let him know he’s not alone in this, but I don’t. Not yet.
“What about you?” he asks, his tone softer now. “Why’re you here, really? What are you running from?”
I flinch, caught off guard by how easily he’s turned the spotlight on me. “Who says I’m running?”
He arches a brow. “You’ve got that look. Like someone who’s trying too hard to outrun something they can’t escape.”
Damn him for being so perceptive.
I take a shaky breath, wrapping my arms around my knees. “Fine. You’re not wrong. My family… they’re everything you’d expect from old money. Powerful, influential, and suffocating. I spent my entire life trying to be the perfect daughter, the perfect sister, the perfect… everything. And it wasn’t enough.”
“Enough for who?”
“For them. For me.” I shake my head, bitterness creeping into my voice. “I couldn’t take it anymore. So, I walked away. This work, these stories—it’s the only thing that’s mine.”
He studies me, his expression unreadable. “Sounds like you’re braver than you give yourself credit for.”
I snort, the sound harsh even to my own ears. “Brave or stupid. Take your pick.”
“Brave,” he says firmly, and the conviction in his voice makes my chest tighten.
“Do you ever regret it?” I ask.
“Regret what?”
“Choosing this life. Staying here, fighting fires, being… Flint.”
He chuckles, the sound low and rough. “Being Flint, huh? Can’t say I’ve thought about it like that.”
“You know what I mean.”
He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Some days. But then I remember why I’m here. Why it matters. And no, I don’t regret it.”
His honesty feels like a gift, one I didn’t realize I needed.
“And you?” he asks, his gaze locking onto mine. “Do you regret leaving your family?”
“Not for a second,” I say without hesitation.
“Good.”
The word hangs between us, heavy with meaning. He sits on the cot, scooting to the edge and patting the empty space next to him. I tuck myself against him, curling under the crook of his arm as we adjust our bodies into a comfortable position.
The proximity feels dangerous, like we’re playing with something we can’t control.
“You’re not what I expected,” he says quietly, his voice like a low rumble of thunder.
I glance at him, my heart skipping a beat. “What did you expect?”
“Someone less... infuriating.”
I laugh, the sound loud and unguarded. “Well, sorry to disappoint.”
“You don’t,” he says, and the intensity in his tone makes my laughter fade.
I swallow hard, my pulse quickening. “Flint…”
He shifts, his hand brushing against mine. The contact is brief, but it sends a jolt through me.
“You don’t scare easy,” he murmurs, his gaze dropping to my lips.
“Neither do you,” I manage, my voice barely above a whisper.
For a moment, we just sit there, the tension between us thick and electric. Then, slowly, he leans in, his breath warm against my skin.
“Tell me to stop,” he says, his voice rough.
I don’t. I can’t.
And when his lips finally capture mine, it’s like everything I’ve been holding back comes rushing to the surface.
His kiss is demanding, consuming, and I match his intensity with my own, my fingers tangling in his shirt as I pull him closer.
When we finally break apart, both of us breathing hard, he rests his forehead against mine.
“You’re trouble, Juniper Hayes,” he says, his voice tinged with something gruff but tender.