Chapter Nine Over the Edge
chapter Nine
Over the Edge
Ten months ago…
Reece could feel it in his teeth.
Pressure in the air, too thick for early evening. Something off about the silence, even with the telly muttering in the corner of the fire station mess.
He sat on the edge of the locker room bench, half-unwrapping a protein bar he wasn’t hungry for, when the station tones crackled through the Tannoy.
“Control to Worthbridge Fire—priority one, cliffside fall at Harrow Point. Multiple casualties. Rope rescue required. Ambulance and police on scene. RNLI responding.”
He was on his feet before the last word finished.
Boots slammed the tiles. The protein bar hit the bin. His harness was in his hands by instinct, webbing slung over his shoulder. Ben Miller was the station commander tonight, already at the door, helmet under one arm, radio clipped, reading the call sheet as the others scrambled in behind.
“Get in the back with Sam,” Ben said over his shoulder. “Looks like a group of teens got too close to the edge. One’s gone over, two back up top in shock. RNLI’s got a visual from the water. Kid’s alive but bleeding. Cliff’s wet and unstable. This is a rope job.”
Reece climbed into the truck, heart ticking faster. Sam, their rope tech, sat across from him in the rear cab, already checking clips and knots. Ben leant in through the open passenger door before they rolled out.
“If we have to drop vertical, you’re first down the rope. Sam’s on belay, keeping your line tight. Once we get eyes on the ledge, you assess stability. If it won’t take two fire, you take a medic. One. No debate.”
Reece gave a sharp nod. “Yes, boss.”
Ben’s eyes pinned him for a beat longer. “You get the shakes down there, you let us know early. And keep your mask on. That tide’s turning quick.”
Reece tightened the buckles on his harness. “I’ve got it.”
Ben thumped the side of the truck twice and climbed in the front.
The engine roared.
They pulled out of the station to the sound of sirens and gulls screaming overhead, the taste of salt already catching in the back of Reece’s throat.
Cliff job. Live casualty. Incoming tide.
He closed his eyes for a second, centred his breath.
The next thing he knew, the truck skidded to a halt on the gravel verge above Harrow Point and Reece jumped out into a wind that hit like a slap.
Cold, briny, alive with urgency. The sky had dropped lower, fat grey clouds dragging fingers through the water below, and the surf was savage, hammering the rocks in brutality.
People had already gathered behind a wobbly tape cordon. Some were filming. Others staring.
Near the tape, PC Freddie Webb shouted into his radio, watching over two boys. One vomiting behind a bush, the other folded in on himself with a foil blanket clutched around his shoulders.
“Freddie!” Reece barked, jogging up beside him.
“Three lads,” Freddie said without missing a beat. “Climbed out on the lower cliff path like idiots. Two scrambled back up. One’s still down. RNLI’s got eyes from below. Kid’s conscious, not moving much, bleeding bad. Ledge is maybe ten metres down, barely wide enough to sit on.”
Reece looked over the edge. The drop was sharp, the ledge barely visible. A sliver of rock above the churning sea. The RNLI boat sat below, riding the swell. A yellow-jacketed crew member on the bow gave a thumbs up, then pointed urgently at the boy’s motionless body.
Behind him, Sam and another firefighter were already setting up anchors.
A primary rope line fixed to the back of the pump truck, and a secondary safety line staked into the ground with a double-pronged steel pin.
They moved with speed, laying out karabiners, checking descenders, prepping the winch system in case of vertical lift.
Ben appeared beside Reece, the wind flattening his hi-vis against his frame, narrowing his eyes as he scanned the cliff edge.
“Ledge’s too narrow for two of ours,” he said. “You’ll need to take a medic down with you.”
Reece nodded, already tugging his gloves on. “Yes, boss. ”
Right on cue, the ambulance rolled in, coming to a stop behind the engine.
Liv stepped out first. Reece knew her well.
Solid under pressure. Sharp mind. No-nonsense.
She handled carnage as if it was paperwork.
Built for groundwork, not cliff edges, though.
Rope descent with her would be as unwieldy as pairing with another firefighter.
Then the second door opened.
And he appeared.
Reece didn’t know his name. But he took him in at a glance: lean build, blond curls matted to his forehead, hi-vis hanging loose on narrow shoulders, and eyes that looked too young for this job but far too focused to be dismissed.
Not panicked. Not dithering.
Watching .
Memorising everything in case it all went wrong.
Green , no question. But not green and useless. Green and lit up from the inside, wired tight. Reece felt something stir in his chest. Interest. Recognition. Maybe a warning.
Beside him, Freddie, still holding the cordon, caught Reece’s gaze then the half-beat pause as he glanced from Reece to the medic, then back again. A crease formed at the corner of Freddie’s mouth. Not quite a frown. Not quite anything. But Reece noted it. He’d been caught.
He didn’t break eye contact with the lad stepping out of the rig, though. Cause he couldn’t.
“You the medic?” he called, voice cutting through the wind.
The blond’s head snapped towards him. “Yeah. Trent.”
Reece stepped towards him. “Reece Morgan. Fire. You’re coming down with me.”
He said it out of habit, the same way he would to any medic.
But his tone was off, and he heard it. He rarely noticed the medics.
At least not like this. Not the way the wind caught the side of his face, already flushed with cold.
Not the tension in his jaw. Or the way his eyes—maybe grey, maybe hazel—grazed over the scene with a fragile control Reece recognised.
Noticed. Filed away. Tried not to react to.
He hadn’t meant to see him.
And he definitely hadn’t meant to look twice.
Behind him, Freddie shifted again. A glance, but it landed sharp between his shoulder blades.
Questioning. Reece didn’t turn to meet it.
He didn’t blame him. Whatever they were—fuck buddies, pressure valves, friends who knew too much and talked too little—they’d never labelled it.
Never had to. But they still slept together.
Reached for each other when the job got too loud or the nights got too long.
And even though Freddie had never said it out loud, Reece knew he wanted more.
Something steadier. Something with shape.
Something he’d lost a lifetime ago. Just not with him, though.
And that was fine. But for Freddie to clock that twinkle in Reece’s eyes for the medic—the one he hadn’t meant to let slip, not in front of him—was unintentional.
Liv stepped in fast. “Hang on,” she said. “He’s green. Cleared solo last week.”
Reece didn’t take his eyes off Trent. “Ledge’s too narrow for two of mine. Kid’s crashing. We need someone fast, steady, and light on rope. That you?”
Trent didn’t hesitate this time. “Yes.”
Liv frowned. “You don’t have to prove anything.”
“I’m not,” Trent said, voice quiet but clear. “You’re more useful up here if things go bad after we bring him up. ”
Reece watched the way he stood there, shoulders squared despite the wind, even as his fingers clenched at his side.
Not cocky.
Not reckless.
Willing .
Reece nodded once. “Alright then. Grab a harness. Stay close. No heroics.”
Trent held his gaze. “Understood.”
There was no bravado in it, only a quiet certainty. Reece wasn’t sure why that hit harder than it should’ve. But something settled low in his chest. Unfamiliar. Tight. Like the moment before a storm breaks.
They kitted up fast. Trent shrugged into the harness, working the buckles, which said he was better trained than his nerves let on. Reece clipped their lines into the main descender, giving Trent’s karabiner one last test tug before motioning him to the edge.
“You ever done a live descent?” Reece asked.
Trent shook his head. “Only towers. Controlled drills.”
Reece adjusted his glove grip on the rope. “Alright. You stay behind me. Feet flat, lean back into the line. Don’t fight it. The rope knows what it’s doing. You panic, you lock up. You lock up, we swing.”
Trent looked away, as if he was finding it hard to even look at Reece.
Reece pulled him back. “Eyes on me.”
Trent flicked his gaze to him. And, fuck, those eyes were beautiful. But Reece had a job to do which, sadly, wasn’t eye-fucking the medic.
“You’re not alone down there. You move when I move. You breathe when I breathe. We’re tethered, alright?”
Trent gave a tight nod.
That felt more like trust than any word ever could .
Reece stepped backward over the edge first, boots finding the slick rock face by instinct. The harness pulled taut as he leant his hips into the line and the rope hissed through the descender as gravity pulled him down, one metre at a time.
Behind him, Trent followed. Slower. Tentative. But controlled.
The wind caught them hard halfway down. Gusts dragging at their jackets, sea spray lashing their faces. Below, the surf slammed into the base of the cliff trying to pull the land down into the tide.
“Good footing,” Reece called up. “Don’t rush. Feel for the grip, trust the tension.”
“I am!”
Reece allowed himself a smile. “Could’ve fooled me.”
It earned a huff of breath from behind him but it cracked something between them.
Then they hit the ledge.
A jagged lip of crumbling stone jutting out over the void. Maybe a metre wide at its centre, already slick with spray.
The boy, Leo , crumpled at the far end. Leg twisted beneath him at an angle that turned Reece’s stomach. Blood soaked through the fabric of his jeans, already diluted by saltwater, and his face was pale, grey-tinged.
Reece dropped onto the ledge with a practiced roll of weight through his boots, immediately crouching low. “Leo? Can you hear me?”
The boy groaned.
Trent landed a moment later, knees bent, arms out for balance. He didn’t waste a second, unzipping his trauma pack as he moved to the boy’s side .
“Femur’s gone,” Trent said. “High and messy. Might have pelvic involvement too. GCS twelve. Skin’s cold. He’s losing too much.”
Reece glanced over, impressed despite himself. “You sure?”
“Yeah.” Trent slipped a dressing beneath the mangled leg. “If I’m wrong, I’ll buy you a pint.”
Reece snorted. “You couldn’t handle me pissed.”
It should’ve landed like banter. Standard frontline deflection. A throwaway quip tossed at anyone to keep the job from crushing the mood. Except, it didn’t come out that way. It came out lower. Closer. Like a dare.
And from the corner of his eye, Reece could tell that wasn’t fear on Trent’s face.
Maybe interest. Brief. But unmistakable.
He didn’t need another poke to check which way his pendulum swung, because it was written there.
Clear as day. In those eyes that gazed up at Reece and said, challenge accepted .
They worked in tandem, the noise of the waves swallowed by the rhythm of movement. Splinting, stabilising, communicating in half-words and nods. Every time Reece shifted position, Trent expected him. Every time Trent reached for gear, Reece passed it to him without asking.
It fitted. Somehow.
Above them, a radio crackled from the edge. “ Winch en route. ETA ninety seconds. Prepare for lift.”
Reece nodded, securing the last strap. “We’ll keep him flat. You brace the spine. I’ll control the leg.”
“Copy.”
Then the swell hit. Hard .
A deep, shuddering crash of water slammed against the rocks below, sending a punishing spray thirty feet up the cliff face.
The ledge trembled beneath their feet, pebbles skittering over the edge like beads loosed from a snapped thread, and Trent slipped.
One moment he was steady, the next he pitched sideways, arms scrambling for a grip that wasn’t there.
Reece lunged, catching a fistful of harness at the small of Trent’s back, and hauled him in. The rope groaned under the sudden strain, shoulders yanking tight and Trent knocked hard into him, upright again but shaking, breath ragged.
Reece, face inches from his, locked onto Trent’s wide, startled eyes, that he could see were pastel blue now, blown with panic, and far too beautiful for a scene like this. “Eyes on me, sweetheart.”
The words left his mouth before he even registered them. Automatic. Instinctive.
And maybe too much.
Anyone else, it wouldn’t have mattered. Would’ve been a joke. A throwaway. Another half-flirt Reece used to cut tension on scene.
But not with this bloke.
Because the way Trent edged closer, melted into him…It wasn’t agreement. It was acceptance. As if that name was meant for him all along.
Trent nodded. “I’m okay.”
Reece felt it then. That shift. The one he hadn’t expected. The one he couldn’t name.
“You sure?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Then stay with me.” It wasn’t a command. It was a promise.
A tether.
The winch line dropped beside them with a mechanical hum, the stretcher swinging above the drop. Reece guided it in with gloved hands while Trent steadied the boy’s head, gently talking Leo through it.
“You won’t fall,” Trent spoke to the kid. “You’re safe. We’ve got you.”
Reece adjusted the chest straps. “Alright. On three—one, two—lift.”
Together, they eased Leo into the stretcher, careful to keep the leg stable and spine straight. Reece locked the clamps. Trent checked the head block.
Another wave hit below. Closer this time. The tide was rising fast.
“Send him up!” Reece called, giving the signal to the RNLI crew above.
The line tensed, lifting the stretcher gradually from the ledge, the boy’s body swaying gently as he rose into the darkening sky.
Reece exhaled. “We did it.”
Trent looked at Reece, eyes wide, rain sliding down his face. There was something unguarded in his expression. Raw. Honest. Electric. And Reece felt it again. That pull. That unspoken, dangerous thing threading between them.
“Come on.” He glanced away before it caught hold of him too tight. “Our turn.”
They clipped in. The rope tensed. The ledge beneath them vanished beneath a sheet of sea spray. And they rose together, side by side, back into the roar of sirens and floodlights above, but Reece would feel the heat of Trent’s gaze for hours after the wind had gone.
And he knew he’d say those same words again one day. Only next time, it wouldn’t be to keep Trent alive. It’d be to keep him his.
“Eyes on me, sweetheart.”