Chapter 44 Heston
HESTON
A thin ribbon of gold stretches across the horizon as the sky finally lightens to a pale blue. The smoke lingers, but it’s thinner now. The scent of it clings to the back of my throat as I stare at the pile of ashes.
One of the firefighters wraps up the end of his hose and locks it into place.
They’ve been scouring the area all night to make sure not a single glowing ember was left behind.
We should be grateful that they arrived in time to contain the damage before it spread to the rest of the ranch.
Hell, the rest of the county. As dry and windy as it can get in this part of the country, the outcome could have been much worse.
At least, that’s what they told us. As I sit on the edge of a tailgate next to Tripp, staring blankly at the scene in front of us, I’m not sure I agree. Nothing could feel worse than this.
Gage leans against the side of the truck to my left, while Warren stands to the right of Tripp, who’s leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. I don’t think any of us have looked away or said anything for the last hour or so.
Two other firefighters pass in front of us. One of them gives a silent, sympathetic nod to Gage. They did what they could, and there’s nothing left for them to say that hasn’t already been said.
The bunkhouse was the one thing that held us together like glue. When we realized there was nothing we could do to save it last night, I took Hattie over to Gage’s house. By the time I convinced her to take a shower and lie down for a bit, the other three girls arrived.
To say that the four of them were in shambles together on Blythe’s couch is an understatement. I couldn’t stomach watching them hugging each other in a pool of tears for long, so I left pretty quickly after making sure that they’d be alright on their own until dawn.
If I try hard enough, I can still see the outline of the beams as I continue looking out at the wreckage. It’s still there, I just . . . can’t touch it. It’s only in my head now.
My line of sight lands on the safe that was tucked in the back of my closet. It’s now covered in black soot and standing alone amongst a sea of charred ash. I haven’t bothered to open it or move it yet. Maybe tomorrow.
One by one, the slew of first responders wave in our direction and clear out. When the property is finally back to its normal state of quiet, I tighten my grip on the edge of the tailgate. The metal bites into my palm until it hurts, but I don’t loosen my fingers.
Gage’s voice is tight and hoarse when he breaks the silence. “It never crossed my mind.”
Warren puts his hands in his pockets and lets out a sigh. “What? The end?”
“Yeah.” Gage nods and speaks so quietly that I can barely hear him from right next to me. “It’s over.”
None of us are optimistic enough to argue with him. We could try to see the glass half full if we wanted to, but the truth seems easier to swallow than sugar-coated bullshit at the moment. This is the end.
The things that matter most are the same for all of us, if I had to guess. The friendships we made, the women who made each one of us into lovesick fools, and the family that we’ve built as a result. That will never change. We’ll always be together, and I think I believe that now more than ever.
But no matter how grateful we might feel for all it’s given us, the place that started it all is gone. I don’t think anything has ever felt this painfully final.
“What now?” Tripp asks, barely hiding the emotion in his voice.
“Be angry,” I suggest. He huffs out a laugh through his nose. It’s strange that we’ve switched roles, me lightening the mood to keep his chin up instead of the other way around.
“We pick up the pieces and move on,” Gage says, lifting his hat to run a hand through his hair. “The bunkhouse won’t be the last thing we ever build together.”
The worst part is knowing we could build the exact same floor plan, down to the exact location of every board and nail, and still never replicate the magic that place had. We’d be stepping inside of it as different versions of ourselves, too.
That part of our life is over. But the thought hits me that before long, we’re all going to be wearing rings and chasing kids around this land. I hope, anyway. The idea of never getting to pass it down to them stings.
“We rebuild,” Warren reads my mind. “Eventually.”
“It won’t be the same,” Tripp says.
I nod and blow out a heavy breath. “Probably not. But it was never about the damn building.”
Gage chuckles when Tripp leans over to hug an arm around my shoulder. I pat his arm and give him a minute before shrugging him off and pretending to be annoyed by his weakness for touchy-feely moments.
My phone vibrates against the metal beside me, and I glance down to see if it’s a call from the hospital.
I’ve been every one of my friends’ emergency contacts at some point in the last decade, but it did kind of shock me when I found out that Granger had put me down as his.
They took him in to get checked out after I lectured him within an inch of his life about how fucking stupid he was to run back inside like he did last night.
I can’t owe him for saving Hattie’s life if he doesn’t make it out alive himself.
I don’t know what he went back in there to find, but whatever it was, it must have been damn important. Crazy bastard.
He’s fine aside from a few nasty burns, but they kept him overnight for observation, just in case. He already texted me at five o’clock this morning to ask if Hattie and Lucky were still alright, and to make sure I checked on his horse.
Instead of a call from his doctor, a picture of Hattie shows up on my screen.
“Hey,” I say, answering the call.
“Hi.”
I push off the tailgate to stand for the first time in hours. My back is screaming because of it, but I ignore the ache. “Everything good there?”
“Yeah, just wanted to check in. We’re worried about y’all.”
I glance over my shoulder and look between Gage, Tripp, and Warren. They look as wrung-out and devastated as I feel.
“It’s going to be a long day,” I admit quietly.
“I’m so sorry, Hes.” The sound of her voice does nothing to conceal the fact that she’s choking back more tears. “This is awful.”
It is, but as I look at my friends and hear her soft voice in my ear, I’m reminded of the only truly irreplaceable things in my life. “But you’re safe.”
“Yes,” she agrees.
“And the rest of my people are alright, too.”
“Yes, they are.”
I nod and take a long inhale. “Then I think everything’s going to be just fine.”