Chapter 12
Chapter
Twelve
DONOVAN
The phone cuts through the room, sharp and wrong.
Everything in me snaps toward it.
Work. It has to be.
“Dammit,” I mutter, pulling back from her just enough to reach for it, already knowing even before I check the screen.
It’s Kurt, from the station.
“Chief,” I answer.
“Lane.” I don’t look at her while I listen. “Brush fire. East ridge. Winds picking up. They need bodies. They need them now.”
“I’m on my way.”
I end the call and set the phone down for half a second, long enough to catch a breath. “Gonna need you to hold that thought, Marielle. Fire on the east ridge. I have to go.”
“East ridge? But that’s a whole other county. How can they—”
“Have to go. They need more hands. But—” I lean in, kissing her hard. “I’ll be back before you know it. And you’ll be safe while I’m gone.” I head into the back, returning with a handgun. “Know how to use this?” I ask.
She nods, her face paling. “Keep the doors locked. Phone on you. Sheriff’s number’s on the fridge. Neighbor’s, too.” I stand there wanting to say so much more. But these calls never come in when it’s convenient.
Then I move—boots, shirt, bag, keys. All muscle memory, automatic.
This part of me doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t question or slow down.
“Donovan?” Her voice stops me. She’s standing where I left her. Hair a little wild. Eyes wide though not panicked. Just… aware. Taking everything in.
She shakes her head. “You have to go. I shouldn’t keep you.”
“Yeah.” It comes out reluctant, like a half-finished thought.
Wind rattles something outside. I don’t like that. Wind and fire never mix well.
“Stay here,” I tell her.
Her chin lifts. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Good. I step closer, hands settling on her arms. “Doors stay locked,” I say. “Don’t open them for anyone. Not unless it’s me.”
“I know,” she says.
“I mean it.”
“I know.” Her voice is steady. But her pulse isn’t. I feel it under my hands.
“You’ll be safe here,” I say, already regretting to my bones that I have to leave her here like this. Especially right now when the burglary is still so fresh.
She grabs my collar, pulling me closer, standing on her tiptoes. Then, she kisses me hard, harder than she ever has. “Stay safe,” she whispers. “And come back to me.”
That undoes me.
“Always.” Then I turn away because if I don’t, I won’t be able to.
I grab my hat, shoving the door open, and stepping out into a night too cool and quiet for what’s coming. Smoke hangs low on the horizon. Thin but spreading.
The truck roars to life under me. And just before I pull away, I glance back.
She’s in the doorway. One hand on the frame, watching. My wife. At least for now.
Still feels real.
Something tightens in my chest. But I don’t let it linger because I can’t. I have to focus on this call and what I have to do to get back to her quickly.
I pull onto the road and push the truck harder than I should. By the time I hit the county line, the sky’s already turning. Orange bleeding into the indigo of twilight.
The wind is shifting, feeding it. The drive feels endless, like I can’t get there fast enough until I park and jump out. Then it all slows down to the present. To the gusts increasing in force and speed.
That makes the decision for us.
We stage fast. Gear up faster. The crew gathered from several counties moves like one unit—no wasted motion, no extra words.
Kurt calls out assignments. “Containment line along the ridge. Protect the homes first. Always the homes.”
I pull on my gear, heat already building under the layers. The weight settles in. Familiar and right.
This is where I make sense. Where everything narrows down to one thing: Get it under control. Keep people alive.
Flames crest the ridge just as we move in. Not massive yet. But definitely hungry… maybe even ravenous.
The wind pushes it sideways, licking through dry brush like it’s been waiting for this all day.
“Lane, you’re with me,” Kurt calls.
I nod once.
Dirt kicks under my boots. Heat hits first. Then smoke.
Then the sound… the low, constant roar that gets into your head if you let it. I don’t. Instead, I think in sharp, clear commands. The way Kurt would tell me.
Line placement. Wind direction. Spread pattern.
Everything I’ve learned and trust.
Hours pass. The night gets blacker, clouds thickening. The heat and glow intensify.
I work until I’m nauseous, straight through breaks. No time to waste. Every moment counts. Have to hold the line. Must contain the spread.
Finally, a fresh rest crew steps in to help around dawn—men and women from other counties. I’ve trained with them occasionally. To my surprise, there’s still no Hollywood, Waldon, or Aiden.
Must’ve been some post-auction night for them.
It doesn’t matter, new crew or not. We all strive toward the same goals.
We cut. We dig. We move.
Then we do it all over again.
The fire pushes back. For a little while. Then, a shift in the wind sends sparks flying farther than they should. Too close to the houses below.
“Move!” someone shouts.
We adjust, moving faster now. Controlled, but tight. Energy frenetic but focused.
This is the edge… where mistakes happen. Where people get hurt if we’re not careful.
Beneath the heat and the hurry, the straining muscles and the motivation, a small thought sits at the back of my mind.
A new one that lets me know I have to do this right. That I have to return in one piece.
Because somewhere back in town, there’s a woman in my house, counting on me to return. I can still feel her in my arms, taste her on my lips.
The heat of her lives in my veins. It drives me on. Makes me work harder, bust through my usual limitations because she’s all I need.
I just hope I can make her see that.
I push harder. Drive the line deeper. Hold. Even when my muscles ache and shake. Even when my head starts pounding again, still reeling from last night.
The wind shifts again.
Then—finally—it slows, contained enough to breathe.
For now.
I pull the mask down, dragging in air that tastes like smoke.
My heart’s still running fast. But steady. Always steady.
Kurt claps a hand on my shoulder.
“Good work.”
I nod once.
Already looking back toward town. “Where’s the rest of our crew?” I ask.
“You’re the only one who agreed to be on call this weekend. Told you to take advantage of the auction, enjoy a few days off. Thought you’d take me up on it, especially after the Vegas Giveaway. Did you even go?”
“Yeah, I did, Chief. And you’re right, I should’ve planned differently. But stuff like this never happens to me.”
Kurt looks down, eyeing the tattoo on my finger curiously. “Only has to happen once to matter.”
That’s what I’m counting on.