Chapter 17
seventeen
I’ve been in Lakeside for a little over a month, and I still can’t believe this is my life.
The small town sits nestled between the mountains and the lake, with quaint shops lining Main Street and friendly faces everywhere you turn. It’s the kind of place where neighbors wave as you walk by, with a local diner that serves a cherry pie à la mode I would sell my left kidney for.
My cottage is on the edge of town, a small but cozy two-bedroom with a wraparound porch that I’ve filled with plants and a rocking chair I found at a yard sale. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s mine. The first real home I’ve had since... well, ever.
Standing in front of my bathroom mirror, I’m trying to tame my hair into something somewhat professional when my phone buzzes from its place on the counter.
SASHA
Good luck today! You’re gonna kill it. Don’t let those boys intimidate you. They’re all bark, no bite. Mostly.
I grin. Sasha and Noia have become two of my closest friends. They welcomed me with open arms when I started teaching part-time at Summit Studio, and now I can’t imagine living in Lakeside without them.
Sasha, with her wild red waves and infectious laugh, runs the gym like the bad ass boss babe she is. And Noia, outgoing and sharp-witted, is a famous spicy romance author. Together, they’ve made me feel like I belong.
Thanks! Nervous as hell. I keep having visions of tripping over my own feet and face-planting in front of everyone.
SASHA
Then you’ll fit right in. Most of those guys are a bunch of goofs.
That makes me laugh, helping to ease some of the tension.
Setting my phone aside, I take a deep breath as I study my reflection.
Dark jeans and a black T-shirt with the Lakeside Fire Search and Rescue emblem on the sleeve, hair pulled back in a low, tight bun.
I don’t usually wear makeup when I work, other than mascara and a touch of lip gloss.
I definitely look the part, even if I don’t quite feel it yet.
First-day jitters are normal, right? Even if your new boss happens to be the man you ghosted after the best sex of your life?
The memory of how I found out Logan was going to be my boss still makes me cringe.
I was at the Skin & Ink fundraiser with Sasha and Noia at the Dunk-A-Hunk, not expecting to see anyone I knew. But then Logan showed up as one of the “hunks” looking just as shocked to see me as I was him.
One perfect throw later, the satisfaction I felt dropping him into the ice-cold water was almost enough to make up for the mortification I felt after seeing those texts.
After lunch, still reeling from seeing him for the first time in almost a year, I went to help Lizzy at the Skin & Ink booth, where she was applying temporary tattoos and doing face painting for the kids.
“Hey, you okay?” Lizzy asks, glancing up from where she’s painting a rainbow butterfly on an adorable, chubby-cheeked little girl. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I force a smile, shaking my head. “Just a little tired. Still have another round of training before I start at LFSR next month.”
“Oh, that’s right!” Lizzy’s face lights up. “You’ll be working with my brother, Logan. You remember how I told you he’s going to be the new captain? He just transferred back. Been bouncing around Washington and Canada fighting wildfires for the past couple years.”
She dips her brush in pink paint. Shifting her focus, she adds more detail to the butterfly’s wings as she quips, “He’s a great guy. You’ll like him.”
Logan Cade, Lizzy’s twin brother. The brother she mentioned at lunch a while back. The same man I spent an unforgettable weekend with in Portland.
My stomach drops to my knees when another thought slams into my brain.
Lizzy. Izzy. Iz.
Holy shit. How did it not click before?
I’ve heard Lizzy being called different variations of her name a few times since I met her. And it wasn’t until this moment that it all comes crashing down.
Fuck’s sake, Rey. That text was from Logan’s sister!
Heart sinking, I take a deep breath.
I fucked my friend’s twin brother ten ways from Sunday, ran away like a coward, and now he’s going to be my boss.
Grabbing my boots from the closet, I shove my feet inside, spiraling through every worst-case scenario imaginable.
What if Logan is pissed? What if he’s been stewing for the past year, waiting for the perfect moment to make my life a living hell? I wouldn’t blame him.
And Brex. God, Brex.
The memory of him between my thighs, tongue dragging through my sex, makes my skin all tingly and hot.
I never called him after that night. Did he tell Logan what happened?
Does Logan know I hooked up with his best friend too?
The thought makes my stomach twist into a knot so tight I can barely breathe.
Focus, Rey.
I snatch my overnight bag off the bed, slinging it over my shoulder as I do a quick mental inventory. Extra clothes, toiletries, phone charger, a protein bar because I’m too nervous to eat anything substantial right now.
The only thing missing is a time machine so I can go back and slap some sense into myself.
The morning air is crisp, the scent of pine in the air as the sun, just starting to peek over the mountains, paints the sky in shades of pink and gold.
If I wasn’t too busy having a full-blown anxiety attack, I’d take an extra moment to stop and appreciate it.
But every step I take toward my truck feels more like I’m walking the plank.
Logan knows I’m starting today. But does Brex? The thought gnaws at me as I toss my bag onto the passenger seat and slide behind the wheel.
The only correspondence I’ve had about this job has been through emails and a couple of phone calls with the former captain, a gruff but kind man named Curtis who retired last month.
Until the ‘Welcome To LSFR’ email showed up.
I’d stared at the name in my inbox for a solid ten minutes before I could bring myself to open it.
But the email was... clinical. Professional. Almost painfully so. Just a standard welcome message with the shift schedule, a list of what to bring, and a reminder to arrive fifteen minutes early for orientation. Nothing personal. No indication he even knows who I am.
Which, let’s be honest, is worse than if he’d brought it up. At least then I’d know where I stand. What the hell to expect before I walk into the fire.
The rumble of the engine fills the cab as I back out of the driveway. The drive to the station feels like an eternity. My hands are sweating so badly I have to keep wiping them one at a time on my jeans.
When I finally pull into the parking lot, I kill the engine and sit, listening to the tick, tick, tick as it cools.
The fire station—a large red brick building with gleaming glass bay doors and an American flag snapping in the breeze out front—looms over me.
“Get it together, Rey,” I mutter, twisting my hands nervously in my lap.
Blowing out a breath, I look at myself in the rearview mirror. “You’ve earned this. You worked your ass off for this. Don’t let the mistakes of your past dictate your future.”
Pep talk complete, I grab my bag and head inside.