Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Laney
The growl of snowplows pulls me from sleep, dragging the world back into motion. For a week, the mountain was a cocoon—just us, firelight, and silence. Now reality’s outside, scraping its way back in.
I’m sprawled across Ryder’s chest, skin still warm and tender from all the ways we loved each other last night. His arm tightens around me as he wakes, and I can feel the contentment radiating from his massive frame.
“Roads are being cleared,” I murmur against his throat.
“I hear them.” His voice is rough with sleep, but I hear the disappointment in it. “Means people will be able to get their pets soon.”
“And you’ll be able to get back to the Zone,” I say it without the panic that would have accompanied those words a week ago. “You still have a few days left before you have to go back, right?”
“Chief Brokka gave me through New Year’s,” he says. “Told me to take care of the animals and check in after the holidays. So, I’ve got about a week left before I need to head back.”
Relief floods through me. A few more days. Time to figure out how to make this work, time to ease into the reality of our situation instead of being thrown into it all at once.
“Good,” I breathe, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “Because I’m not ready to share you with the real world yet.”
His chest rumbles with laughter. “Possessive this morning?”
“Maybe.” I shift to look at him, taking in the way the morning light spills through the cabin windows, gilding his green skin in gold. It’s such a juxtaposition, those tusks and features that could be described as harsh, yet the look on his face is pure, soft affection. “Is that okay?”
“Solarin, it’s more than okay.” He cups my face, his thumb stroking my cheekbone. “I’m yours. For as long as you want me.”
“Forever, then.”
The word slips out before I can stop it, too big and too soon and too honest. His eyes darken with something that makes my breath catch.
“Forever works for me,” he says simply, and kisses me until the snowplows and reality and everything else fades into background noise.
My phone rings shortly after nine, shattering our lazy morning. Mrs. DeVrayne, wanting to know when she can pick up Duchess and the kittens.
“Tomorrow would be perfect,” I tell her, watching Ryder pull on his jeans. Even this—the domesticity of morning phone calls and watching him dress—feels precious. “The roads should be completely clear by then.”
More calls follow. Six pickups are scheduled for tomorrow, four more for the day after.
Each conversation is a small reminder that our isolation is ending, but it doesn’t feel threatening anymore.
We’ve already decided we’re doing this—whatever “this” is.
The logistics are just details we’ll figure out together.
“Coffee?” Ryder offers, approaching with two steaming mugs.
“You’re perfect, you know that?”
His smile is soft, almost shy. “Just trying to keep my girlfriend caffeinated.”
I take the mug, savoring both the coffee and the casual way he says “girlfriend” like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
The soft scrape of silverware on plates and the faint hiss of the kettle fill the quiet cabin. Peanut mutters contentedly to himself from his perch, and the world is still because the plows have moved on. It’s just snow, sunlight, and the sound of logs settling in the fire.
For the first time in what feels like forever, everything is calm. No storms, no rescues, no emergencies—just us and the soft rhythm of an ordinary morning. I don’t even realize how deeply I’ve exhaled until the peace of it settles in my bones.
We’re halfway through breakfast when his phone rings.
I watch his expression change as he answers, watch as the firefighter slides into place over the male who was just teasing me about my tiny caffeine addiction.
“Chief.” His voice is all business now. “Yeah, I can hear you. What’s—” He stops, listens, and I see his jaw tighten. “How bad? …Jumped containment already? …I understand. …Lucky they just cleared the road. Give me two hours to get there.”
My stomach drops before he even ends the call.
“Wildfire,” he says, setting down his cup and moving toward his duffel to pack. “North of the Zone. Jumped three containment lines overnight. It’s bad. They’re calling in everyone—on-duty, off-duty, everyone.”
I follow him, watching as he throws clothes into his duffel with practiced efficiency. “How dangerous is it?”
“It’s a wildfire, Solarin. They’re all dangerous.” He’s not dismissive, just honest. Matter-of-fact. “But this one’s moving fast, and there are residential areas in the path. We need all hands.”
“When do you have to leave?”
“Now.” He pauses, looks at me. “I’m sorry. I know we were supposed to have a few more days, but—”
“Don’t apologize for saving lives.” The words come automatically, the right thing to say. And I mean them. I do. But underneath the supportive-girlfriend response, something cold is unfurling in my chest. Something that feels a lot like terror.
He’s running into a wildfire. A real one. The kind that kills.
“How long will you be gone?” I manage to keep my voice steady.
“No way to know. Could be a couple days, could be longer. Depends on how fast we can get it under control.” He’s still packing, still moving with the precise motions that speak to how many times he’s done this. “I’ll call when I can, but there might not be cell service—”
“I understand.” And I do. Intellectually, I understand all of it.
He stops packing. Goes completely still. Then he turns to face me fully, and the look in his amber eyes makes my breath catch.
“Laney.” My name is almost a growl. “I need you to hear something before I go.”
I watch him cross the room with deliberate slowness, like he’s memorizing every step. When he reaches me, his hands frame my face with a gentleness that contradicts the intensity burning in his gaze.
“I’ve fought fires for years. Walked into burning buildings, faced down infernos that would terrify most people. But the scariest thing I’ve ever done?” His thumb strokes my cheekbone. “Is falling in love with you.”
My heart stops.
“I know it’s fast. I know we haven’t said it yet.
But I’m running into a wildfire in a few hours, and if something happens—if I don’t make it back—I need you to know.
” He leans his forehead against mine. “I love you, Solarin. Not because you’re convenient, or because we’re snowed in, or because the sex is incredible.
I love you because you’re brave and kind and you chose to trust me even when it terrified you.
I love you because when I’m with you, I’m home. ”
Tears are streaming down my face. “Ryder—”
“You don’t have to say it back. I just needed you to—”
“I love you too.” The words burst out of me, fierce and certain despite the fear trying to strangle them. “God, I love you so much it scares me. Come back to me.” I grip his shirt with both fists. “You come back to me, you hear me? Because I’m not done with you. Not even close.”
His kiss is desperate, claiming, a promise and a plea all at once. When he finally pulls back, his eyes are bright.
“Now go save lives.” I try to smile through my tears. “That’s what you do.”
He kisses me once more—softer this time, like a benediction—then reluctantly pulls away to finish packing. As I watch him zip up his duffel, the weight of what he just said settles over me, warming the cold fear in my chest.
He loves me. And I love him. Whatever happens, we’ve said it.
He’s out the door in five minutes, his truck’s engine roaring to life in the chilled morning air. I stand on the porch and watch his taillights disappear down the mountain road just as my insides feel like they’re turning to concrete.
I tell myself Ryder’s not abandoning me.
He’s leaving to save lives.
And that somehow makes it worse.
The first day passes in a blur of forced normalcy. I check on the animals, clean enclosures, and prepare medications. Mrs. DeVrayne comes for Duchess and the kittens.
When she has to collect Boots off my pillow from where she’s been sleeping every night, she asks, “You sure you don’t want to keep her? She’s clearly chosen you.”
“I can’t.” The words come out too sharp, too final. “My life’s too unpredictable right now.”
What I don’t say: I can’t commit to anything permanent when I’m realizing that the male I love has a job that could kill him. When I’m admitting to myself that loving Ryder means living with the constant knowledge that every shift could be his last.
After Mrs. DeVrayne leaves, I turn on the news.
Cold coffee sits untouched on the counter; the cabin’s too quiet, every floorboard creaks too loud.
“—wildfire continues to spread despite containment efforts. Firefighters from across the region have been called in to battle the blaze, which has now consumed over five thousand acres and is threatening the residential communities of—”
I watch the footage of flames licking at the sky, of firefighters silhouetted against the inferno, and I can’t breathe.
That’s Ryder. Somewhere in that hellscape, that’s my Ryder.
“Stupid fire!” Peanut squawks from his cage.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Stupid fire.”
The second day is worse.
More pickups. More phone calls from grateful owners. The Kliborns arrive mid-morning for Jasper, all polished efficiency and genuine gratitude. “He seems so calm,” Caroline observes. “Whatever you’ve been doing has been wonderful.”
Napoleon and his hens, along with Bonnie, and Clyde leave together in the afternoon—their owners thrilled with how well they’ve been cared for. The yard feels emptier without Napoleon’s imperious crowing.
Mrs. Foster collects Hamlet last, tears in her eyes as he snorts goodbye. “I’m sure he’ll miss you terribly. He looks like he had fun,” she says, and I realize I’ll miss him too—cabinet-opening skills and all.
By evening, only Peanut remains. His owner called to say he’ll collect him on New Year’s Day.
“Quiet,” Peanut announces from his cage, bobbing his head.
“Yeah,” I whisper to the nearly empty cabin. “Very quiet and very lonely.”
Underneath all the comings and goings, the constant hum of anxiety is making my hands shake and my stomach churn.
My phone never leaves my hand; the news runs 24/7 in the background. Every update, every bulletin, every local station covering the fire—I track them all. Five news sites sit open on my browser, refreshed again and again, as if one of them might finally tell me something new.
“—firefighter injured when a tree fell across—”
My heart stops. The report continues, but I can’t hear it over the blood rushing in my ears. Injured. Someone’s injured. Is it him? Is it Ryder? They’re not releasing names—they never do, not right away—and I’m going to lose my mind not knowing.
My phone rings. Unknown number. Dear God, is that what it feels like when armed forces people’s families get that call? Every terrible thing that could have happened to Ryder flies through my mind in living color as my heartbeat spikes.
I answer so fast I nearly drop it. “Hello?”
“Ms. Hillman? This is County Animal Services. We have an injured owl that was brought in from the fire zone, and we were told you sometimes take—”
I barely hear the rest. Not Ryder. Just someone asking about an owl.
“I’m sorry,” I interrupt. “No. I can’t take any more animals right now.”
I end the call and sink onto the couch, shaking.
This is unsustainable. This fear, this terror, this constant dread that the next call will be someone telling me he’s gone.
How do people do this? How do firefighters’ partners just… live with this? How do they kiss their loved ones goodbye every shift, knowing they might not come home?
I don’t know if I’m strong enough for that.
The third day brings breaking news.
“—update on the wildfire: containment efforts are progressing, but officials report three firefighters were injured in a flare-up this morning. Two have been treated and released. One remains in serious but stable condition. Names are being withheld pending family notification—”
One remains in serious but stable condition.
The words loop in my brain. One remains. Serious. Stable.
Is it him? It could be him. He hasn’t called—no cell service in the fire zone, he said—so it could absolutely be him, and I would have no way of knowing until someone shows up at my door to tell me the male I love is in a hospital somewhere, serious but stable, which is just a nice way of saying badly hurt.
I’m pacing the cabin like a caged animal when my phone finally rings.
Ryder’s name on the screen.
I answer on the first ring. “Are you hurt?”
“What?” He sounds exhausted, hoarse. “No. I’m fine. Laney, I’m fine. Did you hear someth—”
“You were in such danger, and the news doesn’t always report everything.” My voice breaks. “I thought something might have happened to you.”
“Hey. Hey, breathe. It wasn’t me. I’m okay. Tired and covered in ash, but okay.” There’s background noise, other voices. “I only have a minute before I have to report to Chief Brokka. But I wanted you to know I’m safe.”
“When are you coming back?”
Silence. Then: “We’re not done yet. The fire’s still spreading. Probably another two or three days at least.”
Two or three more days of this. Two or three more days of waiting and bracing for the worst.
I can’t do this.
The realization hits with brutal clarity. I can’t live like this. Can’t love someone whose job is running into danger. Can’t spend every shift waiting for the call that he’s not coming home.
“Laney? You still there?”
“Yeah.” My voice sounds hollow even to my own ears. “I’m here.”
“I’ll call again when I can, okay? And I’ll be home soon. I promise.”
“Okay.”
“I love you, Solarin.”
The endearment—the one that’s supposed to be healing, that’s supposed to mean I’m his light—feels like a weight around my neck.
“I love you too,” I whisper, because it’s true even though it’s killing me.
After we hang up, I sit in the quiet cabin with only Peanut to keep me company as I make a decision.
When he comes back—if he comes back, and oh God, what if he doesn’t come back—I have to end this. I have to let him go before loving him destroys me completely.
Because I’ve survived abandonment before. I’ve survived being left.
But I don’t think I can survive losing him to his job. Losing him to fire and smoke and the heroism that makes him who he is.
“Stupid lady,” Peanut says, softer than usual.
“Yeah,” I whisper, tears hot on my face. “Stupid lady is terrified.”
And for the first time in my life, I’m not sure if love is enough.