Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Ryder
Five days into the wildfire, and I’m running on fumes.
We’ve been rotating shifts—twelve hours on, six hours for food and sleep, then back at it. The fire fought us every step of the way, jumping containment lines, flaring up in unexpected places, and threatening homes and lives.
But we’re winning. Slowly, painfully, we’re winning.
“Stone, nice work on that eastern firebreak,” Thrall says, passing me a water bottle during a brief lull. “Saved us half a day’s work.”
I take a long drink, too tired to do more than grunt acknowledgment. My mind isn’t on the fire. It’s on a mountain cabin, a pretty woman with brown eyes.
“You’ve been leading like a boss all week,” Kam adds, appearing with protein bars. “Cool under pressure. Making good strategic calls. The chief’s noticed.”
I should care about that. Should be thinking about my career, my reputation, and my future with the department.
Instead, I’m thinking about Laney checking the news obsessively. Imagining her jumping every time her phone rings. Wondering if she’s spent five days talking herself out of loving me.
Chief Brokka finds me in the mess tent on day six, as I force down food that tastes like ash.
“Fire’s at ninety-five percent containment,” he says, sliding into the seat across from me. “Another six hours and we can call it done.”
Relief should hit me. Instead, all I feel is urgency. Six more hours before I can be on my way to her.
“You’ve done exceptional work out here,” Brokka continues. “The kind of leadership I need in my lieutenants.”
The promotion. Right.
“The board wants a decision by next Friday,” he says. “You interested?”
I should say yes immediately. This is everything I’ve worked for—respect, advancement, better pay, more responsibility.
But all I can think is: will the promotion give me more flexibility to see Laney? Or will it trap me even deeper in the Zone?
“What does it mean for personal time?” I ask. “Travel permits? Ability to… maintain relationships outside the Zone?”
Brokka’s expression shifts. “Ah. The woman.”
“Laney.” Saying her name grounds me. “Her name is Laney, and I’m in love with her.”
He’s quiet for a long moment. “You know the restrictions, Ryder. Lieutenant position means MORE time in the Zone, not less. More responsibility, more on-call hours. And with current politics being what they are…” He shakes his head.
“Even with the proper permits, you’re looking at maybe two days off per month to travel outside the fence. Maybe.”
The bottom drops out of my chest, a hard, hollow ache. “So, taking the promotion makes it harder.”
“To maintain a relationship with someone outside the Zone? Yeah.” His expression is sympathetic. “I’m not going to lie to you—it’s the reality we live with. Integration is happening, but slowly. Right now, long-distance relationships with outsiders are… difficult.”
“But possible?”
“If both people want it badly enough.” He leans forward.
“I’ve seen it work. There are Others who find partners outside and make it happen through sheer determination.
Video calls, permits for weekend visits when they can get them, meeting halfway when restrictions allow. It’s not easy, but if you love her—”
“I do.”
“Then you find a way. Or—” He pauses. “Or you make hard choices about what you’re willing to sacrifice.”
The weight of that sits between us.
“Think about it,” Brokka says, standing. “The promotion is yours if you want it. Think about what kind of life you want to build, and whether the career path helps or hurts that vision.”
He leaves me sitting here with cold food and a head full of impossible math.
Six hours later, he calls the all-clear. The fire’s contained enough for closer stations to handle. We’re released to go home.
Before we disperse, Brokka gathers everyone. “Listen up! Tonight’s New Year’s Eve. The Station party is pushed back to Friday, the fifth. Go home, sleep, love your people. We earned it.”
I’m filthy, exhausted, and smell like smoke. My muscles ache, my eyes burn, and I’ve slept maybe twenty hours in six days.
I should go to my apartment. Shower, collapse, and think rationally.
Instead, I’m in my truck the moment the briefing ends, pointed toward the mountains.
The four-hour drive is torture. What if she’s convinced herself this is impossible? What if I’m driving toward a breakup?
My phone’s had signal for an hour, but she hasn’t responded to my messages.
I pull up to the cabin just as the sun is setting, painting everything in shades of gold and shadow. The place looks peaceful. Quiet.
Empty? My heart hammers in my chest. What if she’s left? Gone to a friend’s? My mind is whirling with increasingly wilder ideas until the cabin door opens, and Laney steps onto the porch.
We stare at each other across the yard. She’s wearing jeans and a flannel shirt—not mine, I notice with a painful twinge—and her eyes are red-rimmed like she’s been crying.
“You’re here,” she says, her voice so flat I can’t tell what she’s feeling.
“I’m here.” I don’t move, suddenly terrified. “You didn’t answer my messages.”
“I know.” She wraps her arms around herself. “I didn’t know what to say.”
My heart sinks. “Laney—”
“I can’t do this, Ryder.” The words come out in a rush.
“I spent days thinking you were dead. Checking the news constantly. Seeing reports about injured firefighters and not knowing if one of them was you. When you finally called, I could barely breathe I was so relieved, and then you hung up, and I spent the next days terrified all over again.”
Stepping closer, I soften my voice. “I know. I’m sorry—”
“Don’t apologize for saving lives.” She’s crying now. “Don’t apologize for being who you are. But I can’t—I can’t live like this. Every shift wondering if you’re coming home. Every news report sending me into a panic. I’m not strong enough.”
“You’re the strongest person I know.” Another step closer. “You survived everything life threw at you. You can survive this too.”
“But I don’t want to just survive!” The words burst out of her, raw and honest. “I don’t want to spend our whole relationship terrified. That’s not love, that’s torture.”
I reach the bottom of the porch steps, looking up at her. “So what are you saying?”
She’s shaking, tears streaming down her face. “I’m saying I love you. God, I love you so much it’s killing me. But I can’t do this. I can’t be the girlfriend who waits and worries and checks obituaries.”
The pain in my chest is physical. “So this is it? You’re ending this?”
“I don’t know!” She sinks down onto the porch step, burying her face in her hands. “I don’t know what to do. I love you, but I’m terrified, and I don’t see a solution that doesn’t destroy one of us.”
Sinking onto the step beside her, I sit close but not touching. “Laney, I need to tell you something. Since you’re contemplating a big decision, you need all the facts. It’s about the promotion Brokka offered me.”
She looks up, wiping her eyes. “The lieutenant position?”
“Yeah. I’ve been wrestling with whether to take it.
More money, more responsibility, and a better career path.
But it also means more time in the Zone, more on-call hours, and…
” I force myself to be honest, “the travel permit situation gets harder, not easier. Even with lieutenant pay and status, I’d be looking at maybe two days off per month to leave the Zone. Maybe.”
“So the promotion makes it harder for us?” Her voice is small.
“In some ways, yes. In others…” I reach for her hand.
“It means a better apartment. More financial stability. The ability to actually build a life instead of just surviving paycheck to paycheck. If you—” I squeeze her hand, “—if you were willing to move to the Zone, the promotion would mean I could actually support us both while you finish school.”
Understanding dawns in her eyes. “You’ve been thinking about this.”
“Since the moment I fell in love with you. I just didn’t want to presume. Didn’t want to ask you to give up your life here.”
She’s quiet for a long time, staring at our joined hands. I follow her gaze and decide her tan skin against my green skin is the most perfect color combination in the universe.
Silence stretches between us, heavy but not empty. She’s still staring at our hands, thumb brushing the back of mine like she’s testing the texture of a thought. Each second that passes feels as though a rope is cinching tighter, pressing the air from my lungs.
She hasn’t pulled away, but she hasn’t spoken either—and I can almost see the gears turning behind her eyes.
Don’t say it’s over. Don’t say goodbye.
When she finally exhales, it’s shaky, like the breath carries a decision. “Maybe you’re right,” she murmurs, more to herself than to me. “If I’m brave enough to try it…”
Her gaze lifts to mine and I hold still, afraid that if I move, the fragile moment will shatter. She keeps thinking out loud, words forming between us like cautious steps across a river.
“I’m doing distance learning, anyway. Most of my coursework is online. And for vet school, I’ll need hands-on clinical hours—which I can get at vet offices near the Zone.”
“Laney—”
“I’ll keep the cabin,” she continues, the words coming faster now.
“For weekends when you have time off, for… maybe a sanctuary in the future, when restrictions loosen. But my primary residence could be in the Zone. With you. Building a life together instead of trying to maintain one across hours of mountain roads.”
I’m shaking my head before she’s even finished. “I can’t ask you to give up the cabin. It’s your safe place. Your grandmother’s land—”
“I’m not giving it up.” She squeezes my hand. “I’m choosing to use it differently. As a weekend retreat for us. A place for the animal sanctuary when the time is right. But Ryder, I spent six days alone in this cabin, terrified, and I realized something.”
“What?”
“This place was supposed to make me feel safe. Keep me from being abandoned again. But all it did was isolate me.” Her eyes are bright with unshed tears.
“And when I thought I’d lost you, being alone here was the worst thing in the world.
I don’t want to hide anymore. I don’t want to use this cabin as a bunker to keep me separated from life. ”
“But the Zone—”
“Has you,” she interrupts. “And other people who get it. Other firefighters’ families who understand. I’d be closer to school opportunities. Closer to you.” Her voice drops. “And I wouldn’t be alone with the fear.”
I’m staring at her, barely able to process what she’s offering.
“You’d really do that? Move into the Zone?”
The words scrape out rough because I know exactly what she’s giving up by saying them.
The quiet, the mountains, the safety she built around herself one careful layer at a time.
She’s not just choosing me—she’s choosing the noise, the rules, the scrutiny that comes with loving someone like me.
And gods, the thought of her being willing to trade her peace for a life beside mine hits harder than any fire ever could.
“I’d do anything to be with you.” She’s crying again, but smiling. “I spent six days thinking I’d lost you. If you’ll still have me—yeah. I’ll move to the Zone. I’ll build a life with you instead of hiding from one.”
“Solarin.” The endearment comes out broken.
“I’m not giving up anything that matters.” She cups my face in her hands. “This cabin is just a place. You’re home. Wherever you are, that’s home.”
I kiss her then—desperate and disbelieving and so full of love I can barely breathe. She tastes of tears and courage and second chances.
She pulls back to look me in the eye. “I love you more than I love this mountain. More than I love safety. I choose you, Ryder. I choose us.”
“Tha’kar zahn, Solarin,” I whisper. “I choose you, too.”
We sit on the porch as the sun sets, not chasing perfection—just holding on to what’s real.