Page 126 of Hot Shot

The fire rages around me.

The pack doesn’t click again—there’s no air in the tank. Thirty seconds of air is my best guess, if I’m calm. What’s in my mask is all that’s left.

I close my eyes, the corners stinging. Every breath I take tightens the masks suction, sucking my face toward the shield. Cass occupies every space inside of me.

At least we found each other again. At least I got to love her again.

I wish I’d told her.

The next breath, the suction draws tighter. The PASS alarm is far away.

Cricket joins Cass, and I can almost hear her giggle. See the ghost of her snaggletoothed smile. I picture her in that moment when she called me Daddy for the first time as hot tears trail down the bridge of my nose and cling on the tip.

The suction is terrifying. This time, there is no air.

The only thing left to do might kill me. But doing nothing guarantees it.

With a shaking hand, I unscrew my regulator from the mask and press the hole to the floor—if there’s any air, it’ll be there.

Smoke creeps into my mask in tendrils, and I sip what little air I can get.

The calm is solid and heavy. The noise and the heat fade away when I imagine myself in Cass’s arms. Always said it wouldn’t be a bad way to go. Maybe if I try hard enough, I can stay there forever with her fingers twined in my hair and her words soft in my ear.

Awareness dims as smoke snakes into my lungs, my ribs seizing and revolting and losing the battle. And in the end, there’s nothing to do but surrender.

CHAPTER 46

THE REASON

CASS

Beneath my iron grip, the leather encasing the steering wheel squeaks with the tightening of my fists.

The sun is only a whisper on the horizon, and despite only waking up a few minutes ago, I have never been more alert. It was the call from Shelby, working dispatch, that woke me, but what she said slipped an ice cold knife of fear between my ribs.

Images of Wilder pinned beneath rubble in the burning house assault me. It’s obsessive, the way I can’t stop thinking about his air running out, the panic he must have felt, the helplessness. They barely got him out alive, lucky to only find him unconscious and not…

I can’t even think the word. Even the whisper of it tears me open.

He’s fine.Somehow, my hands find space to squeeze the steering wheel tighter, the bones screaming.He’s fine,I remind myself again, just like I have on a loop since I flew out of bed, threw on his flannel coat over my pajama shorts and top, andstuffed my feet into my rain boots, snatching my keys on my way out the door.

He’s fine.My face is numb from the temperature and the shock as I race down Main Street, begging the truck not to break down. Why was I so stubborn about getting a car? I can’t even remember why I objected in the first place. The whole fight was trivial in hindsight. If it breaks down, I swear to God I’ll run the rest of the way. As much adrenaline as there is raging through me, I might be able to fly.

He’s fine,I chant like a mantra, knowing I won’t be able to breathe until I see him and touch him and can make sure he’s real and breathing and alive.

The sight of red and blue lights through the trees sends my heart into my throat. I whisper my thanks to my faithful old truck as I whip into the long driveway, frantically searching for him. When I catch sight of the ambulance, I skid to a stop, barely remembering to turn the truck off before shooting out of it like a rocket.

He’s sitting in the back doorway, skin streaked with soot and gaze down, the oxygen mask in his hand cupped to his face. I’ve never seen him look so small, his shoulders curled and hands clasped between his knees, his face haunted and haggard from exhaustion and strain.

Relief racks through me, destroying my composure.

“Wilder!” I call, my voice cracking.

He looks up, meeting my eyes, his face going slack with disbelief and longing. And then, he stands, rushing to meet me, catching me when I launch myself into his chest, my arms locking around his neck. He smells of embers and char, of musk and sweat, sparking an ancient quiver of recognition. Our trembling arms crush each other, my sobs choked and straining against the vise of his grip. I’m not close enough.

“I’m okay,” he says, as if to convince the both of us, his voice in tatters, ruined by the smoke. A fresh string of sobs shudders through me—he’s holding me so tight, I can’t breathe and I don’t care. “Don’t cry. Don’t cry, Cass.” A hot sob chokes off my name. The words are ragged, dragged from the depths of the hell he just survived, thick with tears when he says, “I love you. I love you. I didn’t think I’d get to ever tell you. I thought… I thought I…” He shudders, swallows, whispers, “I thought I’d be gone, and you’d never know.”

Somehow my heart finds a way to break and heal and explode all at the same time, the pain sharp and hot and beautiful. “I would have known,” I sob. “I’d know. I love you too,” I whisper, repeating it over and over between kisses along his neck and his jaw and his salty cheeks until finally I find his lips, hard and grateful and desperate. It’s a kiss of assurance, of love beyond desire, a vow and a prayer.

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