Page 29 of The Hotshot's Prize
It’s Zack. Hand raised as if he was about to knock.
Zack.
My heart stops. I don’t even think it’s metaphorical this time.
He’s standing there, tall and broad as ever, looking like he just walked out of a war zone and straight into my hallway. There’s a bandage wrapped around his left hand, fresh stitches trailing a line along his temple. His eyes, those gorgeous, smoldering eyes, look exhausted but focused.
Alive.
In his good hand, he’s holding a slightly crushed bouquet of wildflowers.
“Hi,” he says, like this is the most casual moment in the world.
My lungs forget how to function. My mouth does that weird open-close thing like I’ve forgotten how to human.
But then I do the only thing that feels right.
I throw myself at him.
He lets out a soft grunt, but his arms catch me immediately, holding me so tight I swear I can feel every beat of his heart against mine. I bury my face into his chest, inhaling the scent of smoke, antiseptic, and something so purely him it hurts.
“You’re here,” I whisper. “You’re—God, Zack, you’re here.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me. His eyes are dark, intense, but there’s something raw and vulnerable in them that wasn’t there before.
“I didn’t know if I’d get the chance to do this,” he says, and then he leans down and captures my mouth in a hard, desperate kiss.
I grab his shoulders, instantly melting into him. His mouth moves over mine with the kind of hunger that conveys depths of emotions that words cannot—lust, longing, apology, and a hint of desperation.
When we finally pull apart, I’m breathless. So is he.
He rests his forehead against mine. “I should’ve come sooner,” he murmurs. “I just couldn’t.”
My heart flips and twists and thuds in my chest. I don’t trust it. Not yet. But for the first time in days, something like hope starts to take root again.
“I thought you were gone forever,” I whisper.
“I’m not,” he says softly. “Not unless you tell me to be.”
I don’t want to let him go. “I don’t,” I say, tightening my arms around him. It feels like a dream…the fact that he’s here, in person, standing in my office.
He pulls back just a little, brushing his knuckles against my cheek, his lips spreading in a soft smile. I look up, and I find myself drowning in the endless depths of his soft brown eyes.
I clear my throat, finally forcing myself to speak past the lump wedged there. “What…what happened, Zack?” I ask, stepping back just enough to look him over properly. “You’re all stitched up and—” My voice wobbles. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, baby, I’m fine,” he says with a reassuring smile. “The fire…it was supposed to be a simple containment, but it spiraled out of control.” He shrugs, his jaw flexing as he stares at the floor like he’s reliving it in real time. “One of the guys got caught on thedownhill. Rookie. Good kid. He panicked, ran toward the wrong zone. I went in to get him.”
My breath catches. “Oh my God.”
“I got him out,” Zack says quickly, like he doesn’t want me to spiral. “But I got trapped in the fire. Had to be pulled out by the rest of the crew. Spent a couple nights in the hospital for smoke inhalation, stitches, a sprain in my left hand.” He lifts the bandaged one, wiggling his fingers like it’s no big deal. “They wouldn’t let me leave, so I looked you up from the hospital, found some of your work on the website for the conservation project. Ella—your photos are amazing. Truly.”
He looks so earnest, and I’m flattered, but I’m still hung up on the whole Zack in the hospital situation.
“Za—” My voice breaks, my chest tightening with an unfamiliar pain. “Zack, you almost died.”
He shrugs with that infuriating, maddening alpha confidence. “Almost doesn’t count. I’m here now.”
“That’s not funny,” I whisper.
