Page 128 of Wild Card
Later that night, I hug him tightly before he goes to bed. He hugs me back the same way.
As I walk away from him, tears prick my eyes. I try to hold it together, but it doesn’t work. Once I’m in Bash’s bed, I cry.
When my eyes finally dry, I lie awake, tossing and turning. The helpless devastation I feel keeps me from sleeping.
I worry about Bash —who I haven’t heard from—knowing he’s out there facing this fire. I check the news repeatedly, and the images on social media do nothing to comfort me.
Everything feels terrifying. Everything feels fragile. I feel sad…and useless. Like I need to get up anddosomething.
And when I finally realize that I can’t lie here doing nothing, I get out of bed and do something profoundly stupid instead.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
BASH
After a long night of getting swept away in preparation for the morning, tactical meetings for tonight, and calling in all the reinforcements we can get as the fire spreads rapidly toward the town site, I am beat. Battling fires is an emotionally draining job. But it’s ten times more intense when you know a monster like this is barreling towardyourhome.
I’m seated in a chair in Dale’s office, where I must’ve dozed off. Shaking off the grogginess of sleep, I check my phone to find a text from Gwen. It appears that it came in last night, but I’m not seeing it until now.
Gwen: I heard you’re going to help with the fire, and I just wanted you to know I’m heading home. I’ll be here waiting for you.
I stare at her words, reading the meaning in them. Knowing her implication. She’s not going anywhere—even if I’m being a raging asshole. I smile at the screen, then I’m pulled away by a voice outside that filters in from the side of the building. It’sDale, and his tone sounds stressed. Immediately on edge, I head out of the office and follow the sound.
As I step outside, the overwhelming smell of smoke slams into me like a wall. Light creeps over the mountain’s edge, filtering through the dense smoke, creating an eerie, apocalyptic glow over the spring morning.
He ends a call when I round the corner. I nod at him and he starts right in with the bad news.
“By all accounts, shit is bad. And the night was rough. They had to draw back several times. Those trees are going up like matchsticks—forty feet in the air.”
I grimace. There’s nothing like the whoosh and pop of a bone-dry tree being taken over by flame to make you feel entirely powerless.
“I’ll prep and make sure the other guys are ready to go. We’ve got a big tanker now too, yeah?” I ask.
He checks his watch and nods. “Landing in about thirty minutes.”
I let out a sigh of relief. We both know that will make an enormous difference. A plane that size can scoop up a hell of a lot of water from the lake. It’s truly ideal.
“Good. I’ll get my shit together,” I say, clapping his shoulder before turning to leave.
With what little time I have left before I hit the skies, I decide to stop off at West’s farm and check in. All I know is that Emmett arrived early this morning, and they’ve already managed to each get one load out to a ranch about forty-five minutes down the road.
When I pull up, the first thing I see is an exhausted-looking Ford Grant stepping into his Mercedes G-Wagon. He has a small plastic box in his hand. I hop out, coffee in hand, squinting to get a better look. I can see a small, gray mouse inside the box.
When he catches me gawking, he deadpans, “Don’t even fucking ask.”
I hold my hands up innocently. “I wasn’t going to,” I lie before changing the subject. “Did you just get here?”
“No,” he grumbles. “I’ve been here all fucking night trying to”—he holds his free hand up in air quotes—“‘evacuate’ Rosie’s stupid mouse.”
“Rosie’s stupid mouse?”
Ford glares at me.
“You know what? You’re right. I promised I wouldn’t ask.”
“Let the record show that I love Rosie enough to spend all night sitting quietly in a shitty little bunkhouse just so I can catch her favorite rodent.”
Telling him about Sly is on the tip of my tongue, but I decide it’s not the moment for it. “Is West here?”
