Page 50 of Keep Me Close

That’s how it always is for us, though. If it’s not climate change, it’s Forestry’s fault—they’re supposed to stay on top of things like managing underbrush and the like. It’s never our fault when trees go up in smoke. But being on the ground with the trees as they burn, it doesn’t feel that way.

Miranda asks, “You think we’re gonna stay ahead of it?”

“Yeah, I do,” Cotton says. “Some of the crews from California are almost here, and they’re ready to hit this harder than we can now. With them and the blizzard, it might be less than a week, truth be told. Cap says he wants everyone to take some time off after this, so you can go settle whatever’s eating your ass, Mac.”

I grunt my response.

“You’ve been distracted ever since you came back from your hometown. Never seen you this bad off before. After Maine, fix it.”

I laugh, shocked he’s even noticed. “It’s personal, Cotton.”

“Yeah, well, it’s personal to me if I end up dead because you can’t keep up anymore. Get your head on straight. Boxer, make sure he does.”

She laughs, too. “Doing my best, Cotton.”

He pats her back once, then falls back for the others behind us. I roll my eyes at him. “He’s as tired and cranky as the rest of us. Nosy bastard.”

“He’s not wrong, Everett.”

“He’s not right, either.”

“No. He’s Cotton. But for the moment, he’s more right than wrong.” When I give her a sharp gaze, she meets it with one of her own. “You got sloppy back there. Sloppier than the rest of us, I mean. How’s your hand?”

“Huh?”

She grabs my right hand and examines my blisters for a moment before I jerk my hand away. “You let your body mechanics fail. It’ll cost you some time in the Medi tent.”

I look at my hand, and dammit if she isn’t right. Bloodied and gouged from holding the ax wrong. “I had my gloves on and everything—

“And your posture was shit, so you were using the Pulaski wrong. Happens to the best of us. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

“But I’m getting so good at beating myself up. See?” I ask, holding my hand up.

She laughs. “You’re beating yourself up about the wrong thing, man.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your shit back home.”

I’m grateful she doesn’t specify which shit. Owen, obviously. Back at camp, I’m off to the Medi tent before food. After getting a lecture, my wounds are cleaned out and bandaged, and I’m off to the food tables. The sun’s not even up yet, but at least there’s hot coffee and warm (ish) breakfast sandwiches.

Back in the tent, Miranda’s already there after her shower. “Thank god the portable shower units got here yesterday.”

“Yeah, we’re lucky they were able to clear the roads.”

“You gonna shower before sleep this time? You’re kind of ripe.”

“Food first. Questions later.” I gnaw into a sausage, egg, and cheese bagel, grateful for every morsel. After finishing one, I dig into another and start to feel slightly less dead. “Yeah, I’ll hit the shower first. Wouldn’t want to offend your delicate sensibilities.”

She snorts a laugh around her mouthful of bacon and egg toast. “Yeah. I’m practically a princess.” Gesturing around the tent, she grins. “Look at my kingdom.”

“I’ll buy you a crown if you stop talking so loudly.”

“You alright?”

“Now that I have food in my system, things are coming online. Including a throbbing headache.”

She nods and smiles sympathetically. “You got it.”

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