by Tess Oliver
I stared at her, wondering if she was just a mirage. Like someone dying of thirst in the desert, maybe I'd thought about her so much, I'd conjured her image. She had changed into some shorts, a blue tank top and sandals. She pushed the sunglasses onto her head as she strolled up my front walkway on long legs.
"One person," Layla said and then stopped in front of me wearing a sweetly sexy scowl. "The one and only person I really needed to talk to today, and he couldn't even be bothered to say hello."
I pointed to myself.
"Yes you, darn you. Why didn't you come back to base camp?" She spun around and sat next to me on the step. Our arms brushed against each other. "I was hoping to see you."
"Can I get you a cola?" I asked.
"You're avoiding the subject."
"Guess I'm good at avoiding lots of things." It took every ounce of my courage to look at her. Every ounce of emotion I'd ever felt in her presence returned like a rushing river. She was sitting close, like the day on the island, like those fifteen incredible minutes where I was sure I'd just met the girl of my dreams only to find out she was married to a fellow smokejumper. "I'm sorry I didn't show up. I don't really have an excuse." The last thing I wanted to do was explain why. She never knew my feelings for her ran far deeper than a light friendship, and she wouldn't understand why Helix had warned me off of attending the memorial. Her previous words were just hitting, the one person she needed to talk to. "I'm an ass. You've been so much help to my family, such a great friend when I really needed someone who understood what I was going through, and I—as mentioned—am an ass."
"Actually, I'm the ass." Layla sighed as she leaned down to tighten the strap on her sandal. Her legs were smooth and tanned. She finished with the shoe and leaned back to rest her elbows on the step behind her. The new position lifted her breasts and pushed them against the tank top. "I know why you didn't show up, and it's my fault. All of it, the fight, the, what I can only imagine, friction from Helix, the guy who thinks he was anointed my guardian and protector after Adam's death."
I nodded absently. "He is taking his job seriously, that's for sure."
A delicate sound, one of aggravation blew from her lips. "I knew it. I'm sorry. It is blazing hot on these steps. Can we take a walk?"
"Definitely." We stood from the steps and strolled slowly out to the sidewalk. "You shouldn't be apologizing. None of it was your fault." I was about to jump into my confession about my feelings for her. I figured she'd be across the country soon, and we probably wouldn't see each other again. What could it hurt? "The truth is, Layla—"
She took hold of my hand to stop our walk. "No, it's my fault. The fight, it was my fault. As you probably noticed, Adam was the jealous type." She laughed dryly. "Pretty hypocritical considering the way he acted with other women, but when it came to me—" She shook her head to stop that trail of thought. "It was stupid. We were both angry at each other and a little drunk one night, just before the ski trip. We'd been to a friend's barbecue, and Adam—" she took a deep steadying breath. "Shouldn't be complaining about him on this day in particular, but I rarely ever talked about my frustrations with anyone. He was even more flirtatious than usual at that barbecue. He was in the pool with other women, even women who were married, and he—well—you know how he was. So, on the way home, I wasn't talking to him. I was really freezing him out. He had the nerve to ask me why I was so mad. I asked him how he would feel if I flirted wildly, freely with one of his fellow firefighters. He laughed and asked facetiously 'do you have anyone in mind?'" Layla looked down at the sidewalk, then lifted her brown gaze. "I told him, yes, Jack Devlin." She smiled and shrugged as she turned to keep walking. It took me a second to move my feet. Her words had stunned me. "I suppose I shouldn't have come up with your name quite so quickly." She laughed. "Guess he decided I'd been thinking about it a lot. Which maybe I had been."
This time it was me who stopped first.
She turned to me. "This probably sounds crazy, but after that, well, Adam got sort of obsessed about it. That's why he was being such a jerk on that ski trip."
I glanced around for no other reason except I needed to gather my thoughts, my wits. "I thought Bulldozer sensed my feelings about you. I figured he was mad at me because he knew—" I trailed off. It was turning into a conversation with a lot of unsaid words, a lot of sudden dead ends. I decided to ignore the dead end and just barrel through. "I just assumed the fight began because Bulldozer knew that I had fallen in love with you."
My words seemed to wash over her like a mild rain shower, unexpected but not altogether shocking.
"Jack," she started, but didn't seem to know what else to say.
"Sorry to make this awkward," I said.
We continued walking, reached the corner of my small street and turned right toward the park. "I figured since you live an entire country away, a life very separate from mine now, I could confess. I felt a connection with you almost the second we met, out there on that island."
"Me too," she said so softly I wasn't entirely sure I heard it.
We walked in silence to the pathway leading into the park. A massive jacaranda tree sprouted up between a set of picnic benches. It provided some spotty shade, a respite, weak as it was, from the late summer sun. We headed for the picnic tables and sat down, across from each other.
The short walk had made her skin even more golden. The summer sun had bleached some of the dark gold strands of her hair pale. One of those light strands blew across her cheek. The end of it tickled the edge of her mouth before she pushed it away.
"Jack," she said again. It struck me how much I enjoyed hearing her say my name. "I'm not leaving. I'm staying here. I just got a job at the Valley Community Hospital. A year ago, it was the right thing for me to do. I needed to sell the house and break away from family and friends. It helped me find myself again. Adam and I got married so young. I never experienced even an ounce of independence. He was the only boyfriend I ever had. Moving across the country helped me gain some sense of self. I was no longer Adam Rafferty's wife. I was Layla Rafferty. I was on my own. It was hard as hell at first, then I found my bearings."
I was processing all of it in stunned silence. Layla was not moving thousands of miles away. She was staying here. But what did that mean for us? Bulldozer was gone, but it would be seen as a terrible betrayal if I started seeing Layla. It was almost more impossible to consider it now that he was gone.
A faint smile crinkled the little lines on the side of her mouth. "Say something, Jack. I'm sort of laying myself bare right now."
"I'm glad you're staying, Layla. I'm glad you've found your bearings. Like you said, you and Bulldozer got married young. You never had a chance to date or sample different flavors, as they say."
She laughed. "Do they say that? Really?"
I laughed too. "Nope, just thought it sounded poetic."
"Not sure if you'll make poet laureate anytime soon." She reached over and took hold of my hand. It caught me off guard, but I instantly squeezed her hand. I wanted to hold it and never let go.
"You're going to be here," I said, before finding the courage to look directly at her. "Near me. But we're still going to have this distant, guarded relationship. Bulldozer's gone but then he's really not, is he? A guy like him, he had such a huge presence. He'll always be here." I badly wanted her to contradict me and say everything would be fine and we could start being more than just friends sending off an occasional email. But that contradiction didn't come.
"Like you said, he's still here in a sense," she said after a pause. "I'm moving on with my life, but I'm taking little steps forward. Settling back in town and the new job are going to get me on the right path. The one person who I want to help me move forward is you." A spark of hope shot through me until I noticed her expression. "Only, because of who you are, and what you do, and who you work with, it's impossible. I don't want to complicate your life, and that's what would happen."
I nodded. "As badly as I want to say fuc
k it, fuck everyone who thinks this would be their business, I know you're right."
A van pulled into the parking area, the doors slid open and a half dozen kids jumped out with their scooters, skates and volleyballs.
Layla smiled. "I think that's our cue to go."
We stood up from the table. Without thinking, I took hold of her hand and pulled her gently toward me. She didn't resist in the slightest. It might have been better if she had, then I would have released her rather than gaze right into her eyes and think about how badly I wanted to kiss her. She peered up at me. Her lips parted slightly, inviting me, begging me, it seemed. But how could I stop? Once my mouth was on hers, how could I stop when I'd wanted her so badly and for so long.
Her posture softened slightly when I stepped back. I couldn't be sure if it was out of disappointment that I didn't kiss her, but that was what I was going to tell myself. Especially considering my whole fucking body ached in disappointment from it. Reluctantly, I released her hand, and we started back toward my street.
"Just for the record," Layla said as we turned the corner. "This whole thing sucks."
"Couldn't agree more."
13
Two months later
"All right guys, let's get those bets in," Kaos said as he pulled out the small ledger he carried in a secret pocket on his backpack. "I know that guy Alex is skinny and his pack probably outweighs him by ten pounds but he's wiry. Wiry can get the job done." Kaos wriggled his massive body as if there was even the slightest chance that he could be considered wiry. King and I laughed at his attempt.
"The only way you could be called wiry, you massive, overgrown beast is if you were actually wrapped in wire," I said as I pulled the shade tent out of the truck. Fall physical training camp was coming to an end. We were at the place in the training where we weeded out the people who just weren't going to make a spot on the team. It was always a little hard having to tell someone, after six grueling weeks that they didn't make the cut. We'd already lost four in the past month, people who were sure they had what it took until they actually had to prove it. "My money is on Weston Novak." I pulled out a twenty and tossed it to Kaos.
"Shit, that was who I was going to pick," King complained. "I mean his dad was James Novak, most famous smokejumper in the west. The kid tries so hard to please, it's almost cute. He'll do that one and a half miles in ten minutes even if he has to drag his body over the line. I want Weston. Let's flip for it."
"Too bad. Already made my choice," I teased. "Besides Bucky is still in the running." Bucky was a twenty-three-year-old who'd spent most of his training talking about how much better he could do things, but there was always an excuse—too hot, too windy, muscle cramps. Still, the guy made it through training so far, and he had a good shot of running the rough, rocky one and a half miles with a hundred pound pack in under eleven. That was the bar. If you couldn't get back before the eleven minute timer you were as good as through.
"Yeah, I'd rather pick what's his name—Newton—the guy with all the data in his head. At least he won't be able to talk everyone's head off with his knowledge on the trail. Maybe I should pick him," King conceded. "He had the fastest time in the sprints we were doing last week." He tossed his money at Kaos. "Never mind. Put me down for Bucky." There were eight people taking the trail test this morning, but only four truly seemed they would have a chance of finishing in time. Our bet was for the first place runner. I had it in the bag with Novak. He was out here trying to prove to his dad that he could excel at the job. That was usually motive enough to get someone over the finish line.
Somehow, King and I had pulled the proverbial short straws. We were running the trail with them, but our load was considerably lighter, just water and a satellite phone. King was going to lead them through the unmarked terrain, and I was bringing up the rear of the pack to make sure no one got sick, overheated or lost. Kaos would wait at the end to record their time and assist anyone who needed it.
The trees had already started to leave their fall coats so shade was at a minimum. The sun didn't seem to care that it was autumn. Every strand of light coming through the thinning canopy was intense and hot.
"Make sure you stay hydrated," King told the group. "We don't want to have to carry anyone out of there. In fact, if you pass out, we might just bury you where you fall," he teased.
Some nervous chuckles followed. While a mile and a half wasn't a great distance, the course was mostly uphill and through crumbling rocky terrain. Getting a foothold on the loose trail, especially when weighted down with a hundred plus pounds, was the key to making it through. Traction, planning and a whole shitload of fortitude were essential.
Kingston's pick in the winner pool looked a little unsure about the whole thing. He kept putting his pack on the ground and then lifting it. King took note and grew quickly annoyed. "Bucky, why the hell are you using up all your energy before we've put one foot on the trail?"
"I think my pack weighs more than the hundred and ten pounds." Bucky was one of those guys with perpetually pink cheeks and hair that never stayed down on the part.
"Is that right?" Kingston walked over. He lifted up the pack and paused as if he was actually weighing it with his arm. "Yep, that's a hundred and ten pounds." He handed it back to Bucky and went to the front of the group. "All right, we're going to start. Check your laces, settle those packs squarely on your shoulders and get ready to move. First person to throw up is going to earn the nickname Pukey."
Kingston pulled out his radio. "We're ready to move, over."
"Roger that," Kaos answered.
Kingston lifted his arm overhead. "Let's go."
The trainees took off, enthusiastic and still full of energy. The first part of the trail was just a gentle slope running along a stream. King, without the burden of the pack, took off and headed up the steep terrain that would eventually wind its way down to the finish line. Since I was coming up behind, I only had to jog slowly. A few of the participants were already struggling, but Novak, the guy my money was on, was moving along at an impressive clip.
Alex, the wiry guy, was right behind him. Occasionally, his pack pulled him off balance. He persisted, though, and stayed the course. Bucky, on the other hand, was starting to lag behind even the others. He grunted and muttered complaints as he trudged at a slow, plodding jog up the rough landscape.
We'd passed the halfway point. The climb was getting steeper. According to my timer, the runners had about five minutes to get to the finish line or be disqualified. This was their first try, so they'd be allowed another chance in two weeks. Some people went for it but most didn't bother. There were so few spots available on the crew that you had to make a good showing this first run to get moved up to top tier in the final list. Two of the runners, twenty yards ahead, simultaneously bent over to get sick. One guy gulped a little water and got right back to it. The second one, a guy named Tad, from North Dakota, had to sit down. His heavy pack pulled him down hard onto the rocky trail. His skin was pale and green and sweat poured down his forehead.
I reached him. He looked up at me with that gaze of surrender, one I'd seen often. "So damn hot here."
I nodded. "And this is like a frosty day compared to the weather up on a burning hillside. Do you need help getting up? I can't leave you here."
He swallowed and took a few breaths. Color was returning fast. His face was bright red from the heat. He offered up his hand and with some effort and shifting of the pack on his back, Tad was once again steady on his feet. He took off at a jog but quickly reduced his pace to a slow plodding hike. One down, I thought as I trudged behind him. We'd gotten far enough away from the others that they were around the next ridge. A yell of pain sent me running.
I passed Tad. "Are you going to be all right?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. That sounded like Bucky."
We'd all heard Bucky whine and groan enough during training to recognize his call of distress. I rounded the next ridge and found Bucky on his knees. His pack was on
the ground next to him, looking dirty and scarred as if it had been dragged along the forest debris. Bucky was holding his arm against his chest. Dirt and sweat streaked his face, a face that was distorted in pain. The others had gone ahead. They needed to get back to qualify. This wasn't a time for teamwork. This was a time to show what you had. Besides, my short straw had given me the task of taking care of illness and injury. I'd taken care of illness, and, now, it seemed there was an injury.
"It's broken," Bucky said between deep breaths. "This fucking pack." He stretched his leg out and kicked the backpack. "I leaned too far to the right and the fucking pack took me down. All the weight landed on my wrist." He held out his arm to reveal a wrist that was no longer in alignment with his forearm. His hand looked tight and was already swelling up.
"Looks like we need to get you to the emergency room. Can you get up?"
Bucky kicked at the pack again. "Fuck. Can't believe this. All that training and now I'm going to the ER. Not my day." He had been an irritating trainee for the past six weeks, but I felt bad for the guy. He got through a lot of tough coursework only to have victory snatched away. The only thing he'd be walking away with was a broken arm. And from the looks of it—a couple of pins and a good amount of time in a cast. I braced my hand under his good elbow to help him to his feet.
I heaved his pack onto my back and started walking. He stayed in place.
I glanced back at him. "Can't carry you and the pack. You're going to have to walk out on your own. The finish line is closer than the start so let's go."
Bucky looked extra grumpy now. For the rest of the hike my ears were filled with his cussing and his moaning.
14
A crowded emergency room was just the cherry on top of a delightful fucking day. And my buddy, Bucky the crybaby as I'd now named him in my head, was not making things any more delightful.