Hot Shot

by Karina Halle

  I lick my lips, slowly nodding. “Well good. I mean, I thought it had something to do with us and not global warming. We are going to talk about last night, aren’t we?”

  He blinks at me. “What’s there to talk about?”

  My brows raise to the ceiling. Excuse me?

  “What’s there to talk about?” I repeat. “I mean…that wasn’t all in my head, was it? We did have sex last night, didn’t we?”

  He relaxes into an easy smile. “We did.”

  I wait for him to elaborate but he doesn’t. “And?” I say.

  “And what? It was…it was a long-time coming, I think.”

  “You don’t think it changes things between us?”

  He tilts his head, eying me curiously. “Why would it?”

  “Because we had sex, Fox. That was a…”

  A big deal. A huge deal.

  It meant fucking everything to me.

  But those words will not come. They know they’ll fall on deaf ears. I don’t know what fucking mood Fox is in right now or where his head is. Probably far away already, fighting the flames. This sometimes happens right before he goes out, like he has to mentally prepare himself days before. I don’t blame him, considering the things he must do.

  But still, right now, in an entirely selfish way, it hurts. I want him to know how big this whole thing is, what it meant to me.

  And if he doesn’t feel the same way…

  “Hey,” he says, putting his hands on my shoulders and giving them a squeeze, the rough calloused feel of his palms shooting lightning through my skin. “Last night meant a lot to me, Del. I needed a friend and you were there for me. Don’t worry, this doesn’t change how I think of you, it doesn’t change our friendship at all. I promise.”

  Ow.

  Ow.

  That was not what I wanted to hear. I can understand, I guess, why he might think that would be a good thing to say to me right now but fucking hell, it’s not.

  But I smile anyway. He’s about to head out to fight fires in the middle of a forest somewhere. He’s about to risk his life. I’m about to take care of his god damn baby squirrel. Now is not the time to tell him that I don’t want things to stay the same between us. At the very least, I want what happened last night to happen again.

  Now that I know what it’s like to have him kiss me, to have his hands run down my body, how he so easily makes me come over and over, I can’t possibly go back to the us we were before.

  But apparently he can.

  “Good,” I tell him. Lying my ass off. “I just wanted to make sure that nothing was weird between us.”

  “Nothing could ever be weird between us. That’s why we work so well together.”

  Then with a wink, he goes over the instructions for Conan again and this time I force myself to pay attention.

  I know there will be time later for me to dwell over and analyze everything else.

  He’s going to be gone for a while.

  7

  Fox

  “You know why I like this job?” Roy says to me as he pulls the meat away from the sparerib he has in his hand.

  “Is it something to do with the food?” Davis asks, smirking. This guy is always smirking.

  “Damn right it’s something to do with the food,” says Roy as he tears into another section of meat. “Becky doesn’t cook this good at home. She tries, believe me she tries, but hell. This stuff is always good. Don’t tell her I said that.”

  A little known fact about these stations they set up for us wildland firefighters in the middle of nowhere, is that we eat like kings. We have to put down six thousand calories a day here to compensate for the work that we do out in the forest. But even with all the gourmet food that’s served in the mess hall, we still usually lose weight while we’re here. You’re on twelve-hour shifts, you’re hand digging firelines, you’re running hoses up and down steep and rugged terrain, all while carrying packs that weigh fifty pounds.

  It’s tough, punishing work.

  But sometimes, at least to Roy, the food can make up for it. We even have our favorite caterers whose primary job is to serve top-notch meals to wildland firefighters.

  It’s actually pretty surprising the way that these camps operate—with military precision. Makes sense when you think about how many people here have a military background. Whether it’s in a baseball field on the outskirts of town or on some farm’s pastureland (like we are right now, in the tinder dry mountains outside of Wenatchee, Washington), these massive camps are erected in twenty-four hours and become a sea of tents.

  Our crew, the North Ridge Hot Shots, normally wouldn’t be down here across the border, but this fire is just too big and back home there’s a brief respite in terms of fires. That could all change in a day or two with the lightning strikes coming this time of year, but for now, we’re here.

  Aside from Roy and Davis, there are twenty other men in my crew, the head honcho being Captain Frank “Mad Dog” Rogers, who ironically used to work with my cousin River in the Coast Guard on Canada’s west coast. All of us work together all summer long and often do training in the off-seasons as well. As a result, we’re a pretty tight-knit team and even though there are many familiar faces at massive camps such as this one we tend to stick together. These guys are as much my brothers as Mav and Shane are.

  Our crew is also different because we are inherently smokejumpers, and the only smoke-jumping hot shot crew in Canada. There are only seven or eight in the US itself. But because that part of our job is only useful when fighting remote fires before they get a chance to really start, we spend most of our time helping out other crews, sometimes as far south as California.

  After dinner is over, we head out to the debriefing with 200 other firefighters as captains stand on a makeshift stage and go over what to expect tomorrow.

  We’ve only been here for a few nights now and you can tell that things are changing. When we first arrived, the visibility wasn’t that bad. Now the smoke has moved in, obscuring our sight, making our eyes water, singeing our noses. The blacker the smoke, the worse the fire and this one is already 400 miles across, the biggest on record in Washington state.

  “Sounds like we might get spiked out tomorrow,” Roy says to me as we head back to our tents. Getting spiked out is when you don’t get to return back to base camp and end up spending all hours of the day and night out on the line. There are supposed to be upwards of 600 firefighters here though at any given time, half of them are here and half are out.

  I nod, ready for it. I’ve had this restlessness inside me ever since I left North Ridge, like there’s something clawing to come out of me and I don’t know what it is. To be honest, I’m almost afraid to let it out. Plus, I swear my headaches are getting worse, and I need more pills.

  Fire has always been my greatest distraction. When I’m with the team, when I’m out here in the wild and I’m staring the flames in the face, racing against the clock, inhaling smoke until I can’t breathe, then I’m really living. Then I’m really someone. Then I don’t think about all the shit at home, the confusion, the guilt. I don’t think about any of that.

  It’s like I have to risk my life in order to feel like I have a life worth risking.

  “So how is that girl you started dating?” Roy asks as we head between the rows of tents, twilight settling in. “I forget her name.”

  I was hoping that Roy wouldn’t bring her up. Out of all my teammates, Roy is the funniest, crassest, and yet the biggest lover ever. Despite his comments about her food sometimes, he’s absolutely head over heels in love with his wife Becky and their two young daughters Sara and Elena. He loves to talk relationships and sex and everything else in-between. When Riley first came to North Ridge, she reminded me of him.

  I sigh, raising my hand in a wave to some guys we know as we pass them by. “It didn’t work out. She broke up with me.”

  “Aw, I’m sorry man,” Roy says and he sounds sorry. “Most women just don’t understand this job. Ev
en Becky still has her moments where she wants me to quit.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh hell yeah, man. She tells me that she doesn’t want our babies growing up without a father, you know all that guilt-ridden stuff. But then she’s also proud of me so I don’t know what the fuck to think. I get it, though. If I were in her shoes…”

  “Yeah. Well. It wasn’t that. We were barely together.”

  “So what was it?”

  “There was someone else.” He raises his brows. I pause. “On my side.”

  “Oh, you dawg,” he says slyly.

  I give him a tight smile. I wasn’t prepared to open up about Del with him, not in this way. “It’s not like that. She’s a friend. I’ve known her since I was six years old. She’s practically a sister to me.”

  “Except that she’s not.”

  I shake my head. “No. She’s definitely not. And I’ve got to be honest with you man, I’m a bit messed up from it all right now.”

  “Well if you’ve known her for that long, I can see why. I’m guessing she feels the same way about you?”

  “That’s just the thing. I don’t know how she feels and I don’t know how I feel. We had sex the other night and…I mean I was drunk and upset and I needed someone and she was there but I had no idea how much it would mean. How good it would feel. It was like I had waited my whole damn life for that one moment and I had it and…fuck man, it scared the shit out of me.”

  I don’t even think I could admit that to Maverick, but Roy is nodding like he completely understands.

  “You know, my Becky and I, we were high school sweethearts. We were the couple everyone wanted to be. Prom king and queen…you know if we celebrated prom in Canada. We split up when we graduated though. She went to university in Montreal, I stayed at home in Fernie. When she came back though, we went right back to the way things were. There was no other way and we didn’t want there to be any other way. It was all or nothing with her. Maybe this girl is all or nothing for you. And believe me, that shit is scary. Scarier than these fucking fires, that’s for sure.”

  I take in a deep breath. Even talking about this, thinking about it, is making my heart beat a little faster, a little harder. “I just don’t want to disappoint her, you know? I don’t want to fuck things up between us. I mean she knows me, she really does. She knows this job. She knows it all and she’s there for me and yet I know that…I’m a fucking mess. What if I ruin what we have?”

  He gives me a wry grin, totally amused. “First of all, you will disappoint her. Because you’re a man and that’s what we do. Sooner you accept that the better. Second of all, it takes two to tango. You said you slept with her? I have no doubt she wanted and waited for that to happen as much as you did. I mean, she did enjoy herself, didn’t she?”

  I think of the way Del looked at me, the lust that burned in her gaze, like I was all she’d ever wanted. I’d never seen her like that before and on such a level. It reached a part of me I didn’t know existed, brought out this primal urge, need, to keep that look in her eyes going.

  Then the way she moaned as she came around my cock. The way she squeezed me so perfectly, her body melding with mine, the way her neck arched back, her tits pushed up. She bit her lip and it nearly undid me at the seams.

  Delilah wanted me that night. Not just as a friend, but as a lover. Whether she wants anything more, remains to be seen.

  “I take it she did enjoy herself,” Roy goes on, reading my face. “Anyway, then you’re good. It sounds like this had to happen. Be glad it did. And when you go back, figure your shit out. Figure out what you want, then let her know. Be honest. But for fuck’s sake, no matter what you do, don’t go into this whole thing thinking you’re going to fuck shit up and that you’re a fucking mess. That doesn’t help anybody. This girl, if she’s your friend and she’s known you that long, she knows all that about you and is still wanting you, still by your side. Don’t you dare sabotage yourself, because I know you too Fox, and I know you have one hell of a complex.”

  I frown at him. “Complex?”

  “Oh, don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

  I shake my head as we come to a stop beside our tents. “I don’t have a complex.”

  Roy raises one brow and looks me over. “I could argue with you all night but I think we need some sleep. Or at least I need to Facetime my Becky and the girls while I have reception. Maybe you should think about doing the same.”

  “Facetime your wife and kids?”

  “Don’t get smart, Foxy. See you in the morning.”

  He crawls into his tent and I crawl into mine.

  I get into my sleeping bag and rest my head on the pillow, knowing that this might be the last time I’ll have a comfortable place to sleep for a few days. Despite the fact that it’s not entirely dark out, the tent city is a quiet place around the clock because of the crews coming in and out at all hours of the day and night. We try and get quality sleep whenever we can because once we’re out there on the line and spike out, we’re often running on empty.

  I think about what Roy said and take out my phone. One bar of reception.

  I should text Del.

  I haven’t since I left.

  Ask her how she is.

  How Conan is.

  Ask her if we’re going to be okay, whatever “we” is anymore.

  But before I can decide whether I’m going to or not, my eyes grow heavy and then I’m asleep.

  My sleep is dreamless so when my alarm blares at six a.m., I’m not even sure if I’ve been asleep or not. I’m both tired and wired, even after I get a couple of cups of strong coffee inside me, standing with Roy, Davis and the rest of our crew at seven a.m., when the morning briefing starts.

  We’re a motley crew, a gruff bunch of men and women sipping coffee, yawning, trying to prepare for the day which is always more grueling than you anticipate, no matter how many times you’ve done it before.

  Today there’s a sense of unease in the air, which seems to thicken along with the black smoke. I’ve rubbed my eyes raw by the time the section chief talks about fire growth and injuries before moving on to the weather update for the day, team assignments, then division leaders are identified, safety is addressed, air support is run through and there’s an update on the medical situation.

  There’s only been one injury so far—a snag, which is a fallen tree and one of our biggest hazards—which is pretty amazing considering what we’re doing and the size of this crowd and how common snags are and while that seems like good news, it makes me feel worse, like there’s another shoe out there ready to drop.

  We meet with Mad Dog and the hot shot team from Medford Oregon whom we’ll be working with today and are given our assignments. Anticipating a possible wind change, they want us to go up north of the fire, over a dangerous ridge that should take us all day just hiking. Once there, we’ll be either chopping down trees or setting them on fire in order to stop the fire’s progress. Sometimes a line in the dirt just won’t cut it.

  After breakfast—where we filled up as much as possible on eggs, potatoes, meat and grits—we are suited up and packed into the convoy of F-250 trucks.

  “So did you call her last night?” Roy asks me as our truck bounces up and down along an old logging road, the smoke getting deeper and deeper as we progress closer to our jumping off point.

  I fidget with the collar of my jacket and glare at him. This is not the place to be talking about this, surrounded by everyone. I know they’re like family, but just like with family, I like to keep some things to myself.

  “Call who?” Simon, the youngest guy in our troop, asks. “This that new girl of yours?”

  “No, he’s done with her,” Roy says. “This is someone else.”

  “Fox, I didn’t know you had it in you,” Davis jokes, elbowing me in the side. “So who is she?”

  “None of your business,” I tell everyone. “And definitely no longer Roy’s business.”

 
He puts on a mock-offended look, clutching his chest.

  It’s a long drive so by the time the trucks reach the destination at the foothills of the ridge, we’re more than ready to get hiking.

  “Five kilometers straight up,” Mad Dog says to us. “Pace yourselves. The air is only going to get worse and the heat isn’t letting up. Let’s pray that this is all in vain and that the wind doesn’t switch direction because if it does we won’t have a lot of time. We don’t have a lot of time as it is.”

  I ease on my dusty backpack, grab my Pulaski axe, a hot shot’s best friend, plus a can of gas for the chainsaw in Roy’s hand, and we start up.

  There is no time to catch your breath, just a water break here and there. I keep my eyes focused on Davis’s boots in front of mine. My lungs burn, my calf muscles are cramping and the pack is feeling heavier with each passing second. I’m soaked with sweat.

  But I keep going. We all do. Even though we are marching straight up to do one of the things I hate the most about this job.

  Our job while we’re spiked out is to work in “the black” or the burn. It’s a firefighting tactic that has worked since the 70’s, even though it rests in total destruction at our own hands.

  We cut down the trees or burn them before the fire has a chance to reach them. We destroy beautiful pristine forest. We ravage large swaths of forest for the greater good and the what ifs.

  That’s the worst part to me. The what if. Many times I’ve taken a torch to a beautiful stand of trees and watched squirrels and birds have to abandon their nests and their babies are burned to death. The ground becomes alive with rattlesnakes and deer and mice as they race away past us and I swear I see the blame in their eyes, wondering why we’re doing this, destroying their homes when the fire never ends up coming their way to begin with.