Make Me Want

by Rebecca Brooks

  Fuckity fuck fuck fucking hell fuck.

  How had she pulled herself away from his bed? He was beautiful, kind, and so obviously in pain. She just wanted to reach out and hold him.

  But she saw the way he looked at her, the desperation in his eyes, and she had to get away.

  It was too much. He’d told her his secret and now he’d want to know hers. Intimacy building on intimacy, and she’d have no excuse for withholding. As much as she wanted to stay in his bed, she couldn’t give him that piece of herself.

  Because when he lay down and looked at her, his eyes rimmed with red, she’d felt the words threatening to push out of him and knew it was only a matter of time. She wanted it to be true. She wanted him to love her, to make this thing they’d started become something real. But that sadness in his eyes was like ice water extinguishing that flame.

  The first boy she’d slept with after Cash, she’d said I love you to under the moonlight in a field behind the dorms. Nice setting, except it was the first (and only) time they had sex. And the first (and only) time they’d said much more than hello to each other. The guy’s eyes had bugged, and then he’d laughed in her face, called her cute, and asked if she’d blow him again.

  It hurt more than every dirty look, every whisper, every Heather who turned her back.

  But once Abbi finished crying her eyes out, she could barely remember the guy’s name. And she knew she’d just been hoping for someone, anyone, to say something kind to her. To say I’m here when she needed it most.

  Whatever Tyler felt about her, it all stemmed from grief. He’d been so close to somebody who was now gone. So he wanted to be close to someone else, to recapture what he was missing. And right now, that person happened to be her.

  Those words were no more real than the honeys and sweethearts they’d sneered to each other that night they got caught at the farmers market and had to put on a show. It sounded right, and from a distance most people were fooled. But look up close, and nothing was there.

  She promised she’d call him and then drove home, showered, and headed to the nature center, hoping there hadn’t been any more calls in the night about someone lurking around the firebreak site. She had to finish the endangered species petition to bolster the case to the Forest Service. She didn’t know how she felt about what Tyler had told her. But she at least knew how she felt about that.

  When she pulled into the parking lot, though, she paused. If she wanted to focus, a place that made her think of both Tyler and Russ wasn’t going to cut it. She knew Tyler would come around looking for her later, and no matter how much her brain tried to keep her on track, she’d take one look at him and drop everything.

  She sent him a text telling him she was heading to the firebreak site. She didn’t want him to arrive at the nature center, not see her, and think she was mad or avoiding him after their talk went awry.

  As soon as she pressed send, she wished she could take it back. It was a pretty girlfriendy thing to do, keeping him posted on her whereabouts so he wouldn’t miss her or worry.

  Getting more hard data for the petition, she added, in case he got the wrong idea.

  Her heart broke for Tyler and everything he’d been through. She wished she could make it better for him.

  But she also knew that was impossible. They were impossible. They weren’t even a thing beyond whatever they were doing for these last few weeks he was in town.

  And they were only able to keep pretending they could be together because they were stuck in this holding pattern, waiting for the Forest Service to make its decision. If the firebreak went through, there was no way Abbi could shrug and jump back into bed with him as though everything was fine, she was happy just being a little arm candy, she didn’t care about the landscape or the promotion anyway.

  And if the break was cancelled? If things went her way?

  She knew Tyler would feel the same.

  Even worse, without the break he’d have no excuse to be in Gold Mountain anymore. He’d be back in his truck, leaving town, jobless and broken, before she could say I think I might be falling in love with you, too.

  It was almost enough to make her turn her car around yet again and go back to the nature center, pretend there was nothing else she could do to stop the break. Let the chips fall where they may, no one on the hiring committee could say she hadn’t tried.

  But Abbi wasn’t the kind of person to sit back and do nothing.

  Besides, doing nothing would still land her alone. Because no matter what, on August nineteenth, he was leaving Gold Mountain. And her.

  She was on her way to Ridge Line Road when it occurred to her that she hadn’t had the idea to start her count of old growth trees until she was already climbing up the mountainside. But in order to protect the forest from winds through the valley, Tyler’s proposal recommended thinning the canopies downwind of the firebreak itself. It extended the radius of damage—and the radius of trees she could advocate for protecting.

  She turned around and drove to Silver Meadows. It was a longer hike, but she didn’t have to walk the whole ridgeline this time. She had water and a daypack in her car, and without an overnight bag, she could walk faster.

  She wanted to be there for Tyler. More than she’d ever expected when it came to some guy she’d randomly said yes to for a night. She certainly didn’t want them to be over.

  But that didn’t mean she could give up on everything she’d worked for, and the life she’d still be clinging to once he went away.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Tyler wasn’t sure what to do with Abbi’s text. She’d walked out on him pretty abruptly after he’d spilled his guts. But she also hadn’t said he was a horrible person for what he’d done to Scott, or that she wanted them to be over.

  So just how bad was he supposed to feel right now?

  He sighed and wrote back a simple Okay. See you later. He was going to add Call if you need any help but deleted it. Abbi didn’t want help. She didn’t want him always in the way.

  It stung to know she was still intent on strengthening her case against the firebreak. But maybe it was the kick in the pants he needed to do his job—that thing he’d been neglecting, even though it was supposed to be the reason he was here.

  He went for a run, showered, and dragged himself over to the nature center to sit down at the computer and get to work on strengthening his case to for why the firebreak shouldn’t be on hold. He had to bust out the thesaurus to not use the words “dangerous” and “foolhardy” too many times.

  He shouldn’t have googled the spotted owl, though. That was a massive time-suck down a spiral of cute animal videos and enough factoids for him to conclude the firebreak probably wasn’t the best for those little fuzzie wuzzies.

  But there were costs and benefits to every situation. Risks, Aidan would say. Why should the spotted owl outweigh what was better for the town?

  And for him, a little voice reminded him. Better for him. He couldn’t end the summer with a rejected stamp on his resume. He’d have nothing to show for himself and barely a chance of landing an interview.

  Still, who’d ever want to date an owl killer?

  Maybe Abbi was right to pull away. Maybe he was moving too fast. Scott’s death, the funeral, the feeling he was suffocating in L.A… If what he felt wasn’t love but confusion, was some kind of fucked-up way of coping with his loss…

  He didn’t want Abbi to be the collateral damage to his healing. He’d never want to use her that way.

  He resolved to put the brakes on. Not end it, just slow things down to a more comfortable pace. They hadn’t known each other for as long as they’d pretended; there was no reason they couldn’t take their time. He’d tell her tonight, when she got back, that he was sorry for springing everything on her that morning. He’d take her out on an actual date that didn’t have to end in sex.

  He checked his phone, but no word from her. Not like he expected anything—it wasn’t like she couldn’t go for a hike on her
own. Still, the thought that Russ might have been lurking around the ridgeline didn’t sit well with him.

  Just thinking about Russ made the idea of taking things slow with Abbi seem absurd. That man sent a protective snarl snapping up Tyler’s throat. He’d try not to be pushy. But he wasn’t backing all the way off.

  He was weirdly relieved when he looked out the window a little while later and saw a white truck pull up. Even if there was no reason for Russ to be at the nature center today, at least it meant he wasn’t creeping around the firebreak site while Abbi was there.

  He was surprised, then, when Russ walked straight into his office.

  Quickly he closed his computer browser. It’d be better to be caught surfing porn at the office than have Russ see he’d been googling those fucking adorable birds.

  “Was I not clear about leaving Abbi alone?” Tyler said before Russ could launch into whatever complaint he had this time.

  “I’m not here to see Abbi.”

  “Then why grace me with your charm?”

  Russ let out a huff like Tyler was the one with a problem. “Look, this is probably nothing,” he started, which actually got Tyler’s attention because it was such an un-Russ-like thing to say.

  “But?”

  “But I was up for a job along Ridge Line Road and thought I saw something there.”

  Tyler swiveled in the chair. “You’re, like, the fifth person to say that this week.”

  Russ wrinkled his face in confusion. “There’s been a fire burning there all week?”

  At the word “fire,” Tyler jumped out of his seat, banging his knee on the desk. His heart rate was already kicking up. It was a reflex, this need for action.

  But the first rule in fighting a fire was to be informed. He had to know what he was dealing with. And in order to be smart about it, he had to stay calm.

  “What do you mean, fire?” he said.

  “I mean I get a call for a consultation, I drive up there, I do the thing—some lady’s roof—and as I’m leaving I’m taking that winding road back and I see smoke coming from the woods. Out back, you know? Over the ridge.”

  “Smoke?” Now all the alarm bells were ringing in Tyler’s mind. This wasn’t scattered talk of someone who could have been a Russ look-alike lurking around. This was something tangible. A danger he knew how to fight.

  “Are you sure?” he asked. “Are you sure you saw smoke?”

  “Definitely,” Russ said. “Not a lot. I think it’s still small. But you may want to check it out.”

  “You called the fire department? 911?”

  “Naw, man.” Russ looked sheepish. Tyler could have reached across the desk and throttled the man with his bare hands, but it would have taken too much time. “I figured the fire expert was right here, so I came straight over. I didn’t want to make a big deal if it was nothing.”

  The way Russ called him an expert made Tyler’s eyes narrow. Since when was the guy in the habit of handing out compliments?

  Before Tyler could reach for the phone to call in the emergency, it rang. The fire department was calling him. Someone else had called in the blaze up on the ridge. “With the brush as dry as it’s been, that one’s going to burn like crazy,” the man said. “I know you’re not officially part of the crew, but the department could use all the help it can get. Can you get there and suit up?”

  Tyler’s mouth went dry. Could he fight another fire on another dry and unpredictable day? Could he face the danger? More importantly, could he be responsible for other people’s lives and the risks they were taking with him?

  But one look at Russ standing there, mouth agape, and he knew he didn’t have a choice.

  If he didn’t help and the fire blazed on, he’d have a lot more on his conscience than just Scotty. He’d feel the weight of the town and the people in it if the fire got out of control.

  The town. The people in it. His eyes widened.

  “I’m on my way,” he said into the phone, and threw the receiver down in his haste to get out the door.

  “Whoa there,” Russ said like this was all some big fucking joke. “Don’t get in an accident on your way over there.”

  “Abbi,” Tyler rasped, furious he was even wasting time here talking. “Russ, did you see Abbi on your drive back?”

  “What are you talking about? Isn’t she here?”

  “She’s up at the firebreak, near Ridge Line Road!” Tyler shouted, and Russ turned not white, as Tyler might have expected, but a distinct tinge of green.

  “I didn’t see her car there,” Russ said. “I was driving back. I didn’t see her car anywhere.”

  “She’s there,” Tyler said. “She told me she was going there.”

  “She could have gone anywhere. It doesn’t mean that road.”

  “She’s there,” Tyler repeated. “Just trust me. I know.” He didn’t want to waste time explaining how they’d gone there together looking for someone. Looking, maybe, for Russ.

  “Relax, man,” Russ snorted. “It’s not even that big a blaze.”

  Tyler stared at the man.

  “Get the fuck out of my way.”

  Sure, there was a chance Abbi had gone somewhere else and not told him. But he wasn’t going to risk a hair on her head in the hope that he was wrong.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  One minute Abbi was looking through her notebook at the count she’d managed on her hike from the trailhead, trying to push the morning from her mind. The next minute she heard the crackle and smelled the smoke and knew nothing about the data in her hands mattered anymore.

  Abbi was experienced in the wilderness. She knew to take precautions. She knew to get upwind and look out for falling trees—the widow makers, Tyler had said. So she thought she should be able to handle this, to know what to do.

  But this wasn’t some small burn she could stamp out with her foot. Smother with dirt. Starve it out until the fire department came. This was bigger than her. Bigger than anyone.

  All she could do was run.

  She was fast. A fast hiker, a fast runner. Even more so when fear and adrenaline made her forget how her legs ached, how her lungs burned.

  But she wasn’t fast enough.

  She felt searing heat, sweat, the flush to her face. She smelled smoke, the acrid scent of burning brush. It wasn’t the pleasantness of a campfire or a fireplace on a cold winter’s night. The air was heavy. Suffocating.

  Run, she screamed in her head. Goddammit, this is your life we’re talking about. Run.

  But the wind made the embers jump ahead faster than Abbi’s legs could take her. The fire had started in the brush but moved quickly up to the canopies, where it could leap from treetop to treetop. On every side of her, and overhead.

  The rubber of her hiking boots started to melt. She could feel the stickiness as she tried to move. Her feet hurt. Dashing over flaming brush left a lick of hot pain up her calf. Embers fell on her shorts and she swatted them away. But the instinct to survive was as unrelenting as the fire itself. She kept running, even when there was nowhere to run to. Even when the fire was all around her and bearing down from the treetops, she kept looking for somewhere to go.

  Another option. Another choice. There had to be something else she could do.

  But there was nothing.

  She started to cry.

  She always thought she’d have more time—more time to fall in love, more time to devote to others, more time to open up. And now here she was with no time at all, and she was kicking herself for thinking there would always be a tomorrow, another day when she could do more.

  She wished she could go back to that morning and play the whole thing differently. I love you, she’d tell him, not caring whether or not he said it first. It doesn’t make sense. It should be too soon, too fast, too much. It’s too impractical, too much of a mess. There are so many things I haven’t told you. But there it is. I love you.

  She hoped he knew it hadn’t meant she didn’t care when she’d said she had to
leave. She hoped he’d always know the things she wished she’d been brave enough to tell him.

  It didn’t matter whether she was smart, or self-sufficient, or better able to back up her position with facts and numbers and pretty little color-coded charts. It didn’t matter what she fought for, what she wanted, because she was trapped in a fire that didn’t care who started it, or why, or what was in its path. It existed only to consume. Dead brush, trees, people, towns, cities, homes. She’d been so foolish to think they didn’t need this firebreak, to think they shouldn’t do everything that was humanly possible to protect against such a burn.

  Tyler was going to find her here when it was too late, and he was going to know how wrong she was. How weak.

  She couldn’t stand the thought of being another loss in his life, another body he’d come across too late. She willed him to come to her. I need you, Tyler. I need you to hold me. To help me. I need you in so many ways.

  Fucking Cash. He’d made her feel helpless, hopeless, like the only person in the world she could rely on was him.

  She’d thought he was wrong. She’d worked so, so hard to prove he was wrong.

  But look at her, so desperate. Still crying out to be saved.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The day Tyler went out to the San Gabriels with Scott, he thought he couldn’t be touched. He’d never faced a fire he couldn’t beat. He’d never faced a situation he couldn’t overcome by showing how useful, how absolutely necessary he was.

  But then he and his best friend went into the mountains. And only one of them came home.

  He couldn’t let that happen again. He wouldn’t let that happen again. He drove up Ridge Line Road so fast it was a miracle his truck didn’t spiral out on the turns.

  How recently they’d driven this way with her head in his lap. He’d been so wrapped up in the pleasure, so wrapped up in her. He gunned the gas, pushing the truck faster up the hills.

  The firefighters were already there. He got the gear on faster than he thought possible. It was like a second skin, so familiar he wondered how he’d gone so long without it. As soon as it was on, everything became clear. He didn’t care how his relationship with Abbi had started, or whether they’d kept being thrown together for all the wrong reasons. He didn’t care about the forest, either—let it burn. He didn’t care about the town, his job, whatever he’d been so sure he had to prove.