Page 86 of Stuck with my Brother's Firefighter Besties

“You did the right thing,” Ryan interjected, his hands still steadying me. “You did what had to be done. Don’t start with the guilt trip.”

But I couldn’t help it. I felt like I was failing in more ways than one.

“Next time,” Jaxon added, the edge in his voice softened by relief, “maybe don’t throw yourself into a burning car.”

The ride back to the station was quiet.

The adrenaline was gone, leaving me with a sharp ache in my back and a dull pounding in my head. Every movement felt like a reminder of how close I’d come to not walking out of that call.

Ryan and Jaxon had both been unusually quiet, stealing glances my way like I might fall apart at any second.

When we finally pulled into the firehouse, I climbed out of the truck with a groan, my body protesting every step. My mind, though, was louder.

The close call churned over and over in my head, each replay making it clearer: life is too damn short.

I wasn’t going to waste another second. Not when I knew what I wanted.

As soon as I had a chance, I decided I’d talk to Lila. I’d tell her everything… how much she meant to me, to all of us.

And we’d figure it out together—even if it meant confronting Nate, even if it meant risking everything.

But when I got to her father’s house, I stopped short.

Through the front window, I spotted her sitting on the porch steps, shoulders shaking, head buried in her hands. My chest tightened, and without a second thought, I climbed out of the truck and made my way to her.

“Lila?” I called gently as I approached.

Her head snapped up, her hazel eyes red-rimmed and glossy with tears. She wiped at her cheeks, trying to mask her pain, but she couldn’t hide it.

“Colt?” she said, her voice cracking. She sniffed and attempted a weak smile. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same,” I said softly, stepping closer. “What’s wrong?”

Why did she look like the world around her was crumbling?

CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN

Lila

I saton the porch steps of my dad’s house, clutching the package in my lap like it might explode.

My fingers trembled as I flipped through the photos for what had to be the hundredth time, my stomach twisting tighter with each glance.

The first was me at Lucky’s Tavern, laughing at something Colt had said, his hand resting on the back of my chair from the night of our date.

The second was me and Jaxon, outside the cabin where we went skiing, his arm around my shoulders, our heads close together.

And the last one was the one I couldn’t stop staring at: Ryan kissing me, his hand cupping my face in that soft, protective way only he could pull off.

Each photo had a note attached. Sloppy, jagged handwriting scrawled in black marker.

“Does Nate know?”

“How do you think this will look to the town?”

“You can’t hide forever.”

I felt sick. Who would do this? Who would follow me, take these pictures, and send them to me?

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