Page 93 of The Fire We Crave

I place a hand over her joined ones, leaving them there just so I can stroke her smooth skin. “Sugar, I know why you’re happy for me, but I can’t forget men died. That isn’t something I’d feel comfortable celebrating.”

She sighs and kisses my cheek again, more softly this time. “I’m sorry, that was insensitive of me. I just…I’m relieved for you. It must be a relief.”

I shake my head. “Not exactly. I still feel like I let them down.” I flick over to the attachment that includes weather-pattern data. I can see how quickly the winds grew in strength and changed direction. Even as I see the evidence in swirls and lines, I can’t shake the feeling I could have done better.

“I don’t know who made this decision,” Quinn says, snaking one of her hands from beneath mine to tap the paper, “but my guess is they were a group of your peers, or more experienced leaders who were once what you are now, and some independent people who have possibly nothing to do with the fire service. And they don’t think you could have done anything differently.”

I close my eyes and lean my head back against the sofa. “You know, there are plenty of people in the fire service who don’t like smoke jumpers.”

“Well, that’s silly. You’re heroes.” Quinn snuggles against me, resting her head against my neck.

“They think we’re arrogant, that we think we know fires better than they do. And that we get too frustrated by the bureaucracy that grounds us at the start of the fire.”

“That’s silly too.”

I chuckle. “Not really. We can be. I pride myself on being the one who can get closest, fastest. And I do think I can read fires better than they do, because we operate right in front of it. We see it up close and personal, when it’s at its very worst.”

I open one eye and look down at the top of Quinn’s head. There’s a comfort in having her here with me as I process this. Without her, I’d probably have thrown the whole thing into a bonfire in the yard.

“You’re just continuing to prove my point that you’re a hero.”

I shrug. “People argue that climate change isn’t real. But we get called out earlier every year, and the seasons are lasting longer. Fires are burning so much hotter. Everything is bone dry.And this season? Man, it’s been one of the worst fire seasons I can remember. You know what a thunderstorm cell is?”

Quinn shakes her head. “Not really.”

“It’s the building block of a good storm. Has to have an updraft and downdraft of air currents that swirl in a loop. Picking up humidity off the river. Building up electric charges to discharge. Those things are ready to discharge lightning into all that tinder. And you’ve never seen so many of them as we had this summer.”

My fingers drift into her hair, and I let the soft silky threads flop through them. “You want to know what one of the worst fucking enemies in a fire beyond the wind is?”

“What’s that?” She presses a sweet kiss to my neck.

“Pinecones. Those little fuckers sit on the ground all the way through winter, minding their own business. But find them completely dried out in summer in the middle of a fire and they take off, rolling down the hill like they’re making a bid for freedom or some shit. They’re on fire, rolling, setting fire to the shit they touch. Hate the fucking things. There’re no pinecones on the Christmas tree at the clubhouse because I swear those things give me PTSD.”

It’s easy to joke about PTSD when I’m grappling with the real thing.

“I’ll make sure we don’t have any,” she says.

And there’s a certain buoyancy in my chest at the thought she might still be here in December.

“I can’t stop thinking about all the possible scenarios and the decisions I made, Quinn. The fire was a beast from the day it sparked in the worst possible terrain. A steep hillside with fallen trees everywhere, making it unsafe. And even when those trunks were down, we had to climb over them. They’d form a fucking bridge between trees that we’d have to chop through. Sweaty, backbreaking work, digging a line downhill. There were a coupleof small ridges that made it impossible to see what was around the proverbial corner. Should I have sent someone over the ridge to play spotter? Did I not read the weather, the temperature, the humidity, the wind speed and direction right?”

Quinn rises so she can see my face. “Did I ever tell you that the day Melody disappeared, she’d been particularly nice to me? She gave me this sweater of hers that I loved. It made me feel so grown up when I wore it. One of my friends came over, and I was wearing it because I was super excited to show her. And then, Melody came into my room to ask if I wanted to watch a movie with her. She’d never really wanted to watch things I enjoyed before, and I wanted to, but my friend was already there, so I said no. And she disappeared that night. I was crushed when I grew out of the damn sweater, and I wondered if something different would have happened if I’d watched something with her, like aSliding Doorsmoment.”

“What’s a sliding doors moment?” Quinn sits up so fast, she almost crushes my balls. “Jesus, watch the goods, sugar.”

Quinn grins. “I just realized, we’re gonna be able to watch romantic movies. Honestly, the Christmas ones are peak baker-heroine season.”

“Think I’d rather suck my own cock.”

“Please watch them with me. We can make it a tradition.” She looks so fucking hopeful.

“Maybe one, so pick well.” And I’ll find all the different ways I can distract her while we’re watching. Maybe I could get her a remote-controlled vibrator that I switch on during every baking scene. “What’s your view on toys in the bedroom?”

“I’m a big fan of the few I’ve tried.”

I nod. “Now, tell me what a sliding doors moment is.”

“You can’t just ask me about sex toys and then move on like you didn’t say anything.”

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