Page 24 of The Smokejumper's Lady
He’s still there.
Watching me go.
Chapter Eight
Ryan
The rotors are already spinning when I sling my gear over my shoulder and jog toward the bird.
I don’t look back. I can’t.
If I do, I might do something stupid, like chase that goddamn SUV down and rip Clea away from the people who just tried to bury her spirit under their polished shoes and pristine family legacy.
Her parents.
Jesus.
I grit my teeth as I climb into the chopper, strapping in like it’s second nature, even though my mind is a million miles away. The captain is barking orders, but all I hear is the way Clea’s soft voice cracked when she told her parents that she loves what she does. That she isn’t going back to the firm. That she isn’t giving up the life she’s carved for herself, no matter how hard they try to force her into a cage made of expectations and inheritance.
And they didn’t even hear her.
Not really.
They didn’t see her the way I did, standing in the smoke and fear and fucking chaos, guiding people through the dark, never flinching. She was brave. Steady. Brilliant. That girl has more grit in her little finger than most of my team put together, and they just tried to strip it from her with one conversation and a ride home.
My hands fist at my knees as the chopper lifts off, banking toward the fire line.
She told me her family was controlling. That she’s never felt free. I just didn’t realize how bad it is until I saw it for myself.
She was trying so hard to keep it together…but I saw it. That look in her eyes when they shut her down, when they dismissed everything that makes her who she is.
She looked lost.
Like she was about to break.
And I just let her go.
But I had to. There wasn’t time. The moment happened so fast. Dispatch called, the SUV rolled in, and before I could even tell her I’d find her, she was walking away like someone ripped the sun out of the sky.
I drag a hand over my jaw, scowling at the wind whipping through the open door.
Fuck.
She’s not just some fling. This wasn’t just some adrenaline-fueled heat-of-the-moment thing.
Clea matters.
Somehow, in just one day, she’s got me feeling like I’ve never felt for any other woman.
And that…that’s a goddamn problem. Because I’ve made it a point my whole life to keep everyone at arm’s length. I’m the grump. The loner. I’m that guy no one wants to mess with because he’s a growly bastard who never smiles and doesn’t give a shit about small talk.
But then she showed up. Bright-eyed and sharp-tongued. With that firecracker laugh and those smart-ass comebacks and the way she looks at me like I’m not just some moody asshole, but a man…a man worth touching, worth kissing, worth staying the night with.
And just like that, I fell.
I didn’t get to tell her any of that.
I didn’t get to say how fucking proud I am of her for standing up to them, even if her voice shook. I didn’t get to promise her that she can do this, that she isn’t alone anymore.
