Page 29 of The Smokejumper's Lady
I finally spot a familiar face.
Matt.
He’s standing near one of the medic tents, his hands on his hips, looking pale under the dirt and grime. His goofball charm is gone, replaced by something tight and haunted.
I run straight for him. “Matt!” I shout. “Matt!”
He turns, eyes narrowing slightly before widening with recognition. “Clea?”
“Where is he?” I gasp, grabbing his arm. “Where’s Ryan? Is he okay? Please—please tell me he’s okay.”
His mouth presses into a grim line. His eyes drop to the ground.
“Matt,” I say, voice trembling. “Don’t. Don’t do that. Just tell me.”
He exhales, and when he looks up at me again, his eyes are full of something I can’t bear to name. “He’s still in there.”
My legs go weak.
“In the fire?” I whisper.
He nods. “The heart of it. A couple of us got cut off after the drop. Ryan tried to lead them out, but the wind shifted. It’s bad, Clea. It’s really bad.”
I stare at him, shaking my head. “But he’s…he’s Ryan. He’s strong. He’s smart…he’ll find a way.”
“I want to believe that too,” Matt says. “But right now, things aren’t looking good.”
Before I can say another word, his comm crackles. Static, then a sharp voice:
“All available hands to the south perimeter—possible evac needed. Repeat, possible evac of multiple smoke jumpers. Immediate assistance required.”
Matt’s head jerks toward the sound. He looks at me once, his gaze apologetic before he turns around and runs off.
I stagger backward, my knees buckling slightly.
People rush past me. Radios crackle. Boots slam into dirt. And all I can do is stand here, the world collapsing around me, my heart breaking in slow motion.
Ryan is out there.
And I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again.
Chapter Ten
Ryan
The first thing I register is pain.
A dull, full-body throb that starts in my chest and radiates outward like an echo. My head feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton, my mouth is dry as ash, and there’s a sharp sting in my throat every time I try to breathe too deep.
Then…light.
Too damn bright.
I squint against it, groaning, and a blurry shape appears in front of me. A silhouette. Dark hair. Petite. Moving toward me.
“Clea?” I rasp, my voice barely a whisper. My heart kicks like a wild thing in my chest.
I try to lift my arm, to reach for her, but it’s like moving through wet cement.
