Page 22 of The Hotshot's Prize
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Zack said you’d be waiting. Hop in.”
I climb in silently, giving the driver directions to my house. The seatbelt clicks in with a snap, and I fold my arms tightly, staring out the window like the trees might distract me.
I don’t ask about Zack. I don’t want to hear about the fire or how long he’ll be gone or if he even said anything when he called the truck for me. I don’t want to know.
I spend the ride mentally organizing my photos, planning what I’ll edit first, thinking about gear I need to replace, reminding myself that I need to finish that article draft by Sunday.
I don’t think about his hands. His voice. The hard set of his face as he slid into me…
We pull up in front of my house, and I force a tight smile.
“Thanks,” I say, climbing down.
“No problem. Stay safe.”
The truck pulls away.
Before I can take a single step, the front door bursts open.
“ELLAAAA!”
Tessa.
She’s barefoot, in one of my oversized sweatshirts, hair frizzy like she’s been pacing for hours.
“Oh my God, I thought you were dead! I was about to call Search and Rescue. Again! I did call them, actually—twice. Then I hung up because I thought maybe you were just off making out with a bear photographer or something but then I checked your GPS and it was glitching and your phone was off and I— Where the hell have you been?!”
Her voice rises with every word as she rushes toward me, arms flailing, panic practically oozing out of her pores.
I don’t say anything, just walk past her into the house, the exhaustion of the past twenty-something hours crawling up on me. I just want to bury myself under the sheets and sleep. Or cry.
Tessa trails behind me, still talking a mile a minute. “Do you know how crazy I went last night? I barely slept. I made three pots of coffee. I ate an entire box of Lucky Charms. I even emailed that weird park ranger guy to ask if he’d seen anyone hiking with a camera bag!”
The door clicks open, and I step inside. The air smells like lavender and the faint citrus candle she always leaves burning. I don’t even bother taking off my boots.
Tessa pauses halfway into the living room, her expression shifting. She studies my face for a second, then takes a tentative step toward me.
“Hey…” she says in a gentler voice, concern etched on her face. “What’s wrong?”
I open my mouth to say it’s nothing, to brush it off and wave her away with some joke. But my throat tightens.
The words don’t come out.
Instead, my shoulders slump. My bag slides off my arm and thuds to the floor.
I sink into the couch and bury my face in my hands.
“Oh God…”
Tessa’s arms wrap around me before I can even start crying properly.
She doesn’t ask anything else. Just holds me while I fall apart, rubbing my back and whispering, “You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re home.”
Eventually, the tears stop. Or slow, at least.
I sniff and swipe at my face with the sleeve of my hoodie. “You’re not gonna believe this,” I mumble.
