Page 78 of Fireworks
When she saw the roadblocks ahead, along with silhouetted figures scattered before the craggy incline of the uplands, she hit her brakes swiftly. Even from low ground, she could make out a persistent glow at the peaks and mourned the heather-smattered farmland she’d gazed upon not so long ago. Newscasters and photographers were positioned in front of the blocks to report the fires, and a few farmers loitered with worry etched into their faces. Warren wasn’t one of them; she didn’t know if it was a good thing or not.
A gloved hand tapped on her window, and she wound it down, the thick smoke clinging to her eyes like grit.
It was Nate who greeted her, a patient smile on his face, which was half-shrouded by a heavy helmet. Beads of sweat glistened on his Cupid’s bow, turnouts looking worn.
When he recognised her, the smile vanished. “Eiley, what are you doing out here?”
“Where’s Warren?”
“He’s doing his job, like we all are.” That gave her some relief, but not enough. He put his hand over hers on the lowered window. “You need to get home. Have you been evacuated?”
“No, but—”
“Then get home,” he insisted. “Warren’ll call you when he can, I’m sure.”
But he wouldn’t. They hadn’t spoken since the argument. The last thing she’d said to him had been cruel and final:don’t fucking come back. “What about his house?” she pleaded.
A frown. “What house? He lives in a van, love, and it’s parked at the station. He’s fine.”
“No, not the van. The house that he’s building,” she iterated desperately. “On Galbreath Farm. It’s up near the fires!”
How could he not have known? Had Warren not told him?
“Right. I … I didn’t know that.” Warily, Nate looked up to the hills, the distant flames tainting his skin a terrifying shade of orange.
“He should have somebody looking out for it.” Eiley got out of the car, only for Nate to catch her before she could move more than a few steps.
“No, love. You can’t. Everyone beyond this point has been evacuated. I’m sorry.”
“What’s going on?” another firefighter demanded from the parked engine, so shrouded in protective gear that Eiley couldn’t make them out. The voice belonged to a woman, possibly the one who had been in the bookstore the night of the flood.
“She’s a friend of Warren’s,” Nate said, an edge to the wordfriendthat implied they were more.
Considering what she was doing right now, they probably were.
“Well, knowing Warren, you won’t see him in a while.”
“What does that mean?” That he was gone? That he’d been stationed further afield? That—
“Warren is always the first to turn up on the scene and the last to leave, tryhard that he is.” The firefighter battedher hand, then went back to ushering the concerned locals and reporters away.
A hurricane of panic gusted through Eiley, and she gripped the car for support. Of course. Of course she had to go and fall for a man with a dangerous dedication to his job.
A bellow carried down the hill suddenly, and Eiley’s head spun with the relief she felt. She’d know that voice anywhere, and it was all she’d wanted to hear; not just tonight, but for weeks. “Nate, it’s no good. We need more hands until the helicopters come in!”
Eiley rose to her tiptoes to find him, releasing a jagged breath at the sight of him jogging closer on the other side of the roadblocks. His visor was up, face marked with sweat and soot, and Eiley’s knees nearly buckled.
“Warren! Thank god—”
“Eiley?” Warren wasn’t nearly as happy to see her, stiffening after he’d slipped between the barriers to reach them. He was breathless, barely looking at her. “What the fuck are you doing out here? Go home.”
“I had to make sure you … The house … I just—”
“Are youmad?” The word chopped through her like an axe, leaving her splintered. “I thought you couldn’t get any more thoughtless, but here you fucking are.”
“Warren—” Nate tried to intervene, but Warren nudged him back, squared shoulders rippling with every breath as he tugged off his helmet.
“Do you even know what you’re risking, being here?”
