They say time heals, but how long does it take? I love you more than when you walked away. You tell me not to call. What's a man like me to do? I guess the fire burns the hottest where it's blue – "Where It's Blue" by Colton Venner
Quil – Still September
"What do you mean she's pregnant?" I ask dumbly. That's self-explanatory.
With a roar, Brady's knees finally give out, and he sinks onto them. "Quil, you have to go get her." He looks up at me with pleading eyes. "It has to be you."
I get what he's asking, and why. Brady was going to phase to get Mia, and he wants me to do the same. I've got to admit, it's not a bad plan. As a wolf my reflexes will be faster, my feet more agile.
Still, a one-man rescue can be deadly, not to mention it's a clear violation of everything our training tells us. I could lose my job for this.
Brady delivers the death blow himself. "What if it was Claire?"
It's a dirty trick, but it works. I don't say 'okay' out loud, because it's not. But I grip my helmet and flip down the visor.
Aaron and Omar look at me like I've grown two heads, but Brady has a ghost of a smile on his face, like he's trying but can't remember how to make one happen.
I understand that completely.
I have to slip into the forest undetected, past other first responders. This is so stupid, I think, then do it anyway. That's a pretty good metaphor for love, isn't it?
After I'm deep enough into the woods to be invisible from the others, I go against every sense of self-preservation and start taking off my gear. It's hot and muggy, the smells of burning land everywhere. The fire crackles, trees fall, and birds cry and flap overhead. From our checkpoint, that campground is just under a mile, not accounting for dips in terrain and rivers needing crossed. As a human, it probably took Mia close to fifty minutes to reach it in her gear.
What was she thinking? I ask myself as I phase in, thankful no one's on patrol. My mind is loud enough with my own thoughts; I don't need anyone else's.
I focus my senses on the sounds beyond the fire. My heartbeat first, then my footsteps. The ground underfoot is crumbly and dry. No wonder everything is burning.
The good thing is that I don't hear Mia's PASS device going off—that means she's still moving. Or moving just enough every thirty seconds so she doesn't set off the alarm. Which, knowing Mia, is a strong possibility.
There, I think, hearing a faint whimper. That's her. I start running in her direction, jumping logs and streams with ease.
I round a bend and spot her up ahead surrounding by low-smoldering flames, her leg pinned under a log. Conscious, thank God.
I didn't ask Brady how much Mia knows, if anything, about wolves. I'll have to do this on two feet. I phase and dress quickly, still out of sight.
"Mia," I call, like I don't know exactly where she is. "Sound off!"
Her chin drops to her chest, and I swear I hear her murmur thank God before she blows her whistle. "Here," she calls weakly.
I run to her, my gear clunking on my back. "What the fuck, Mia!" I say when I reach her. "Why aren't you wearing your oxygen!" Everything comes out as an exclamation. Oops.
"I thought I heard someone crying earlier," she gasps, then repeats herself when she can hardly hear her own voice. It's loud here. The blaze is working fast. Mia is sweating, her face covered with soot. I smell burnt flesh. "I had to make sure it wasn't like last time. And then I tripped."
Something acrid and pungent hits my nose, and I see a bit of vomit not far from the log. "And where does you getting sick come into play?" I try not to look at her face and instead scope out just how she was planning to get herself out of this mess.
She'd wedged her pack under the log and was using a thick branch to create a lever. It might have worked, if the log didn't weigh as much as a firetruck.
"I just—" she gasps again. "I just got dizzy."
"God forbid you ask for help," I murmur to mask my panic. I check her oxygen levels and groan in frustration. No wonder she wasn't wearing it. She ran out thirty minutes ago. I pull my own off my back and press the mask to her face. "Are you gonna pass out on me, Shelton?"
Then she passes out on me.
"Fuck!"
A quick check reveals Mia's pulse is steady and strong, so I'm not too concerned. most likely a combination of heat exhaustion, dehydration, and her being pregnant. First things first, I have to free her. I can't see where she's burned, but I have a sinking suspicion I'll find out when I lift this log.
Squatting down, I wedge my shoulder under it, but it's a tighter fit than I'd like. It needs to come straight up, as opposed to shoving it off. If Mia's leg is broken, that will only make it worse.
Her PASS device starts to go off, and I reach over to silence it. I know she's in distress. I am right here.
I dig deep and try to lift it, but the log doesn't move. Leaving her here isn't an option, and I'm worried if I called for the crew, the flames would put them all in danger. We're in danger right now. And I would never leave anyone to face this alone; if I can't get Mia out… well, I won't be leaving.
What if it was Claire, Brady had begged me.
If it was Claire, I'd be a mess like Brady, and someone else would be here right now. But I know that's not what he meant. He means that's how much she matters to me. Mia may not be an imprint, but she's Pack now, and we protect our own.
So I dig deeper. Push harder. Lift higher. It takes almost everything in me, and progress is slow. If I move a millimeter in the wrong direction, I'll ruin everything. The flames move steadily, encroaching on our shrinking safe haven.
Sweat drips into my eyes and burns. I blink it away. More of it runs down my arms and collects in my palms under my gloves. They slip sideways, and my grip falters. In a split-second decision I drop to a squat and wedge the log onto my shoulder, taking the brunt of its weight. Something pops, sending searing pain rippling down my arm.
"Shit," I grunt, my knees almost giving out. I should not have come alone. This is the stupid thing I've ever done. Tried to do—it isn't finished yet. Panic tightens my chest to the point of hurting, and I can't get a full breath without it coming out as a sob. "Well this is fucking great."
Wonderful, imaginary Claire says in my subconscious.
"Fantastic," I scoff. "I'm hearing voices."
Amazing, she says in response, and, dammit, it gives me strength. But I don't want her to give me strength. I want to find it for myself.
Is this what my life will be now? Hearing her voice when I need motivation, thinking about her whenever I'm in the mood to cry? Tracing her smile, her skin, with my mouth, and waking up to find it was all a dream?
I am haunted by a girl who isn't even dead.
"Get out of my fucking head!" I scream, using all my force to hurl the log up and away. It lands with a thud fifteen feet from us. My eyes are wet with sweat and tears and frustration, and I collapse back onto the ground next to Mia.
I'll give myself ten seconds to miss Claire, and then I'll stand up and keep moving. Ten seconds today, nine tomorrow, eight the next day… And maybe in a month it won't hurt at all.
Chief starts blowing up my radio, interrupting my fifteenth ninth second. "Ateara," he yells. "What the actual fuck are you doing out there? Sound off!"
I've never heard him curse before, and it makes me laugh. Which makes my shoulder burn and throb. I grab for my receiver with my good arm. "Here, Chief," I say.
"Can you make it back?" he asks, but I know better than to think he's giving me a choice.
"On our way," I tell him, then let the receiver fall loose to my chest.
I try to rouse Mia again, but she's still out. Looks like I'm carrying both our sorry asses out of here.
With one fucking arm.
I quickly make the decision to leave our packs behind, laying my—now Mia's—oxygen on her lap, and make my arm cooperate as I lift us both. The pain is white-hot, burning, reminding me with every heartbeat that it exists. I'm surprised to find I'm thankful for it. It's so cliché, that thing about pain reminding you you're alive. But it's a cliché for a reason. Sometimes we hurt, and sometimes we heal.
"Brady," Mia murmurs, eyes closed.
"Not quite," I say.
And like I've been doing every day for the past seventeen months, I put one foot in front of the other and force myself to keep moving.
They make me ride to the hospital in an ambulance, which is really stupid, if you ask me. But I guess at least I get to see my tax dollars at work from the inside out? I told the paramedics multiple times it was just a minor muscle sprain.
Instead, the ER doctor at Forks General Hospital informs me I carried an unconscious woman down a mountain with a broken collarbone and Grade III shoulder separation. (That's the worst one, apparently?)
Fortunately for me, there's not much to do besides slap on a sling and schedule physical therapy in a week.
I won't need it. It will stop hurting within an hour.
Aaron had been waiting with me in my little curtained trauma bay, but after I'm cleared, we follow raucous noise until we find most of the crew spread out across the waiting room.
"Ateara," Chief Marston says, rising to his feet.
I feel like I've just arrived at the principal's office—or even worse, the principal came to my classroom and is about to chew me out in front of everyone else.
He holds out a hand. "That was the most idiotic thing anyone on my crew has ever accomplished," he says, an odd tone of pride coloring his words. "Don't do it again. And I'll expect a report on my desk first thing next shift."
"You got it," I say, accepting his hand first, then a cup of coffee from Omar. "How is she?"
"Brady went to get an update," Colton explains. "And he's already promised that when he gets back, he's going to tell us the whole story."
To kill time, I scroll through the steady stream of texts I've received since sending my "almost died but didn't" message, which turns into a long-winded phone call from my mother, and another from Bethany and Embry.
Brady comes in, those red rings still hanging out around his eyes, and I hastily tell them I'll just come over after I leave the hospital. I've just hung up when Brady slaps his arms around me in a fierce hug. I wince as he nudges my bad shoulder.
"Thank you," he says into my shirt, then again when he pulls back and grasps me.
I make a noise of noncommittal, trying to push off the unnecessary praise—and also his hands. That does not feel good. But he looks stricken, a little hurt, and a lot tired, so I only nod. "'Course. How's Mia?"
His face transforms, the sadness washing away as fast as those three letters can leave my mouth. "She's going to be fine, Quil." He blinks, then shakes his head. "They're. They're going to be fine. Still can't believe that."
He explains what the doctor said about Mia's injuries, consulting a scrap of paper with hastily scribbled writing on it "so he can tell her parents everything when they get here." That's what cements it in my mind: Brady's got it bad. "Her leg's pretty banged up, broken and a little burned, but nothing that will need skin grafts or surgery or anything. And she's anemic, which is part of the reason she passed out so fast. But the baby was happy as a clam in there. No distress or anything."
"Glad to hear it," I say, giving him a backhanded smack to his chest with my good arm. "Ready to fill us in now on how you kept this secret so damn long?"
Brady grabs a chair, and the rest of us take ones around him, pulling them into an informal circle.
"It was Karaoke Night, wasn't it?" Omar puffs his chest out. "Karaoke brings people together. It's just a fact. There's no need to thank me."
Brady laughs. "No. Well, not really…" His face is still full of secrets, and I know despite his claims to tell all, he will keep some things close to his chest. "I did go back to her place that night," he starts again. "And we started fooling around—"
"I'm going to get more coffee," Chief coughs, taking his full cup with him.
"But nothing happened," Brady says quickly, and Chief stops, pivoting back to us. The entire circle leans in, perplexed. "She wasn't ready. So I told her if she ever got ready, all she had to do was kiss me. And then we got that call this summer, when Mrs. Delgado passed away in our arms. And she showed up at my door that night and sort of never left? Brought a duffle bag and everything."
Damn. Mia doesn't do things halfway, does she?
"Why the secrecy, though?" Aaron asks, still clearly confused. Same. "You've been shouting from rooftops for years about her."
Brady's ears go red, and he looks down at his own cup of hospital coffee (read: black sludge). "I wanted to protect her privacy. She's the only girl on the crew. I didn't want you all to look differently at her for having actual human emotions and feelings."
An awkward silence hangs in the air, and I'm the first to break it with a cough. "You think we would have?"
He laughs loudly, further shattering the quiet. "Do I think if she showed to shift and started talking about her hot hookup, you all would have given her endless amounts of shit? Absolutely I do."
We all wince.
"Sorry," Aaron says, and Brady nods in acknowledgement.
"Does this mean you hooked up on the clock?" Omar asks.
Brady gulps and glances to Chief. "We really tried not to." And, like a room full of overgrown teenage boys with more muscles than sense, we ooh and ahh and guffaw. "Sorry Chief," he adds halfheartedly.
"We can talk about that next shift," Chief offers, not meeting anyone's eyes.
My memory rewrites itself with everything I've learned in the last five minutes. "Wait. That morning, when you were both almost late and your dog ate puke? Mia said she overslept."
His ears turn crimson. "Only by ten minutes. We had plenty of time. We just found another way to fill it."
"Definitely getting coffee," Chief murmurs, and does not turn back around this time.
I cross one leg over the other and test the tenderness of my shoulder with a shrug. Thank God for shapeshifter healing.
Colton chuckles. "Okay, that time in June when we got the call for that car fire on Elm, and you two hung back to 'reorganize the supply room?'"
Brady shrugs. "Guilty."
I perform some mental math, which, admittedly, takes a while longer than usual after such a long day. They've only been seeing each other for six months.
"So the baby was a big surprise, I'm guessing," I say.
At this, Brady sits forward, disbelief coloring his features. He clasps his hands and lets them hang between his knees. "The biggest. Her doctors told her it wasn't supposed to be possible, so we weren't—using anything." He blushes. "She has endometriosis."
"I didn't know that," Aaron says.
"She didn't want anyone to know," Brady says simply. "And so if, when we go in there, you all have to act like this is all news. Every last bit of it."
"Congrats on the baby!" Omar says as soon as we walk into Mia's room.
There's a one-visitor limit at this time of night, but Chief was able to call in a favor and let us all back at once. Plus, we were getting kind of rowdy in the waiting room. I guess they'd rather corral us into a room with a door you can shut.
Mia is sitting up in the bed, but at Omar's words she drops her head back and groans. "Really, Bray? We haven't even told my parents yet."
He grins as he leans down to kiss her forehead. "Oh, so I wasn't supposed to call them and tell them to drive over from Seattle right away because we had big news to share?" Mia's face goes white, and Brady chuckles before kissing her again. "Joking."
"You underestimate my father's sense of tradition." I'm glad to see her cheeks pink up a little after being so pale in the forest. "I think we'll probably have to get married."
"And?" he says, kissing her square on the lips, in front of every last one of us. "I accept."
"That was not a proposal," she says, but she's smiling a little, too.
She turns her attention to all of us, her crew, surrounding her bed. When she sees me, her eyes water. "Quil."
"Nope," I say, holding up my one free hand in a surrendering gesture. "Don't say it."
"Thank you," she says anyway, clearing her throat. Brady wordlessly reaches for the water on the bedside table.
Over the next thirty minutes or so, the story is forced out of me. And I don't really have to embellish anything, other than how I got to her so fast. When a nurse comes in and starts clearing her throat and glancing at her watch, we all get the point and head back to the trucks, parked in the back of the lot.
We ride to the station together, and Aaron snores the whole way. It's otherwise quiet, until we turn onto the final block before the station.
"Holy hell," Chief says, leaning forward to see a dozen-or-so spectators lined up and cheering when we roll into the station.
"But the wildfires are still burning," I say. "Why are they celebrating?"
"Sometimes," Chief says, "people just need one good thing to remind them things aren't all bad."
"And we're that thing?"
"Apparently."
I spot a few familiar faces—the crew currently on shift and a few stragglers from others, including Dave, Julia, and their preteen sons. Colton's mom and long-time partner, holding a dog who is wagging its tail so hard it is about to fall out of his arms. Aaron's girlfriend. Chief's wife.
Embry and Jacob.
We all spill out of the trucks and over to our people.
"What the—" I drop my voice in the presence of little ears— "fuck are you guys doing here?"
Jacob grins at me. "You can't seriously believe we'd miss our hero's homecoming." He bats his eyes at me.
"In all honesty," Embry says after we finish laughing, "we thought you could use a drink with friends."
Most people head inside to grab their bags and hang their gear, but I lost mine in the fire. I don't know if it's exhaustion or depression or adrenaline crash, but even in the thick of it, I have felt like a spectator all day.
But I am so, so tired of watching happy endings play out for other people and not getting any of my own.
So I say, "A drink sounds really good."