Wilde Fire (5 page)

“What if she is?” I repeated, a little too loudly because she glanced over at me again. I lowered my voice. “You know the kind of lifestyle this is. Jumping smoke, fighting fires. We’re either flying, fighting, sleeping, or eating. The other half of the year we’re working odd jobs wherever we can get them. That’s no kind of life for someone like her.”

He lifted his hands. “What if someone like her enjoys that kind of life? I mean, come on, she’s an investigative reporter. That means she’s on the move as much, if not more, than you. “

I knew that, but it wasn’t just the lifestyle, it was the person living it. I could have been ten times the man I was now and still not be worthy of that kind of woman. “What are you trying to tell me?”

Banks looked at me like I was clueless. Like it should have been obvious. “I’m trying to tell you that you shouldn’t let something as trivial as work schedules keep you from what you want. If you want her and she wants you, then fuck the rest. It will work itself out. “

I’d never wanted to believe in something as much as I wanted to believe that. I knew better though. Life had proven that to me years ago. “That’s wishful thinking.”

Banks shook his head. “No,” he said, “that’s true fucking love.”

I let that settle in for a minute. Was it? Was true love saying
fuck it
to the reasons you shouldn’t be together and embracing the reasons you should be? Was this how it felt? It wasn’t like I had any actual experience with it.

I looked over at Bree again. I knew I’d loved her in its platonic version as a kid, but whatever I was feeling for her now did not stem from feelings of innocent friendship.

I still wanted to love her . . . in every way I could. I wanted to take care of her in every way I could. I wanted to make her happy in every way I could. I wanted to make her feel good in every way I could.

Was that true love?

That question would have to wait because that was when the alarm went off. Instantly, the room went into motion, guys leaping up from naps on couches, from tables where games would be left in the middle of, from conversations that would have to be continued at a later time. We all hauled ass for the locker room to get suited up. We had ten minutes before that plane was taking off.

Bree stood up, almost shakily, her head turning toward me. She looked worried, her face all pinched together and her eyes swimming with nerves.

“Be safe,” she said above the noise.

I nodded. “Always.”

“Come back.”

Something in her voice, something on her face . . . I wasn’t sure what it was, but it made something in my own chest rise and fall a little faster. “Always.”

WILDFIRE WAS TEARING through the Alaskan wilderness. I felt like my own personal wildfire was tearing through me too. My whole world was on fire, and all I could do was stand on the sideline and watch it burn.

Jake had been gone for two days. I talked with the base earlier and they expected the jumpers back that night, but it was almost midnight and still no word. After spending the past three hours camped out on his couch, watching the door, waiting, I couldn’t take it any longer.

I’d been in the kitchen ever since. I didn’t know what I was doing exactly, but killing time and giving my nerves a break was definitely my main objective. I’d made five batches of peanut butter cookies. Ten of chocolate chip. Eight of oatmeal raisin. And I was just pulling out the sixth and last batch of sugar cookies.

I wasn’t much of a sweets person, but the guys at the base loved cookies. They could be sealed up in baggies, tossed into backpacks, and parachuted in with them into the middle of nowhere.

Last week I’d made what I thought had been an ungodly number of cookies for the crew. They’d been decimated by day two. At least this load should last a few more days than that.

As I slid the cookies from the pan, I cursed myself for the hundredth time since watching Jake leave. I should have told him right then. I should have told him before then.

I should have heeded the warning in my head. I should have told him.

What if he didn’t come back? What if I never got a chance to tell him? Could I live with the regret? Could I live with the weight of what could have been?

Those were questions I hoped I never had to answer.

Just as I was about to run a sink of soapy water to start cleaning up, I heard it. The lock turning over at the front door.

I wanted to run to it. To pull the door open and throw my arms around him and never let him go. I wanted to move.

But I couldn’t. My feet were stuck in place, my body trapped where it was.

The door opened quietly, like he was trying not to make a noise. Then he slid through the door and just as noiselessly set his bags down before closing the door behind him.

My whole body sagged in relief. He was sooty, dirty, looked like he hadn’t slept in days, but he was back. He was safe. Having to watch him and Matt leave for Iraq had felt like I was having a limb amputated without anesthetic. Watching him leave two days ago, leaving what hung between us unsaid, had been worse.

He didn’t see me. He must have thought I was asleep, and usually I was. It wasn’t until he started moving through the living room, rounding into the hall, that he noticed me. He halted, his eyes met mine . . . and then they roamed lower.

“Shit, Bree.” He closed his eyes and exhaled. “Why are you in your underwear?”

I glanced down at myself. “I’m in a tank top and boy shorts.”

His eyes stayed clamped closed. “Exactly. Why are you standing in my kitchen in your underwear?”

My head tipped, wondering why he was acting like I’d just set my hair on fire and was about to streak through the apartment complex. “If you think this is my underwear, you have not been snooping through my real underwear.”

His eyes flashed open, and when they looked at me, there was something in them that made my stomach compress. When he took a step toward me, his jaw set in that way I’d seen a lot directed at me lately, something farther south compressed too.

Suddenly, he stopped, staggering back into the hall like someone just shot him in the chest. “I’ve got to take a shower. And you’ve got to put some clothes on,” was all he said before continuing down the hall.

What the hell?

The sound of the bathroom door slamming was followed by the sound of the shower blasting on.

Back to playing stand-in big brother, chastising me for running around in “my underwear,” because god knew who might walk through the front door. I wondered if he’d ever be able to see me as something other than the young girl he looked after.

I was starting to believe he never would. I’d always be that little girl, no matter how old I was.

Well too damn bad. I’d come here for a reason, and it wasn’t to assume our former roles. I might have started out the summer wanting one thing from him, but that had changed in the weeks since.

I didn’t just want sex from Jake Wilde, I wanted what came before and after too. I wanted the rest. The waking up to each other the next morning, the date nights that came before, the adventure that was always there.

He might not have wanted me like that, but fuck it. I hadn’t travelled this far and waited this long to leave without saying what I had to finally tell him.

Shoving away from the counter, I marched out of the kitchen and didn’t stop until I was outside the bathroom door. I didn’t knock. I didn’t pause. I just threw the door opened and closed it behind me.

“I’ve got something to say to you, Jake,” I said, trying to see through the steam billowing through the small room.

“What the hell, Bree? I’m showering. We can talk later.” Despite his words, he didn’t sound pissed. He sounded . . . nervous.

I couldn’t recall a time I’d heard Jake nervous. I didn’t think the emotion ran in his blood.

“That’s perfect. You’re not going anywhere. You’ll have no choice but to hear what I’m saying.” I leaned into the sink, facing the shower. The glass doors were clouded, but I could still make him out behind them. My imagination filled in the rest. I felt my nipples harden watching him, so I made myself close my eyes because there was no way I could say what I needed to say with the view in front of me.

“Go.” From his strained voice, I knew his jaw was clenched so tightly it was about to snap.

“No.”

He grunted in frustration. “Please go.”

I kept my eyes closed. “No.”

“Bree—”

“I need to tell you something,” I interrupted, pulling every last reserve of courage I had at my disposal. I wasn’t sure how to put it, but I was a reporter by trade. We told the story as it was in as few words as possible. We didn’t do fluff and filler.

When he stayed quiet, waiting, I sucked in a breath and got after it. “I need to tell you the reason I came here,” I started. “And it wasn’t just to gather research to write an article.” I paused and wet my lips. This was harder than I thought it was going to be. Then again, I never thought it would be so difficult to lure Jake Wilde into my bed.

“Yeah?” Jake said after a minute.

I shifted against the sink.
Just say it, Bree. Be honest.
“It was to get you into bed so I could finally get over you.”

My abruptness surprised me as much as it seemed to surprise him. He was quiet. For so long. I opened my eyes. He was still in the shower, letting the water rain down on him, but he wasn’t moving.

“What?” His voice echoed through the bathroom, dissipating into the steam.

I pulled my braid over my shoulder and tugged at it nervously. He didn’t just sound surprised, he sounded . . . offended.

Awesome, Bree. Just fucking awesome.
Now he’s offended by you. Way to keep elevating yourself in Jake Wilde’s life.

I continued though, because I’d admitted the worst of it already. “I figured that if you did to me what you did to all of those other girls, I could get past you. If you screwed me and kept moving, I could convince myself you weren’t this amazing guy I’ve always believed you are. If you hurt me like that, I thought I could move on . . .”

He was quiet again. I knew I was hitting him with a lot, but I wasn’t used to Jake being so pensive. I was used to him saying exactly what came to his mind exactly when it came there.

“Are you saying you like me?” Behind the shower door, I saw him brace his arms in front of him, his head falling in between them as the water beat down his back. God, he was beautiful. How could I ever have thought a man like that would be content settling down with someone like me?

“If it hasn’t been obvious, then yes, I like you. A lot.” I bit my lip and felt that wildfire consume whatever was left of me. I was leaving this room, this place, in ashes. “All of those guys I tried to move on with, they weren’t you. You weren’t my real brother or even my boyfriend and you took better care of me than any of them.”

I kept looking at him, but he wasn’t looking at me. From his posture, I could tell he was uncomfortable with this conversation. I probably should have just shut up. But I couldn’t. Not until I’d said everything I needed to. “But I just figured something else out, worrying about you so much the past two days I haven’t been able to sleep or eat or . . . do really much of anything else.” A large cloud of steam billowed between us. I couldn’t see him anymore. “I’m not here because I want to get over you, I’m here because I want to be with you.” I bit my lip and made myself finish, “I’m not here because I want to hate you. I’m here because I want to love you.”

That’s when I shut up. Finally. I probably should have shut up five hundred words ago, but at least now he knew. Now I knew he knew. What came next, I’d be able to face with no regrets.

“Bree . . .” he started, but then he stopped. He was speechless. For once. Go me for making the opinionated, vocal Jake Wilde speechless. I guessed that’s what happened when a little-sister figure admitted she wanted to spend the rest of her life fucking and loving him would do to a guy. Good to know. You know, for my next life.

“I can’t . . .” From his voice, I’d think I was torturing him.

Embarrassment hit my bloodstream. I disguised it with anger. “What? So every other girl is good enough for your dick, but not me? Am I not good enough for Jake Wilde?”

His hand punched the wall of the shower. “No! Don’t you get it?” he snapped. “You’re too good for that.”

I glared through the steam and shower door at him. “I don’t care what you think I’m too good for. I care about what I want. What
you
want.” I shoved off the sink. “I’m all clear on what I want, but you are confusing the hell out of me right now with what you do, so explain it to me, Jake. Do you or do you not want me?”

I was breathing hard, and from the way I could see his back moving, I knew he was too. Something was affecting him. Something was causing him to look like he was in pain, fighting off some invisible enemy.

“Even if I felt the same way,” he started again, his words coming out like they were hurting him. “I can’t. Your brother. You. I let you both down.”

The first flicker of hope I’d felt fired to life inside of me. There had been times I’d caught him looking at me when I guessed he wanted me. Those looks passed as quickly as they’d appeared. There had been a few instances of him saying something or acting some way that gave an indication that he felt “something” for me, but I’d written it all off as passing whims. Or that twelve hours had gone by since his last fuck and he was getting desperate.