“Wow.” Rain’s wide eyes mirrored how awed Garrick had been the first time he’d seen an operation like this in action.
“Rain.” Garrick didn’t want to let the moment pass, not when they might not get another one for who knew how long. “I mean it. Come over. Let’s talk.”
“Maybe.” Rain bit his lip and glanced away.
Fuck. Now Garrick would have to live with that non-answer, wondering whether they’d get a chance to talk or not. And there was no time to advocate for a better answer either. Ryland met them at the car to help him get to the operations trailer that was housing Dispatch for the various crews and agencies. While flat, the ground was still uneven and rocky, but Ryland arranged it so that they could pull close to unload so he didn’t have to walk far with the crutches to his station. At least the trailer had a floor for his wheelchair to roll on.
“All set?” Rain asked, eyes flitting to all the activity outside the trailer, clearly itching to be out there. Or maybe he simply wanted done with Garrick, which was a far more depressing thought.
“Yeah. Good luck out there.” Garrick had no hold on him, no reason to ask him to stay a minute, no choice but to let him go.
No choice but to let him go. That might as well be his mantra right then. He had no choice but to let Rain go, let him be free to chase adventure. We both know how that story ends, his dad had said, and Garrick had felt that truth down to his bones. He did know how the story ended, both his own with Lisa and his dad’s with Garrick’s mother.
Hell, here it was, over twenty years after his mother had left and his father had barely dated in all that time, preferring instead to throw himself into his business and his property. Is that going to be me? The future stretched out in front of him, as endless as the forest surrounding them. He could see himself and Cookie, alone against the world, like his dad and his horses, and just as bitter about relationships and risk.
But watching Rain stride away, he questioned everything about that future. Did the story have to end with Rain walking away for good? With it hurting so much? He’d assumed the pain was simply inevitable for both of them, but what if it wasn’t?
For the first time he contemplated what it would take to choose a different path, not the straight line to heartache but a rockier trail with more uncertainty. More of that risk his dad had counseled against, but maybe more reward.
Perhaps the real question, and the one he should have been asking himself all week, was whether he was brave enough to put his heart on the line or whether for the first time in his life, he was going to accept being a quitter when it came to getting what he truly wanted.
* * *
The smoke, even this far from the fire, made the air hazy and clung to Rain’s nostrils, astringent and omnipresent, overriding the usual forest scents of dirt and pine. The forest was noisier too—chainsaws whining from every direction, and planes and helicopters going by overhead. Airtankers and helicopters had been dropping retardant and water all afternoon, and he’d heard numerous reports that Garrick’s old smoke-jumper buddies were being deployed close to the fire. This was day two of the firefighting effort, and he’d grabbed a precious few hours of sleep in a tent with Zeb and Bosler, whose snores mingled with the drone of the chainsaws off in the distance.
He’d seen Garrick briefly in the distance when he was grabbing a sack lunch to take out with him. He’d been deep in conversation with Ryland, so Rain hadn’t headed over. Not that he would have known what to say even if he’d been free. Garrick wanted to talk when this was all over. Said he missed him. Implied having him around was worth the coming pain. And damn did Rain want to go to him, even if talking ended up with them in bed and no words spoken. But as to whether that would be the right call for either of them...
Well, he simply wasn’t sure. And hours of backbreaking digging in the hot sun hadn’t provided much of an answer either. Presently, they were working to provide an outer perimeter for a planned burnout—a controlled burn from some of the firelines toward the approaching fire, depriving the wildfire of fuel. Crews would then come through and attack hot spots—cutting open smoldering trees, spreading water, covering other hot spots with dirt. It was hard, messy, hot work, and he’d give half his underwear collection for a shower and a chance to wash his hair, which was bundled up under his helmet and adding to his sweatiness.