Wilde Fire (Forever Wilde 3)

I’d felt like the whole world had gone insane.

“His parents are back too?”

“Oh, yeah. His parents moved back a little over a year ago. John and his wife, Beth, were already here. They’ve got three kids if I’m not mistaken. Seth was the last to come back. I guess when the sheriff’s position opened up, it was the sign he’d been waiting for. He was in law enforcement in St. Paul,” Grandpa had said.

“And he’s married? To whom? What’s the guy like? And his family’s just okay with him being married?” I’d asked incredulously. We’d always been out to my family, but not as much to his. I knew he’d told his family he was gay at some point, but they sure as hell hadn’t been happy about it.

Grandpa’s hand had come down on my shoulder. “It’s a woman, Otto. Her name is Jolie, and they have a little girl.”

“No,” I croaked. “This can’t be happening. He’s gay, goddammit. What the hell? Did he just decide to play along with his parents’ bullshit?” My voice had gotten louder, and I’d stepped away from Grandpa enough that I could run my hands through my hair without elbowing the man. “Who does that? I don’t understand.”

“Talk to him, son. I know you two were tight until they moved away. Give him a chance to explain.”

But I hadn’t.

Because I knew—had always known, really—that I couldn’t be anywhere near Seth Walker and not touch him.

So I’d run away like the fucking coward I was. There was no way in hell I was giving him another chance to break me.

I went to Europe to see my cousin Felix in Paris, and then I traveled to Spain to meet up with an old fuck buddy I’d served with. We spent four days of his leave time naked and fucking every which way we could in a hotel room by the ocean. I pretended not to think about a certain Texas law enforcement officer every time I shot my load, and my buddy pretended not to give a shit the one time I accidentally called out Seth’s name instead of his.

When it was time for my friend to return to duty, I’d had to nut up and go home. I couldn’t allow Seth Walker’s life decisions to cheat me out of being around my own damned family.

If Walker wanted to marry a woman and play Happy Hetero, then that was his fucking choice. But I wasn’t going to shed one more tear over the asshole.

I made my way back to Texas and joined my friend Tanner at the Dallas FD in late January. After laying low for several more weeks under the guise of having to put in some extra time at work, it was finally time to get back to Hobie for a family dinner night at the ranch.

Since I’d bought myself a motorcycle, I accepted my sister Hallie’s offer to ride with her, Winnie, and Saint in Hallie’s big SUV. Saint had taken a job in personal security and had been lucky enough to get the same night off. We hadn’t seen much of each other in the past month, despite sharing an apartment in the city, and I was looking forward to spending some time finding out how his new job was going.

Once we were in the car, my sister Winnie turned to talk to me from the front passenger seat. “I heard Chief Paige is going to be at the ranch tonight to try and talk you into taking Nathan Hearst’s place at the Hobie firehouse after he retires this spring.”

“I already have a job,” I mumbled.

Hallie piped up from the driver’s seat. “You wouldn’t want to live in Hobie? Come on, O. You know you hate the city. You’ve gotta be dying to ride Gulliver again. I can’t even understand how you’ve stayed away from him this long.”

The thought of my paint horse waiting for a nice long trail ride with me made me antsy. He’d been one of the main reasons I’d finally agreed to run up to Hobie with my brother and sisters for the night. I was desperate to take him out.

“Not much action at the Hobie firehouse, I’d imagine,” I said.

Saint turned to look at me with a frown. “I thought you didn’t want any more action, brother.”

I grunted and turned to look out the window. He was right, and we both knew it. Saint was the only one who knew the shit I’d gone through on my last boat and how I was damned lucky not to have PTSD symptoms severe enough to make me unfit for a career in emergency services altogether.

But so far the job in Dallas had been fine. Nothing too big to deal with, or at least, nothing too serious on my shifts anyway. There had been a big apartment building fire one night after I’d gotten off work. If I hadn’t been already over my hours for the week, they might have called me in to help. I’d dodged a bullet with that one because several of my coworkers had gotten injured and had to get medical attention after the blaze was contained. I’d spent the following week putting in even more hours to make up for so many people being out recovering.