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“I’ll bring you back. You’ll get to hold her.”
“Sure. Whatever.”
He laughs and checks the time on his phone.
“Come on. Let’s start saying goodbye to everyone. I don’t want to be a minute after seven.”
I nod. I don’t blame him.
And I know I could suggest going straight there, to Bethanny’s house, instead of dropping me off first, but the truth is…I’m not entirely sure I’m ready to meet her.
February 11th
Garrett
Sweat runs down my neck and into the loose, soot-blackened collar of my undershirt. The fire wall is at least half a mile away, but the heat is just as intense as always. It’s the kind of thing that, if you haven’t faced it head on hundreds of times, you’d swear it would swallow you whole.
We’ve been fighting this beast for the last three days, and we’ve barely had time to sleep, let alone anything else. I haven’t been able to check in with my kids or Lauren, and it’s all part of my normal.
And my kids’ normal.
But Lauren? This is new for her. Being with someone who can’t even call you to say they’re okay. Someone who can’t ask you how your day was or offer you the support you need in any way.
It’s a big part of why my marriage to Bethanny didn’t work out. There were other factors too, but I know a lot of Bethanny’s gripes began and ended with my inability to be there for her.
I can’t help but wonder again…is my career the kind of thing that’ll be the kiss of death to every relationship I try?
Will Lauren eventually tire of waiting around for me, too?
A huge spike of panic shoots through my chest at the thought of that being the case.
I know it’s early. I know we haven’t been together long. But now that I’ve been with her, I don’t want to think about being without her.
I unzip the pocket on my utility pants and reach into the inside. I keep my phone there—just to have it—but I normally wouldn’t even consider taking it out in the field.
Wildfire moves at an unbelievable pace, and despite beating this thing back to a control line, I know better than anyone that it can be back on top of me in an instant.
Regardless, I open my texts, scroll to Lauren’s name and type out a tiny message that I hope carries a much greater weight than word count. I got the call to leave early Sunday morning, and I didn’t even get to give her a kiss goodbye. With my kids spending the night, we both decided it would be best if I took her home late Saturday night. By the time I got out of the house early Sunday morning with the kids and dropped them off at Bethanny’s with Blake, I didn’t have time to do anything else but head straight to the firehouse to join the rest of the crew and come out here.
Me: I’m busy, but I miss you. I hope you’re having good days.
That’s it. Without waiting for a response or a moment of hope or pondering, I put the phone back in my pocket and grab my water canteen out of the side pocket of the pack on my back.
Our observer from ICS is twenty feet away, writing his notes on his clipboard about our every response on this trip.
One wrong move could lose us both our qualification as Hotshots and, to be honest, our lives.
He’s taking a huge risk just by trusting our trainee asses enough to hang out with us this close to the trigger point.
“Alpha Squad!” Cap yells. “Let’s move! We’re gonna set up half a mile west and establish a line. Back-burn up the hill and try to get a handle on this thing.”
“Hell yeah!” Simp yells from thirty feet to my left, grabbing his shovel and ax and taking off toward the Cap.
I look to the guys behind me, confirming on the radio with Cap. “Good luck, Alpha. We’ll be on the ridge to your east, establishing a secondary line.”
“Ten-four, Bravo,” my radio squawks.
I turn to my guys and yell, “All right, guys! Grab your saws, let’s go! Hustle up, hustle up. We’re headed for the ridge to cut a line.”
“You got it, Supe,” Bridges affirms, tossing his chainsaw up on his shoulder and leading the charge. I wait to make sure all of my guys are accounted for and then take off at a run to head up the train.
We move fast but not so fast that we can’t keep up with the footing. It’s rough terrain—wild bush. And it’s the perfect fucking tinder for fires like this one.
“Watch your feet!” I call out behind me, dipping off the side of the ridge to cut across to the other side. The guys follow, calling out my warning behind themselves as they pop over the edge to make sure the message makes it all the way to the back of the line.
