Page 34 of The Fire Line

Harris dropped the wrench into his toolbox and started across the concrete. Jay followed—and stepped directly on Rain.

June gasped.

His boot covered most of the horse’s blue body and at least two of its legs.

Harris chuckled.

“You’re a bad person,” Jay said.

“Ain’t the one who stepped on her.”

June was already approaching with chalk and vengeance in her eyes. Jay retreated while she crouched beside the horse to assess the damage. Her eyes held the grim concentration of a trauma surgeon.

Harris continued toward the truck, still visibly amused.

Jay followed, smiling despite himself. Harris’s laugh remained an unreasonable reward for minor humiliation.

Harris unfolded the location map across the hood and anchored one corner beneath the toolbox. “Western route’s washed out past the creek. Have to come ‘round the east side.”

“The county map shows it open.”

“County map’s wrong.”

“Good. Love that. How much longer is that route?”

“Forty minutes, maybe. Ground’ll still be soft after yesterday. Park here and carry the gear the rest,” Harris said, tracing the map with one long finger.

“We’ll keep it light.”

Jay’s phone buzzed against the hood.

Miles.

He declined the call. Three boxes in a Brooklyn storage unit had waited since 2022 and could continue practicing patience.

Harris continued. “Creek bed ain’t worth getting stuck in.”

The phone buzzed again.

“Problem?” Harris asked.

“My ex has decided we need to have a conversation about a storage unit.”

“She still got stuff at your place?”

“He.” The correction came automatically.

Harris looked up, and the entire conversation rearranged itself around one syllable.

For one brief and exceptionally stupid second, Jay considered pretending he had been trying to say something else.

Heater. Heathen. Helium.

All entirely plausible in a discussion of Brooklyn storage.

Instead, he kept one finger on the map. “My ex-boyfriend. Miles.”

The pause was not long. Only long enough for Harris’s face to become more carefully blank and the ease left by his laugh to disappear behind the internal door he closed whenever something became too personal.