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Brandon staggered up, breathing hard, one hand pressed to his ribs where the pain was already blooming hot and bright. Desiree caught him before he toppled, her hand gripping his arm.

He looked at her, blinking away the blood trickling from the cut above his eye, and tried to say something—anything—but only a cough came out.

She looked him over with eyes as sharp as the blade he’d just dodged. “You okay?” she demanded.

He nodded, sucked air, and managed, “He’s gone.”

“It doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t have come here by yourself,” she rebuked.

“I had to,” Brandon defended. “I needed to make him pay for what he did to my family.”

“He could have killed you—probably would have, if I hadn’t shown up when I did,” Desiree protested.

“You’re wrong. I had him where I wanted, but then you showed up. How did you figure out where I was?”

“Find Your Friend App,” she explained as she checked his side where the sleeve had been sliced open. “We shared our locations with each other because of the fires, remember?”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot about that,” he grumbled, then winced as she used a medical kit she brought with her to patch the cut on his forehead with practiced speed. Her hands shook as she worked, but her voice didn’t. “Did he say anything useful?”

Brandon nodded. “Admitted he killed my father. Said I was going to be next.” He left out the part where he threatened Desiree, not wanting to scare her.

She went still. “And now he’s in the wind. If you had just called in backup, waited for help, he would be in custody right now.”

“I wasn’t even sure he was going to be here,” Brandon told her. “It was barely a lead, but one I had to follow up on just to make sure.”

She let out a sigh as she put away her medical kit. “I called Sheriff Hart on my way here. He’s sending out a full unit to process this place.”

Brandon stood, still woozy, but steady enough to walk outside and get some fresh air.

When the deputies arrived, Brandon was standing on the gravel driveway, breathing through the ache in his ribs and the throb of blood above his eye.

“Now that someone else has taken over the scene, we can go back to discussing your poor decision-making. It was stupid coming out here alone.”

“Didn’t think I had time to assemble a committee,” he jested, trying to lighten the mood.

“That’s not funny,” she scolded as she placed her hands on her hips. “You knew what you were walking into, and you still came by yourself anyway.”

He turned to face her, every muscle in his body hot and tight. “Someone had to stop him. It was going to be me.”

She stepped close enough for him to see the tears gathered at the edge of her lashes, not yet spilled. “You’re not a cop, Brandon. You’re not that type of hero. You’re a fire chief with a barely healed leg, and apparently, a death wish. Why can’t you see how dangerous this was? You nearly got yourself killed. And for what? So, you could what—play vigilante and use your father’s memory as justification? And what if Waddell had gotten that knife to go deeper? You’d be joining your father at the cemetery. Do you think your mom could handle losing you, too? How about me? Is that fair to me—to lose you right after I found you?”

Brandon flinched at her words. He knew she was right, but he still couldn’t let go of how close he was to taking Waddell down. “You don’t understand. He was right there, Desiree. I had him. And then you walked in and⁠—”

“And what?” She snapped, her voice like a blade. “Saved your life? You think you’re the only one with something to lose in all this?”

He couldn’t answer. He wanted to, but the words locked up behind his teeth. He stared at the barn instead, at the lamp still burning inside, and remembered the cold press of the knife against his skin.

Desiree’s voice dropped softer now. “You think you’re the only one who’s ever been scared? You think you’re the only one who’s ever been so close to something that mattered, and then watched it slip away?”

He looked at her, really looked, and for the first time saw the exhaustion in her posture, the fear worn down to the bone.

“He said he killed my dad. He said he was going to kill me. And I—” He had to stop, jaw clenching, chest heaving once before he could go on. “I needed to end it. For my mom. For me. For you.”

She stepped in, the space between them gone in a heartbeat. “No. You wanted to end it because you can’t stand the idea of someone else fixing it for you.” Her finger jabbed the air. “You’re so stubborn, you’d rather bleed out in a barn than let anyone help.”

He started to say she was wrong, but deep down he knew she wasn’t.

They stood there, side by side, neither moving.