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Oh, I trust him. The label says it all. I used to love whiskey back before Preston, and I cradle the glass in my hands. Inhaling through my nose, I breathe in the scent of it. It’s robust, full of flavor… and mixed with a hint of Hunter.

It’s his clothes, I realize. The clothes that I’m wearing, they smell like him. Like cinnamon and oak, the perfect balance to the whiskey.

“Cheers,” Hunter says, raising his glass.

“Cheers,” we all reply. The men exchange a somber look before tipping their glasses. I wonder what that’s about, but I know better than to ask. The mood is just now beginning to lift, and I don’t want it turning sour again.

I sip my whiskey. It burns going down, then warms me from the inside out. For the first time since I arrived on this mountain, I feel truly warm. I savor the flavor, the feeling, the rush of the alcohol hitting my system.

Hunter gives me an assessing look. “You’re doing okay with that.”

I nod, smiling. “Whiskey used to be my drink of choice.”

“Used to be?” Emmett asks.

I nod again. “When I was with Preston, I drank red wine. It’s what all the girlfriends and wives in the circle were drinking. Preston didn’t like it when I stood out too much. No, that’s not fair. I didn’t like standing out too much, so I just switched.”

Emmett and Beau glance at each other. I pretend not to notice. I can tell when I’m being judged. I’d rather not imagine what they’re judging me about.

The alcohol trickles through my system, loosening my tight belly, my hips, and my shoulders. I didn’t realize that I’d still been carrying so much tension. I guess it makes sense, though. I haven’t really had the energy to process the phone call with Mom just yet, and between that and this new environment I find myself in, it’s no wonder I’m on edge.

Feeling braver, I empty my glass and look at Hunter. “Would you mind if I poured myself another?”

“Of course not, help yourself.”

Grinning, I do just that. I pour myself a shot that’s a little heavy, but I haven’t filled the glass or anything. I sit back and kiss the glass, letting the whiskey swim in my mouth for a moment before sliding down my throat.

“Oh, this is good,” I murmur.

Beau’s ears turn a little red. Hunter grins at me. Emmett is still somewhere else in his mind, watching the light flicker on the surface of his whiskey. Sympathy pulls at my core. Whatever happened, whatever he inadvertently remembered by telling me about forest fires, is really sticking with him. I hope he gets good sleep tonight.

I should leave him alone. I look at the other two and notice again just how many tattoos Beau has. The others might have just as many under their clothes for all I know, but Beau’s run all the way down his arms to his hands, with some peeking out over the top of his shirt. I want to know what they’re all for.

Beau and Hunter both pour themselves another shot. Emmett shakes himself and downs his first shot in a single gulp, then joins the others for another. I can’t keep my eyes off Beau, and I think he’s beginning to notice. He gives me a sideways look.

“You have a lot of tattoos,” I say stupidly.

He nods. “Yep.”

“What are they all for?”

“For me.”

I stare at him for a moment. “Well, yes. Obviously. But I mean, do they mean anything?” I was going to finish that with “or do you just like being a human coloring book,” but if they do mean something, that would be callous. And I’m pretty sure they do mean something.

He sighs, then rolls up his sleeve. There’s a badge on his arm with flames around it and “WDNR” in the middle.

“That… that isn’t a ‘do not resuscitate’ tattoo, right?” I ask, cringing at the possible answers.

To my surprise, Beau chuckles. The sound seems to surprise him too. “No,” he says. “That’s Washington Department of Natural Resources. I got that when I first started fighting fires.”

He rolls up his other sleeve. I wasn’t done looking at his first arm, but that’s okay. We can move on if he wants to. He shows me a tattoo of a cartoon dragon with a flaming tail and he grins.

“That’s Charizard,” he tells me. “My buddy Paul dared me to get it. Kind of tempting fate. Get a fire-breathing dragon on your arm, fight fires. I don’t know, it made me laugh at the time.”

“It’s cute.” I smile at him, happy that he’s engaging with me. I’ve felt that he’s the most judgmental of the three of them, and it’s nice to just sit here and talk about him for a change. I point at another tattoo. “Is that a zombie Smokey the Bear?”

“Yep! Got that after my first wildfire.” His grin widens as he runs his fingers over the zombie bear.