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When I woke up, I felt the loss of you much worse than I have in a long time. My body remembered yours, Seth, and it missed you with every fiber of its being.
Just like I do.
Wilde
(Unsent)
May turned into June and life seemed to be perfect. The divorce was final, I’d begun furnishing the house on the lake, and most nights found me naked and pressed up against Otto Wilde’s hard body.
During the day I spent most of my hours at the sheriff’s office preparing for our big summer festival, the Hobie Hootenanny, over July Fourth weekend. It was a huge event that pulled in people from all over the state for the long weekend. Lake house rentals were booked solid, the water was full of speedboats and pontoons, and every local farmer and craftsman was present to sell their prized creations. Music groups performed round the clock for four days straight and it was known all around as an event not to miss.
In addition to the usual Fourth of July antics like driving and boating while intoxicated, there would undoubtedly be damage to public property, violations of noise ordinances, illegal firework usage, and all kinds of other law enforcement challenges. This required us to bring in extra help, which meant lots of training and coordinating for the sheriff’s office.
Thank god for Luanne. She’s been doing her job for ages and knew exactly what we needed to do. I pretty much just followed along and did what she said. That particular afternoon I was busy going over the credentials of a few of the temporary security personnel we’d hired to assist us.
It wasn’t the first time I’d heard Otto’s voice over the emergency band, but it was the first time I heard his voice tight with fear.
“Responding to suspected arson inside tornado shelter at seventy-eight nineteen Abernathy.”
I immediately pictured Mr. Jones’s rusty old underground shelter. It was one of those ancient prefabricated cement boxes in the ground and probably had canned goods from the 1970s in it as well as highly flammable items like old polyester bedding and kerosene for lamps.
Otto was claustrophobic. Highly claustrophobic.
“Lu, I’m going to see what’s going on at Mr. Jones’s,” I said, quickly grabbing what I needed from my desk before bolting out the front door to my vehicle. “Call me if you need me,” I said over my shoulder.
When I pulled up, the largest of the two Hobie trucks was parked out front and the crew was gathered in the backyard by the shelter. I hustled out of my vehicle and approached the backyard. The smell of smoke was apparent so it obviously wasn’t a false alarm, but I heard two of the crew members laughing and ribbing Otto.
“Dude, it was your call, remember. That means you do it, Wilde Man.” I recognized the voice as a guy named Daevon we’d played soccer with in high school.
“Fuck,” Otto muttered, coming up from the last two steps of the shelter and into the summer sun. When he removed his SCBA mask, I noticed his face had black smudges on it, and I could see the remains of some burned-up items on the ground near the shelter’s entrance.
“What happened?” I asked.
The four firefighters turned to me, and I saw Otto’s face flush even redder than it already was from the heat of the day and the fire.
“Probably some kids pulling a prank,” Otto said. “Accelerant on a pile of blankets and paper. Luckily since most of the shelter is cement, it was mostly just smoke and easy to contain. Why are you here?”
“I…” I looked around, realizing he probably didn’t want me to call out his claustrophobia in front of his station mates. “I was just passing by and heard the call. Thought I’d lend a hand if needed.”
Otto knew I was full of shit. He’d always been able to see right through me.
One of the other firefighters placed a meaty palm down on Otto’s shoulder and grinned at me. “Stick around, Sheriff. You’ll get to see Wilde here climb a tree.”
I raised an eyebrow at Otto. “Is that right?”
“I’m making them lift me up on the ladder. I ain’t climbing shit in this gear,” he scoffed. His face had a grin on it so I knew it was nothing bad, but I still wondered what they needed to get in the air for when the fire had been underground.
The guys made their way back to the ladder truck and removed their turnout gear until they were back in the simple dark uniforms of the HFD. Otto’s shirt stuck to his body with sweat and his pants were gloriously tight on his narrow waist and full ass. His biceps pulled the fabric of his short sleeve cuff tight, and I could just barely see a peek of his lariat tattoo poking out. Miles of tanned Otto skin lay hidden underneath that uniform, and I imagined running my tongue along it later that night.
