“Oh, she saved all that mad for me.” Jacob sounded weary, and Linc remembered what he’d said earlier about no one being proud of him. He wanted to be that person, wanted to tell Jacob how damn proud he was of the man he’d become, but couldn’t get the words past the terror in his heart. And Jacob could tell himself that Linc’s concern was all about Wyatt and Jacob’s mom and their disapproval, but Linc knew the truth—he was scared of something happening to Jacob on a personal level that he didn’t want to examine too closely and that he sure as hell wasn’t ever giving voice to.
“You worked hard,” he managed. Not quite praise or pride, but an acknowledgment nonetheless.
“Yeah, I did.” Jacob turned toward the truck. Linc’s mouth opened, about to say who knew what, something without permission from his brain, but then Jacob added, “See you tomorrow.”
His mouth slammed shut. Fuck. Not only was Jacob as off-limits as they came, but he was now a coworker, whether Linc liked it or not. And that meant that everything—everything—would go unsaid. It was undoubtedly for the best, but he still couldn’t stop the ache in his chest as Jacob drove away, the nearly overwhelming sense of loss.
Chapter Four
Damn Linc for getting in Jacob’s head all over again, getting him rattled. Even on his drive to the air base, after a night of fitful sleep following their conversation, he was still antsy. He’d revealed too much, practically begging Linc to be friendly again, go back to how things had used to be. But if he was honest, things hadn’t been good and easy between them in years. There was always this undercurrent of potential, something that could be and yet never was. But the past few months had been the worst of all, feeling Linc’s absence like a scab that refused to fully heal. He’d missed him and hated himself for doing the missing. It made him feel weak, and there was nothing he hated more.
And still he’d gone to him, asked him to come around again, and not just for Jacob’s mom. Almost like he was one of Linc’s rescue dogs, pathetically grateful for any scrap of attention paid to him. So yeah, damn Linc and his ever-present fucking nobility. No one did guilt quite as well as him. And the worst thing was that it was that same nobleness that made him so damn attractive—he was as loyal and steadfast as they came, solid and dependable, thoroughly incorruptible.
“Come on, Linc. One drink. What’s the harm, especially if no one knows?” He’d been on this quest ever since Linc took the time to teach him how to drive stick. He’d never been so grateful for learning to drive on his parents’ automatics as those few hours alone with Linc. And maybe he needed to give it up, but he’d seen the heat in Linc’s eyes too many times to let this drop.
“I’d know. And that’s enough.” Linc didn’t look up from stirring the firepit.
“I’d rather have fun than sleep alone with my high-and-mighty principles.”
“You might be old enough to buy your liquor these days, but you’re still a kid. A man’s only as good as his word.” Linc’s words landed squarely as a roundhouse to Jacob’s jaw, enough to have him recoiling, needing to shake it off.
“Does it ever cross your mind that maybe you gave your word to the wrong guy?” he asked, hating the edge to his voice. Fucking Wyatt. Always getting there first.
“Nope.” If Linc was lying, Jacob sure as hell couldn’t tell from the set of his jaw or the way he stared straight ahead.
He tried to take some solace in the fact that Linc had said he’d come to the party, had said he’d do better, because Linc did keep his word. Maybe today wouldn’t be so bad. Stomach more settled, he made a beeline for the free coffee at training, trying not to look around for Linc too much. Above the coffee table was the big board of names of the jumpers with the most jumps under their belts. Wyatt was way up there. Linc too. Jacob wanted his name up there in the worst way. He was going to make this work, no matter what anyone else thought.
Today’s training would begin with class time in deference to a packed day of preparing the rookies for their first jumps.
“Quick. Look like we’re friends.” Kelley followed him to the rows of folding chairs, looking far more awake than him with shining eyes and short hair more spiked than the day before.
“Someone overstepping?” He didn’t envy the harder road the women on crews always had. Not that he’d had the smoothest of rides as an out gay guy, but at least he didn’t usually have creeps hitting on him or questioning whether he could do the work at all.
“Guy over there implied I won’t be able to do the pack-out, saying 115 pounds might be more than I can handle over that distance. Suggested he give me private pointers.” She rolled her eyes as they took seats together toward the back of the room. “I’d rather not have to tell him no a second time.”
“Skinny one with the dark hair? That’s Ross. He was a friend of Wyatt’s from way back. You could probably bench-press him if you wanted. I might pay to watch you drop-kick him too.”
“I know, right? That’s what I’m saying.” Laughing, Kelley gave him a grateful smile. “Later today they’re assigning us to senior crew members as buddy jumpers for the duration of training. Lord, please don’t let them give me the weasel. Word is we’ll probably be paired up with them out in the field too.”
The smoke jumpers usually operated in small crews of three or four, getting shipped out together to various fires and tasks, working as a unit for much of the season. Like Kelley, he wanted to end up on a good crew, preferably one without drama or assholes.
“Maybe they’ll give you McKenna.” He named one of the senior women on the crew. “She’s good and she’s been around years. Ditto Pope. But not everyone’s like Ross. Plenty of good people. I can vouch for Linc—Reid—and Ray too. Their buddy Garrick Nelson’s a player, but not obnoxious about it.”
“Thanks for the heads-up. And I’ll repay the favor—our fellow rookie Jimenez was on the Winema crew with me. Don’t hook up with him—he talks.”
“Not looking to hook up with anyone.” It wasn’t a total lie—he’d learned his lesson early on about fishing where he worked. Fire crews worked too many long hours together. Some dating around was probably inevitable from the close contact, but it almost always ended messily. But while he had no intention of making a move on anyone else on the crew, he knew himself, knew Linc was different. There had been a moment last night, right as Jacob was about to leave, when Linc had almost wavered. And even knowing it would be beyond stupid career-wise, Jacob still wanted him, had still held his breath when Linc’s mouth had moved, had still known the sting when he’d said nothing.
And that blasted obsession reared its head again as soon as Linc took a seat a few rows ahead of them with Ray and Garrick. His eyes kept drifting over to Linc even as the lecture on basic jump safety procedures started. The instructor kept randomly calling on people mid-talk, just like this one history teacher he’d had in high school. Five other Hartman kids before him, and he alone was the one with the fidgety legs and restless mind that drove teachers crazy. And it wasn’t that he couldn’t pay attention—he could, hyper-focused at times, but other times it was like his brain couldn’t decide which of the nine million pieces of information it was receiving to focus on. He’d taken ADHD meds as a kid, found some focus in martial arts as a teen, but still did best with active, hands-on learning and struggled mightily in a traditional classroom setup. Even McKenna’s PowerPoint wasn’t enough to hold his attention.