* * *
Linc’s next bite of sandwich turned to ash in his mouth as his eyes met Jacob’s. He didn’t look one bit ready to back down, defiant as always. But there was something else there beyond stubbornness that gave him pause—the same charged energy they’d had for years now, worse since...
No. He refused to think about that. No dwelling on since. Not here. Not now, and maybe not ever. Jacob was trouble, had always been trouble, and Linc’s only focus now had to be on getting him to change his mind for the sake of his mother, who had already lost so much. Jenna was truly good people, and there wasn’t much Linc wouldn’t do to take away her pain. She didn’t deserve this. First losing Big Mike to a heart attack three years back, then Wyatt, and now Jacob trying to break her heart all over again.
And fucking damn Jacob for letting him get blindsided by this news. He couldn’t have been the one to text?
You know why he didn’t. Fuck. There it was again. That voice reminding him just how badly he’d fucked up. And yeah, he knew he’d been scarce, doing what May and Jenna needed when he could, but also not hesitating to take a few gigs out of the area, just to put some miles between him and...
Fuck. Get over yourself, Reid. Quit stewing about shit you can’t control. He forced himself to look away, take another bite of sandwich. He’d get his chance to talk sense into Jacob soon enough.
And maybe this was another sign that those out-of-area gigs were the way to go. He’d done it once before. He could do it again, bounce around the West, put distance between him and everything Painter’s Ridge represented. He’d stayed after his dad died because fixing the place up, righting all his wrongs, had been a point of pride. That and it felt like the Hartman family had needed him. Wyatt had helped him get on with the smoke-jumping crew here again, after several years at other air bases, and it had felt like coming full circle to their teenage dream of being smoke jumpers together. Like maybe they’d have that and Linc could keep on ignoring Wyatt’s asshole side in favor of being a part of something. But now that something was tattered, a few worn scraps holding everything together, and he’d been wondering for months now if he should just pack it in.
“Maybe the kids will work out.” Ray nodded in the general direction of Jacob and the other rookies. “They’ve got some promise. Wyatt Hartman’s brother has balls of steel, I’ll give him that. No one would have blamed the kid if he’d yanked his application.”
“Mmm-hmm.” He knew better than to follow Ray’s gesture by looking back in that direction again or to get started on the topic of the Hartman brothers. “You get enough PT in this winter? You wanna run together Sunday morning?”
Linc had enough equipment at home and usually worked out alone, but he was worried enough about Ray’s ability to pass the fitness test to make an exception for his old buddy.
“Point taken.” Ray sighed. “Yeah, I could have done more. Let’s do it early, that way I can still get Betsy and the kids to church on time.”
“Leave time for some weights,” advised Garrick, another experienced smoke jumper who was sitting with them. Unlike Ray, the bigger man had easily churned out his exercises with his usual boundless energy. Friendly, he was on a first-name basis with darn near everyone, Linc included. “I’ll join you guys, give Ray some form pointers so that when Sims sees you Monday, you’re in fighting shape.”
“Sounds good.” Typical Garrick, inviting himself along, but Linc wasn’t going to complain. He didn’t mind the company. It was just weird, being back in the thick of team camaraderie after a long, too-quiet winter with all those thoughts of moving on plaguing him.
“Reid? A word?” Alder came over, his gait halting after decades of jumping had done his knees in, but his voice was as firm as ever. The base superintendent was an institution, and while he had plenty of capable staff under him, he ran a tight ship for the seventy-odd jumpers based out of Painter’s Ridge.
“Sure thing.” Brushing crumbs away, Linc stood and followed Alder to the edge of the room.
“I looked into that matter you brought up earlier. The Hartman rookie’s certifications are all in order. He did extra continuing ed classes over the winter too. Exemplary rec from his hotshot crew chief from last summer. Why exactly did you think he might be missing paperwork?” Alder’s shrewd eyes narrowed.
Damn it. It had been a long shot, but Linc had hoped Jacob’s well-known dislike of the classroom and his changeable, impulsive nature would mean some required certification in his record might be lacking. Jacob had bounced around the past few years, and to be fair, he’d collected good experience on various summer crews. However, his winters had been spent trying on different college programs and job options, to the point that the family all joked about his inability to stay put in any one situation. And not that he wanted to impugn Jacob’s character, but him missing one of the requirements would have been an easy way to get him kicked back to one of the safer crews. And now Linc was going to pay the price for questioning it, looking like an idiot.
So he went for the only other path that might work. Honesty. “His mother doesn’t want him here. Wyatt’s... It’s just too soon.”
Alder released a heavy sigh while he leaned against the wall. “I’m not unsympathetic to the loss of the Hartman family. Or you personally, for that matter. You guys went way back. Wyatt was a tragedy for us all. And I’m not discounting that loss, but this is one of the most qualified rookies in the class. He’s applied the last four years running after putting in time as a volunteer and then later paid, racking up the hours. To my mind, he’s more than earned his chance.”
“I understand.” Linc didn’t have to like it, but he did understand. And Alder was right. Jacob had earned a chance through hard work and long summers, but that didn’t mean that Linc was done trying to change his mind. Just meant that he wouldn’t try to go through Alder to do it. He could respect the hell out of Jacob and still know in his bones that this was the wrong choice for him.
“How about you? You ready? When we pulled young Hartman’s record, I couldn’t help but notice that some of your own certs barely squeaked in by the deadline. You seem fit enough, but what about up here?” Alder tapped his temple. “No shame in admitting if you need more time.”
“I’ll be fine.” Linc’s voice came out harsher than he intended, so he tried again. “I appreciate the concern, sir. My head’s in the game.”
God, he hoped he wasn’t lying, hoped he’d made the right call, sticking around here rather than moving on.
“See to it.” Alder nodded at him, then lumbered away back to Sims, who was at the head of the room, ready to call them to attention.
The afternoon was an in-depth tour of the facilities for the rookies and equipment inventory for the returnees, getting everything in order for the start of jump training. It was boring but necessary work, checking every connection, every strap, every piece of harness and rigging that had overwintered in the equipment lockers. They made a lot of their own equipment, and the industrial sewing machines were checked as well. Plenty of time for his thoughts to wander to Jacob, but he forced himself to focus on the task at hand—people’s lives depended on him doing a good job.