Two years in, and you’d seen enough fires to know when a situation was about to go sideways. You were confident, experienced, and—honestly—a little reckless. Rob, on the other hand, was still green, a rookie fresh from training, eager to prove himself. You had worked with him for a few months now, and the tension between you wasn’t just professional. Every glance, every heated argument in the field carried a spark. Metaphorical flames that sizzled under the surface of your interactions. Real flames didn’t even compare.
Rob was married, of course. That never stopped the chemistry, the unspoken connection that flared whenever you were forced into close proximity on missions. Neither of you acted on it—professionalism, respect, guilt—but it simmered, always threatening to boil over.
Now, present day.
The supply run seemed simple enough: deliver emergency firefighting equipment to a remote outpost cut off by the wildfire that had been raging for days. Easy, routine. You and Rob loaded the truck with boxes of gear, water, and protective equipment, joking about who would get the worst burns if the fire went rogue.
“Don’t get cocky, rookie,” you said with a smirk, slapping a box into the back.
“I’ve got this,” Rob shot back, grinning. That grin—so earnest, so infuriatingly confident—made your chest tighten in ways you weren’t supposed to admit.
By the time you hit the trail, the fire was already eating through the forest ahead. Smoke clawed at your eyes and throat, but you were used to it. Rob was tense, hands gripping the wheel as he followed your lead. “Almost there,” you said, pointing to a narrow path between charred trees.
Then the ground beneath the truck gave way. A weak patch of soil collapsed, and the vehicle skidded dangerously close to the edge of a small ravine. You leapt out instinctively—but a burning branch snapped and slammed into your leg. Pain shot through you like a lightning strike.
“Shit! Are you okay?” Rob yelled, running to your side.
“I… I think I twisted it,” you managed, grimacing. Your leg buckled beneath you.
“No way. You’re not moving alone,” he said firmly, crouching beside you. He slung an arm under your shoulders, pulling you up with a strength that belied his rookie status. “Come on. Lean on me.”
Every step was agony, but Rob refused to let go. The fire roared around you, sparks flying like deadly confetti, yet somehow his presence steadied you. His usual rookie nerves were gone, replaced by focus and determination. The tension between you—the unspoken pull, the chemistry that had simmered for months—was undeniable now, sharpened by the danger.
“You’ve got a death wish, you know that?” he said, half-laughing, half-gritting his teeth as he helped you limp along.