Chapter 4

Getting close to a man who was professionally and personally guarded was going to be a challenge. I couldn' t just hang around the base forever. I needed a reason, a legitimate way to be in his orbit.

Back in my hotel room that night, I had Brenda do some digging. My fame had to be good for something.

"There' s a reality show," she said over the phone, her voice skeptical. "It' s called 'Grit & Glory.' Hugely popular. They take celebrities and put them through training with elite military and rescue units. The new season is already in pre-production."

"Who are they featuring this season?" I asked, holding my breath.

Brenda was silent for a moment. "You' re not going to believe this. The West Yellowstone Smokejumpers."

It was fate. It had to be.

"Get me on that show, Brenda," I said. "I don' t care what it takes. I' ll do it for free."

A week later, I was back at the base, this time with a full camera crew. The producers were ecstatic to have a star of my caliber. The other "celebrities" were a mix of a B-list action movie star, a former boy band member, and an influencer famous for her workout videos.

We were all lined up in the main hangar, dressed in identical, ill-fitting training gear. Johnson gave us the welcome speech, the cameras rolling.

"For the next four weeks, you will live and train as smokejumpers. You will be pushed to your physical and mental limits. Each of you will be assigned a primary instructor. They will be your shadow, your guide, and your worst nightmare."

He started calling out names. The action star got the redhead, Miller. The boy bander got a stern-looking woman. The influencer was paired with another young, handsome jumper. My heart hammered in my chest.

"Ava Monroe," Johnson called out. "Your instructor will be Liam Sullivan."

My eyes snapped to Liam. He stood at the side, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. If he was shocked or displeased, he didn' t show it. He just gave a curt nod. The producers were probably thrilled with the pairing, given the rumors already swirling from my "donation."

The training was brutal. Grueling hikes with 45-pound packs, endless push-ups in the dirt, learning to pack a parachute until our fingers were raw. Liam was a relentless instructor. He was professional to a fault, his voice always level, his feedback direct and impersonal.

"Monroe, your footing is sloppy. Fix it."

"Monroe, that' s not how you rig a harness. Do it again."

"Monroe, keep up."

He never called me Ava. He never acknowledged our first meeting. He kept a careful, professional distance, forcing me into close proximity while simultaneously holding me at arm' s length. The cameras were always there, capturing every strained interaction, every bead of sweat, every frustrated sigh.

One afternoon, we were practicing climbing. We had to scale a hundred-foot training tower. I was terrified of heights, a fact I' d kept to myself. Halfway up, my hands started to shake. My breath came in short, sharp gasps. The ground seemed to sway beneath me.

"Don' t look down," Liam' s voice came from just below me on the rope. It was steady, calm. "Focus on your next handhold. Right in front of you. That' s all that matters."

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the memory of falling. The wind whistling past my ears. The blackness of the canyon.

"I can' t," I whispered, my voice trembling.

"Yes, you can," he said, his tone softening just a fraction. "I' ve got you. I won' t let you fall. Just focus on my voice. Breathe in. Now breathe out. Good. Now, reach for that next hold. I' m right here."

His voice was an anchor. I did as he said, my movements clumsy at first, then more certain. I made it to the top, my body shaking with adrenaline and relief. The crew on the ground cheered.

As I collapsed onto the platform, Liam was there, unhooking my harness. For a moment, the professional mask slipped. His eyes were filled with the same raw concern I' d seen on the bridge.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice low, meant only for me.

"Yeah," I breathed, looking at him. "Thank you."

The moment was broken by a producer yelling, "That was great TV, guys! Pure gold!"

Liam' s expression immediately hardened. He stepped back, the professional wall slamming back into place. But I had seen it. Underneath the stoic smokejumper, the kind man was still there. And he was worried about me.