Page 144 of Controlled Burn
“You’ll be on administrative leave until the internal review is complete. Effective immediately.”
He tried to speak. Couldn’t.
She handed him a manila envelope. Inside: the report. Photos. Statements. Even Jake’s medical form.
“You assaulted a suspended firefighter on city property,” Stark said, voice flat. “We’re lucky Jake’s not pressing charges—yet.”
Dean’s breath caught. “He baited me.”
“Doesn’t matter,” she said. “You gave him what he wanted. And now HR wants your ass on a platter.”
Silence stretched.
Stark sighed. Sat. “I don’t know what’s going on with you,” she said. “But it’s been unraveling for a while.”
Dean swallowed hard. “I was trying to do the right thing.”
Her gaze softened for just a second. Then hardened again.
“Pack up. You’ve got until the end of the day.”
That night, Dean didn’t go home.
Rachel had texted once:Don’t bother coming back.No punctuation. No anger. Just a complete stop.
He ended up at a shitty motel outside the city. Paid in cash. No questions asked.
The room smelled like mildew and old cigarettes. He didn’t care.
He dropped onto the mattress, turned off the lamp, and stared at the ceiling.
He could still hear Talia’s voice. Could still taste her name. His hands ached from the punch. From wanting more. From almost losing her.
And in the silence—
He reached into the side pocket of his duffel. Pulled out a bottle he’d stashed months ago. The childproof cap clicked once. Twice.
He stared at it. Then snapped it shut and threw it across the room. It hit the wall with a hollow thud.
He didn’t cry. Didn’t scream. Just lay there. Dead inside.
Back at the station, Jake sat in the rec room, an ice pack pressed to his cheek, eyes blackened and lip split. He looked like hell. And loved it.
Brooks had already texted him a screenshot of Dean’s suspension notice.
Jake texted back:Told you he’d crack.
Brooks replied:They always do.
Jake chuckled. But deep down, something twisted.
Talia hadn’t spoken to him once. Not since the locker room incident. Not even a glare.
And worse—she wasn’t reacting. At all. She was calm. Calculated.
That unnerved him more than Dean’s fist.
Because if she wasn’t screaming, if she wasn’t scared—
