Page 33 of Controlled Burn
The edge in her voice stopped him. She wasn't scared. She was furious.
And that made him even angrier.
He took a breath. Counted to three. This wasn't his battle. Not unless she wanted him in it.
"You good?"
She nodded. "Yeah. Just… tired of being reminded why we have to hide."
He wanted to reach for her. He wanted to touch her face, her wrist, her anything.
But the hallway lights buzzed overhead, and the walls seemed to have ears. And somewhere, Brooks was probably listening, cataloging every syllable.
So he just said, "Come on. You can't sleep; I can't sleep. Let's go clean the rigs."
She arched a brow. "Now?"
He shrugged. "Better than stewing in it.
Later – The Truck Bay
They worked side by side in silence, each rinsing tools and checking gear that didn't need checking.
The truck bay was calm, the concrete floor echoing with their movements. Outside, the occasional bark of a distant dog or hum of a passing car slipped in through the open side door.
Their hands brushed. Once. Twice.
She should've pulled back. Should've kept her head down and finished the checklist.
But every time his fingers came close, her whole body reacted like it remembered his touch.
Focus.
She was starting to understand why Maddox never let the line blur. Once it started… it didn't stop. It consumed. Each time, a jolt ran straight to his spine.
She turned to him finally, water dripping off her fingers. Her voice was quiet, rough.
"You ever wish you could just say 'fuck it'?"
He met her eyes. "Every day."
She exhaled slowly. "He thinks you'll get bored. That you'll move on."
Dean's head snapped up. "Jake said that to you?"
"Yeah."
He took a step forward, barely aware of doing it. "I would never."
Her brows lifted. "You'd never what?"
"Move on. From you."
The air between them crackled.
And that's when she looked down—at his hands, his forearms, the gear he held like it might break if he squeezed too hard.
"Maddox," she said softly, "we can't let this get sloppy."
