Page 37 of Controlled Burn
Dean swallowed hard.
That calm. That instinct. Talia was more than good—she was fucking extraordinary.
Jake muttered something under his breath and backed off.
The extrication went textbook after that.
Dean oversaw the stabilization. Talia stayed with the patient. They cut the front posts, peeled the roof, and slid her out on a board with minimal resistance. Drunk, crying, but safe.
As the ambulance pulled away, Dean rounded the back of the rig where Jake was coiling rope.
“You disobey me on scene again,” Dean said quietly, “I’ll file the report myself. You’ll be off rotation by morning.”
Jake didn’t look up. “All because I tried to move a drunk lady a little faster?”
“Because you put ego over safety. And you made it personal.”
Jake finally turned, eyes cold. “This isn’t about safety. It’s about her.”
Dean’s spine stiffened. Jake smirked. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
“You’re not half the firefighter you think you are.”
“And you’re not half as subtle as you pretend to be.”
Dean stepped forward, rage bubbling just under the surface. “Don’t talk about her.”
Jake leaned in, grinning. “I don’t need to. Everyone’s already watching.”
Talia
She sat on the rig bumper, helmet in her lap, heart pounding in her chest. Her gloves were still tucked into her belt, one boot unlaced. She stared at the asphalt, trying to steady her breathing. Glass dust sparkled by her feet—a reminder of how close everything was to shattering.
She hadn’t heard the words—but she’d seen the posture. Jake, arms crossed, cocky grin. Dean, shoulders coiled, hands clenched—two seconds from snapping.
This wasn’t playful anymore. This was personal. And volatile.
She thought about the woman in the car—drunk, betrayed, screaming at the world for falling apart. The pressure in the air now matched the pressure in her chest.
And for one sharp second, she saw herself in the wreckage. Not as a victim. But as the catalyst.
She didn’t ask for this. Didn’t ask to be caught between two men puffed up with testosterone and tension. But the reality was plain: The firehouse was no longer just a job. It was a powder keg. And she was the spark. And once it caught, no one was walking away unscorched.
She wondered, not for the first time, whether she’d blow everything up or burn herself out first.
Chapter 15
Shadows After Shift
The station emptied like an argument unresolved—slow, heavy, and full of things no one wanted to say aloud. A shift packed with drills, friction, and that chaotic extrication call, the air inside Station 12 was thick—heavy with sweat, smoke, and a tension that didn’t leave with the rig. It clung to your skin, your clothes, your ribs.
Talia lingered in the locker room, towel draped over her shoulders, rubbing it through her damp hair. Her body ached—thighs, back, shoulders—from hours of hauling gear and crawling over wreckage. But that ache was nothing compared to the weight in her chest. That never washed off.
Jake had pushed the line again, harder than usual. Smirking during equipment checks, brushing too close during inventory, and cracking crude jokes when he thought no one else could hear. And on the call? He’d disobeyed Maddox in front of everyone, turning it into a pissing contest in the middle of a scene.
And Maddox—God. The way he’d grabbed Jake’s arm. Not loud. Not public. But hard. Controlled fury, like he was holdinghimself back with his last ounce of professionalism. His voice had stayed calm, but his eyes… those had been dangerous. She knew he wouldn’t let it slide next time.
Talia turned toward her locker, half on autopilot—and froze.
