Page 50 of Controlled Burn
She’d never let him go.
Not now. Not ever.
Chapter 19
In the Ash
Maddox
The locker room door shut behind him with a soft thud, and Dean Maddox stood frozen in the bay, staring at his reflection in the engine’s chrome.
He looked like a man who’d just walked through fire—and not just the one they’d knocked down hours ago.
Phone in hand. Shirt stuck to his back. Pulse pounding behind his ears. He wasn’t breathing right.
Because he hadn’t come down. Not from the smoke. Not from the rush.
Not from her.
He’d touched her like he meant to wreck her—and now he was the one left in pieces.
His reflection didn’t judge him. It just stared back, hollow-eyed and clenched-jawed. A man who’d finally tasted the one thing he’d spent months pretending he didn’t want—and now couldn’t take back.
He flexed his hands, still tacky from gear checks, from sweat, from her. The scent of smoke clung to everything—his shirt, his skin, the insides of his lungs. But under it, he could still smell her. Still taste her. Like her memory had burned itself into him, sweet and corrosive.
God.
He’d lifted her onto that dryer like he’d been waiting his whole damn life. Tore down every boundary, every regulation, every scrap of self-control he’d clung to like a lifeline. It was a backdraft—he knew better, knew what could happen if he broke the seal, but he’d done it anyway, let the oxygen rush in and ignite them both.
And the way she’d opened to him—quiet, wrecked, eager—it had undone him, unraveled whatever was left of the stitching that held him together.
Now?
There was no going back.
Across the bay, Jake’s laugh bounced off the walls—loud, sharp, cutting through the haze like a slap. Something about a hockey game. Something vulgar. Something Dean didn’t want to hear.
He didn’t look up. Didn’t want to see Jake’s face, not after the things that asshole had said about her. Not after hearing her cry out in his arms, nails in his shoulders, whispering his name like it mattered. The thought of anyone else hearing her like that made his jaw grind. If she ever gave herself to someone else, he didn’t know what he’d do. He wasn’t sure he’d survive it.
Ryan’s voice followed—steady, calm, grounding. “You’re just mad you lost the bracket, man.”
Jake laughed louder, like a challenge.
Dean swallowed hard. The sound made his skin crawl.
Everything in the firehouse felt too close suddenly. Too loud. Too normal. Like nothing had changed.
Except everything had.
Reyes appeared from the kitchen, clipboard in hand, shoulders stiffening the second he saw Dean.
“You good, Cap?”
Dean nodded once. Tight. Automatic. “Yeah.”
Reyes didn’t press. He never did. Just gave a subtle nod, turned, and disappeared down the hallway, tension trailing behind him like smoke.
Dean exhaled through his nose and turned back to the rig, pretending to check a hose coupling. The guilt in his chest wasn’t tidy or righteous.
