Page 53 of Controlled Burn
Her thoughts were worse.
Because now that it was done… she didn’t know what she was to him.
She didn’t know if she’d just torched her entire career for a man who couldn’t even meet her eyes.
And beneath all of it—the shame, the need, the ache—was something heavier.
Guilt.
Not just for breaking the rules.
But for wanting him.
She’d never crossed a line like this before and never looked twice at a married man. She believed in the sanctity of vows—believed people should stay, fight, forgive. Maybe because no one ever stayed for her.
She hadn’t dated since her dad died. Hadn’t trusted anyone to see her, really see her. Most guys her age seemed like boys playing pretend, more obsessed with her body than her mind.
But Dean? Dean was steady. Stoic. Responsible to a fault. A man who carried his guilt like a second skin.
He hadn’t pursued her.
She’d kissed him first.
And maybe part of her had done it because he looked so goddamn lonely. So starved for touch. For someone to see past the captain. Past the uniform.
She didn’t want to be a homewrecker. She didn’t want to be that girl.
But the pull between them had eclipsed her logic.
And now, logic was all she had left.
She dried off quickly, hoodie clinging to her skin, her pulse a wild thud against her ribs. She caught her reflection in the mirror—eyes wild, lips swollen, neck still marked faintly by his stubble. She didn’t recognize herself. Or maybe she did, for the first time.
Maddox
He stood in the hallway near the bunk room, breathing through his teeth, arms braced on the wall. The overhead lights buzzed too loudly. The building felt like it was closing in around him.
He should go home. But Rachel was there. And silence. And a pile of unopened mail and a too-tidy kitchen and a woman who hadn’t asked how his day was in months.
The firehouse had become his shelter. His punishment.
And now it was hers too.
He heard her footsteps before he saw her—quiet, slow, uneven. Not in boots. Shower sandals.
His pulse kicked up.
He turned his head.
Talia stepped into the hallway, hair damp, hoodie clinging to her still-pink skin. Her eyes lifted—met his—and stopped him cold.
Neither of them spoke.
The hallway stretched silent between them, heavy with steam and memory. She still smelled like his skin, a secret only he could sense.
He took a step—just one, toward her, before freezing in place. If he touched her again, he wasn’t sure he’d ever let go.
He opened his mouth to say something, anything—but her eyes dropped first.
