Chapter 2
Brett
M y chest burned as I pushed off the floor for the last time, muscles trembling just enough to remind me I wasn’t twenty anymore. “Time,” called Mac from the far corner of the training area, his stopwatch snapping shut. I let myself hit the mat, exhaling sharp through my nose as sweat rolled down the back of my neck.
"Good set," someone muttered nearby, but I barely registered it. My focus was elsewhere—somewhere deeper in the building.
On Maisy Frank.
I grabbed a towel off the bench and scrubbed it over my face, trying like hell to redirect my thoughts. The drill had been brutal, just how I liked it, but apparently not distracting enough.
As I raked a hand through my damp hair, silver strands sticking, her name kept circling back, scratching at the edges of my self-control. She’s here. In this station. Right now. Probably two hallways away, maybe three.
"Wilkins!" Mac barked. "Locker room's yours."
"Got it," I said, voice rougher than I meant it to be. I tossed the towel aside and headed out before anyone could ask what was eating at me.
The locker room smelled like wet rubber and old soap. Two guys were already there—Harris and Trent. They didn’t look up when I walked in, too busy swapping smirks while yanking on fresh shirts. Their voices bounced off the tiled walls, low but clear enough to catch every damn word.
“So, the Chief’s daughter,” Harris said, dragging it out slow, like he was savoring the sound.
"Wonder how she scored the admin job," Trent added, grinning. "Guess nepotism’s alive and well, huh?"
My jaw locked tight. I reached my locker in three long strides, gripping the cold metal handle harder than I should’ve. Don’t bite. Just change and get out.
"Bet she won’t last a week," Harris chuckled. "All that paperwork? Too much for a princess like her."
"Right?" Trent leaned back against the lockers, arms crossed. "She’ll probably have Daddy do it for her.”
"Shut it," I snapped before I could stop myself. “Have some respect.”
Both guys froze. Their heads turned toward me, surprised—maybe a little amused. I stared them down, holding their gaze until Trent cleared his throat and looked away, suddenly real interested in tying his boots. Harris muttered something under his breath, but neither of them said another word about Maisy.
I turned back to my locker, chest tight. My fingers fumbled with the combination lock, nerves buzzing hotter than they should’ve been. Maybe I’d overreacted. Maybe not. Either way, I wasn’t about to let them trash-talk her—not here, not anywhere. Not while I was around.
"Better watch yourself, Wilkins," Harris joked weakly before leaving. "Might end up her knight in shining armor."
"Drop it," I growled without turning. When the door slammed behind them, I finally let my shoulders slump, breathing deep into the quiet.
What the hell was I doing?
Sure, I’d agreed to look out for her while her dad was away on a conference, but I hadn’t agreed to stick up for her whenever station lug-heads brought her up in the locker room.
I stripped off my damp t-shirt, tossing it into the bottom of the locker, and grabbed a fresh one.
"Do me this favor, Brett," Geoff had said, voice low enough that no one else could hear over the hum of the station outside. "Just . . . keep an eye on her while I’m gone. She’s trying to find her footing, you know? I need to know someone’s looking out for her."
I’d nodded before he even finished. Of course I had. Geoff wasn’t just my boss; he was my friend. Hell, he’d been almost like family since I joined the department. But it hadn’t been the favor itself that hit me like a freight train—it was the way he said it. Like Maisy was fragile. Like she needed protecting.
"Yeah," I’d managed, my voice tight, betraying something I didn’t want him to see. "You got it. No problem, boss."
No problem. Right. Except now, pulling on my shirt, I felt like every nerve in my body was lit up, sparking against the edges of my skin. The thought of her somewhere in this building—maybe laughing, maybe frowning in that determined way she always did—was like a live wire running through me. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t professional . But damned if I could stop it.
I shoved my arms into the sleeves of my uniform, trying to focus on the crisp fabric instead of the memory of Maisy as a kid. Always with that beat-up sketchbook in hand, doodling in the corner while her dad ran drills. Freckles scattered across her nose like constellations, her front teeth too big for her grin back then. I used to ruffle her hair, call her "Kid" without thinking twice.
But she wasn’t a kid anymore. That much was obvious. Not even close.
Even though she was in her twenties now, I still felt guilty about my feelings for her. Shame twisted low in my gut as I buttoned up my shirt. What kind of man feels this way about his friend’s daughter? About the Chief’s daughter, no less? I was supposed to look out for her, keep her safe, not fixate on her. Not hope that I catch sight of her so I can notice how those black curls framed her face. Not obsessively plan the first thing I was going to say to her (so far, the best I’d come up with was “Hey.”)
Dammit, Brett. Pull yourself together.
I leaned forward, resting my forearm against the cool edge of the locker. The metal pressed into my skin, grounding me—barely. This was ridiculous. She was just a girl. Well, a woman. A woman who shouldn’t have any power over me, not like this.
I slammed the locker shut harder than I meant to, the clang echoing through the empty room. My jaw clenched as I turned toward the hallway, forcing myself to breathe. Get your head straight, Wilkins. You’ve got a job to do.
***
T he hallway smelled like burnt rubber and stale coffee, the usual cocktail in this place. My boots hit the floor heavier than I meant them to, each step echoing louder than the last. I tugged at the collar of my shirt, trying to shake off the heat still clinging to my skin from the workout, but it wasn’t just the workout. It was her.
I didn’t expect to spot her so fast, but there she was, right through the office window. Maisy Frank. Black curls falling loose around her face, head bent over a desk that looked like a tornado had hit it. Papers everywhere—sticky notes clinging to the edge of the desk, some hanging on for dear life. She was frowning, chewing on her bottom lip like it might give her the answers she needed. God help me, I stopped walking.
My grip tightened on the edge of the doorframe. She looked so damn earnest, like she thought if she just worked hard enough, she’d wrestle every bit of chaos into submission. Her fingers flitted over the mess, sorting, stacking, then undoing it all again. When a stray lock of hair slipped forward, she tucked it behind her ear without thinking, her hand trembling just slightly. Frazzled, but hopeful. Determined.
It was so . . . cute. I’d always known Maisy as a bit of a rebel. She broke rules, and struggled to keep her emotions in check. But looking at her like this, it was obvious she was doing her best to be all grown up.
I should’ve kept moving. Should’ve walked right past like I hadn’t seen her. But I didn’t. My feet stayed planted, my eyes fixed. The way her lips pressed together when something didn’t make sense. The faint crease between her brows.
"Get it together," I muttered under my breath. My voice sounded harsher than I intended, even to myself. But I didn’t move. Not yet.
There was something about watching Maisy work that hit me sideways. She wasn’t polished or perfect—not right now anyway—but that only made it worse. That raw determination, the way she threw herself into things even when she probably didn’t know what she was doing yet.
That’s when I noticed it. A teddy bear. Setting on the desk in front of her. For some reason, my heart pounded even faster.
"Forget it," I bit out, my hands curling into fists at my sides. "She’s not a Little." Like saying it aloud would make it true.
She wasn’t a Little.
Even though I’d had my suspicions for the past two years. Even though she seemed the perfect mix of innocence and rebellious. Even though, right now, she had a teddy on her desk.
Even though every time I saw her, it sent my Daddy radar into overdrive.
Nope. Not a Little.
Finally, I forced my legs to move, one heavy step after another down the hall. I didn’t glance back—couldn’t risk it. Every muscle in my body felt coiled tight, like I was carrying the weight of every single one of those damn papers on her desk.
***
L ater, when my shift was over, I was on my way out. I’d decided not to bother Maisy on her first day. I’d check in tomorrow, and see if there was anything she needed.
As I headed toward the exit, I heard Earl’s boots scuffed against the polished concrete floor, the sound sharp in the otherwise quiet hallway. I heard him before I saw him. The old man had a way of filling space, not with presence but with attitude—a grumble here, a muttered judgment there. Sure enough, when we crossed paths near the apparatus bay, he barely waited for my nod before opening his mouth.
"Chief's little girl, huh?" His tone was all gravel and vinegar, his lips twisting just enough to make it clear what he thought about "the new admin."
I stopped mid-step, jaw tightening. My hand flexed at my side, itching to curl into a fist or maybe slam against a wall. Instead, I kept my face blank, my voice flat. "Yeah. Maisy." I didn’t give him anything else to chew on.
"Figures," he said, scratching the back of his neck like the words were no big deal. "Must be nice, waltzing in on name alone. Some people have to work their way up."
"She’s working," I shot back, sharper than I intended. Damn it.
Earl raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching like he might smirk or push me further. But I didn’t give him the chance. I stepped past him, my shoulders brushing his just enough to make my point. My pulse hammered harder than it should’ve. I told myself it wasn’t worth it. Earl was like rust on an old truck—always there, always grating, but not worth the energy to scrape off. Still, the urge to tell him exactly where to shove his opinion burned in my chest as I walked away.
It wasn’t just his words. It was the idea of them sticking, spreading through the station like smoke after a bad call. Maisy didn’t need that, especially not on her first day. She deserved better than someone like Earl picking her apart when she wasn’t even around to defend herself. Hell, I wanted to defend her. Wanted to tell Earl that she wasn’t some spoiled kid playing dress-up behind a desk. That she had more grit in her pinkie finger than half the guys in this place. But saying it out loud would only fan the flames.
By the time I pushed open the back door and stepped into the evening air, my jaw ached from how hard I’d been clenching it. I let out a long breath, raking a hand through my hair. The lot behind the station was quiet, the distant hum of crickets replacing the steady thrum of voices and machinery inside. I leaned against my truck, the metal warm under my arm, and tried to shake off the tension coiling in my gut.
Professional. That word kept circling back, no matter how much I tried to dodge it. Chief Frank trusted me to keep an eye on her, not watch her like some lovesick idiot who didn’t know better. And I did know better. Didn’t I?
I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to ease the knot forming there. This was stupid. Dangerous, even. If anyone caught wind of it—of what? I didn’t even know what this was. An infatuation? A crush? Whatever it was, it had to stop. For both our sakes.
With a heavy sigh, I shoved off the truck and climbed into the driver’s seat. The engine roared to life, a low rumble that filled the quiet night. I gripped the steering wheel tighter than necessary, staring straight ahead. No more lingering looks. No more defending her in my head like she needed me to.
"Lines, Brett," I murmured to myself as I pulled out of the lot. "Stick to ’em."
I pulled into my driveway, gravel crunching under the truck's tires. The street was quiet, like most nights out here, just the faint hum of someone’s TV spilling through an open window down the block. I killed the engine and sat there for a second, gripping the steering wheel. Across the way, there were lights on in Maisy and Geoff’s house. She was home. Living next door to her was torture at the best of times. But right now, knowing Geoff had asked me to keep an eye on her, it was harder than ever.
My eyes drifted to the front yard—empty now, but memory had a funny way of filling the gaps. I could still picture her stretched out on a towel in that patch of grass by the oak tree, earbuds in, sketchbook resting lazily on her stomach. She’d been, what, sixteen? Seventeen? Too young for me to think anything of it back then. Or at least, that’s what I told myself.
"Christ," I muttered, shaking my head hard enough to feel the pull in my neck. I shoved the door open and stepped out into the cool night air, slamming it shut behind me. Enough of that.
Inside, the house greeted me with its usual silence. Dim lighting cast long shadows over the clean lines of furniture, the uncluttered counters, the neatly stacked firewood by the hearth. It was all order, precision. A space where nothing unexpected happened. That’s how I liked it. Needed it.
The phone rang sharp and loud, cutting through the quiet. I jumped, knocking an apple off the counter. It thudded once against the floor before rolling under the fridge. “Damn it,” I muttered, wiping my hands on a towel.
Marcus’s name lit up the screen. Just what I needed.
"Yeah?" I answered, already bracing myself.
"Well, hey there, big brother," Marcus said, his voice carrying that smug grin I didn’t need to see to know was plastered across his face. "How’s life at the station? Everyone behaving themselves? Or is it just one person you’re worried about?"
I exhaled slowly through my nose, leaning a hip against the counter. "What do you want, Marcus?"
"Can’t a guy check in on family?" he shot back, all mock innocence. "Although now that you mention it . . . how’s Maisy Frank doing? Heard she’s keeping things interesting over there."
"Chief asked me to keep an eye on her while he’s gone," I admitted, rubbing at a knot forming between my shoulders. "It’s fine."
"Fine," Marcus repeated, dragging the word out like it was some kind of joke. "Sure it is. Bet it has nothing to do with the fact you’ve been sweet on her since—"
"Don’t start," I growled, cutting him off.
"Since, what, she turned sixteen and started following you around like a lovesick puppy?" His laugh grated right down my spine. "Oh, come on, Brett. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice. She practically had your name scribbled in hearts in that little sketchbook of hers."
"She was a kid," I snapped, heat crawling up my neck. "And I never encouraged it. Not once."
"Right," Marcus drawled. "Because letting her hang around every time you worked on Dad's truck wasn’t encouraging her at all. Real smooth, bro."
"Are you done?" I gritted my teeth, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Don’t you have some paint to stack or something?”
Marcus ran the Wilkins Hardware, dad’s old shop on Main Street.
“Paint’s all stacked thank you. Lucy helped out today.”
Lucy was Marcus’ Little. They’d got together recently, and my brother had been irritatingly happy ever since. I was pleased for him, of course, but he kept poking me, telling me how much better life was with a partner.
“Well isn’t that convenient?”
“Sure is. You know, life’s much better with a team-mate.”
"Goodnight, Marcus," I bit out, ending the call before he could get another word in.
I tossed the phone onto the counter and stood there, breathing hard. My hand clenched into a fist at my side, nails digging into my palm.
He didn’t get it. She wasn’t just my neighbor. She was my friend’s daughter. She was nearly ten years younger than me. There was no way.
"Sweet on her," I muttered. My voice sounded gruff, even to me. The words grated as much as Marcus’s laugh had. He didn’t know what he was talking about. He couldn’t.
But damn if he wasn’t right.
The shrill wail of an alarm shot through the quiet evening, cutting off any chance at calm. My head snapped up. That sound wasn’t from the station—it was closer. Too close.
Instinct kicked in.
I grabbed my coat from the hook by the door, yanking it on with one hand while shoving my feet into my boots. The buckle fought me for half a second before I gave up and jammed them on as they were. Every muscle in my body hummed with urgency. I threw open the door, the cool night air slapping me awake, and sprinted toward the sound.