Chapter 5 Maddox
Maddox
Ikeep my head down as we move through the firehouse bay, the scrape of boots against concrete loud over the hum of the overhead fans.
The rookies—Riley, Marco, and Rhys—trail a step behind the older guys, shifting nervously with their hoses and gear, like they’re afraid the building itself will swallow them whole if they don’t measure up.
I don’t blame them. Being new around here means every second is a test, even if no one tells you.
Angela’s on the other side of the room, busy filing something at the metal counter.
She was transferred from another station a few months ago.
It’s official now—no more off-and-on confusion between us.
She’s sharp, quick to laugh, the kind of firefighter who can make everyone under her wing feel like they’re on top of the world one second and in trouble the next.
Everyone’s sizing her up, of course. New girl, hotshot reputation. She gets it.
“Morning, Maddox,” Rhys says, voice tight, like he’s trying not to look like he’s about to choke on his own tongue.
I nod, keeping my posture casual. My arm throbs faintly where the burn scrape still scabs, but there’s another ache beneath that—the one no one knows about. It twists along my side when I breathe wrong or lift too fast. The kind of pain that whispers warnings I’ve spent years learning to ignore.
I swallow down the taste of it, grab a painkiller from the small cabinet tucked near the bay doors, and brace my core. Can’t have Gabe Ashford thinking I’m weak. Not when ambition has claws this deep. Not when I have plans to take this firehouse over one day.
Captain Gabe’s voice carries over the bay. “Inspection first,” he says, hands on his belt. “Everyone knows the drill. Gear squared away, hoses rolled tight, trucks clean. Rookies, pay attention. You want to get through your first inspection without sweat dripping down your neck? Watch and learn.”
We move like clockwork. I check my turnout coat, then my helmet, then the truck’s compartments. Everything’s meticulous. Riley fumbles with the nozzle; Marco’s boots are scuffed; Rhys keeps muttering under his breath.
I make sure no one trips over themselves, but keep my distance enough that it looks like I’m just doing my own work. My side screams faintly as I bend to lift a hose. Painkiller doesn’t erase it, just dulls it.
“Lieutenant Maddox,” Gabe calls. I glance up. “How’s the arm?”
“Just a scratch,” I say lightly, flexing it. Nothing more. I don’t mention the deeper injury. Not today. Not ever. It’s a twinge, nothing anyone else needs to know about. My pride, my drive—both too stubborn to let me admit I’m human.
Once the inspection is done, the rookies shuffle to the far side, whispering. Angela crosses the bay to us, clipboard in hand. She gives me a knowing look, but it’s the kind that doesn’t demand confession. She’s seen me push too hard before. She’ll let it slide.
The morning briefing moves fast. Gabe’s voice fills the room, calm but commanding.
“Fire at the Johnson warehouse yesterday, cleaned up. Maddox’s crew handled most of it.
Good job, as always. Mayor’s visiting the town hall later, wants the new sheriff to meet with our town.
He was in here earlier today. Fresh face—young guy, can’t be older than thirty-five.
Pretty chill from what I hear. Might be interesting to see what he thinks about our work. ”
Riley’s eyes widen. “Driftwood’s got a sheriff now?”
“Yeah,” Gabe says. “But focus on your duties first. We’re cleaning up this fire site today, Maddox.”
I brace, slipping on my gloves. The rubble waits. My body protests, but I ignore it. Pain can’t define me—not when I’ve come from nothing, not when I’ve clawed my way into this firehouse family. I was raised on broken promises, in a house where loyalty was a foreign word.
Before this, I only had one family member I could depend on. My cousin taught me how to ride a bike once. Outside Liam, he was the only other person who got me, but Dante’s in prison now. A casualty of life’s hard edges.
That’s why this crew, this bay, feels like home. Everyone here matters. Everyone is family.
By the time we get to the cleanup, smoke still hangs in the air, dust mixing with the tang of charred wood.
My crew works in tandem. I supervise, but my hands do the heavy lifting.
Hoses, bricks, whatever needs moving. My arm burns faintly with every motion, and my side protests sharply when I twist to lift a beam.
I grit my teeth, swallow another painkiller, and keep moving.
The rookies flinch when I bend too fast; they don’t know it’s nothing new for me.
I glance at Angela across the site. She’s unloading a truck, moving with that same precision that makes her seem untouchable. The rookies are still gawking. I catch her eye and nod, acknowledging the silent conversation we’ve been having for months without words.
Once the last of the rubble is moved, I slump against the side of the firetruck, hands on my knees. Pain thrums beneath my ribs, but I keep my jaw tight. No one needs to know how much it hurts. Pride has a price, and I refuse to pay it with my ambition.
Later, the town hums around me as I walk down Main Street for a quick errand. I don’t usually get time to do my laundry and pick it up, so I’m glad I have the chance to do just that.
That’s when I see my best friend.
Millie’s leaning into the afternoon sun outside Driftwood Grocers, blonde hair catching the light like threads of spun gold. She’s in a soft green cardigan over a cream blouse, jeans rolled at the ankles, sneakers dusted with dew. Her basket’s half-full—milk, bread, a couple of things for the café.
My chest tightens without warning. Always her. Always this pull. Always watching from the corner of my life while she and Liam make sense in a way I never will. I force myself to step forward.
“Hey,” I say, keeping it casual.
She spins, surprise flickering in her green eyes. “Maddox.”
I drop my gear from my shoulders—my coat, helmet, gloves—and pull her into a hug. Her scent hits me, familiar yet… off. There’s something different, subtle, like rain on pavement, but sharper, sweeter than I remember.
“You’re out early,” I say, stepping back slightly. Her smile curls, warming the chill around us.
“Gotta pick up supplies for the café. You know—milk, the usual. Don’t tell me you’re on your way to town hall already.”
I grin. “Not yet. You going to the meeting about the new sheriff?” My tone is teasing, but inside, it’s like a coil of nerves tightens in my chest.
I’ve been low-key crushing on her for years, quietly, keeping it buried because Liam exists in her orbit. He makes sense. But that doesn’t stop me from noticing the way she tilts her head, the curve of her smile, or the way sunlight catches in her hair.
“Maybe,” she says lightly. “Depends on whether I have time after the café closes. I’m on clean-up duty today. What about you? You on duty?”
“Always,” I say, voice steady. “But I managed to grab a quick walk.”
I want to ask more—about her life, about Liam, about anything—but I know better. Always know better. I just settle for this. For the moment.
She laughs softly, brushing a bit of windblown hair from her face. The sound is like liquid sunlight. “You’re always on the move, Maddox. Ever stop?”
I shake my head. “Not really. Not until someone tells me I can. And you know Gabe—he’s not about to sit me down.” I smirk, hiding the sharp twinge in my side behind a casual posture. No one’s stopping me, not even the fire. I’ve learned that pain’s a detail, not a definition.
She tilts her head at me, curiosity in her gaze. “Still hurt from that fire the other day?”
I flex my arm, the scar on my forearm visible but nothing serious. “Scratch. Nothing that’ll slow me down.”
What’s under the surface stays there. I can’t let it ruin my shot at the top. My crew depends on me, and I can’t be the burden they never signed up for.
We fall into easy banter. She lets me talk her ear off about the video game Liam and I played late into the night, but there’s something different about her.
Something off.
When she asks if I want to come over for dinner tonight, and maybe we can do better than pizza, I automatically say yes.
Then I let her crush me into one of her warm hugs.
Every glance, every smile, every laugh reminds me that I’ve always wanted more, but I’m careful. Respectful. Liam makes sense for her. I’ll take the sidelines.
But I watch. Always.
Even when she’s walking down the street, sunlight catching her hair, I can’t stop the pull. It’s exhilarating. It’s confusing. It’s maddening.
And it’s mine to bear in silence as I brace my side, tend to my crew, and keep moving toward a future that I intend to carve out with my own hands, no matter what it costs.
It’s almost five when we head toward the town hall. The streets have that sticky, late-afternoon heat, and even in our turnout pants and shirts, I can feel the sweat creeping down my back. Angela falls in step beside me, her jacket under her arm.
I glance at her, and she hesitates before saying, “Hey… can I have a moment?”
I raise an eyebrow. It’s only the two of us now—the lieutenants in this firehouse, shoulder to shoulder in ways most people don’t get. “Sure,” I say, slowing my pace.
She drops her voice. “I was talking with the captain,” she starts, running a hand through those stubborn strands of hair that always seem to escape her bun.
“About the rise in small fires around town, like the warehouse you were just dealing with. I… I think some of it could be insurance fraud. Six weeks since the town was destroyed, but… people might be taking advantage. For fucking insurance claims. We’ve got to stay vigilant. ”
I nod. “Makes sense.”
“I suggested that we start after-work patrols.”
“The captain’s okay with it?”
“Yeah. But… we barely have the numbers.” She watches me carefully. “I didn’t want to overstep because this would mean longer hours. He said he would approve it if you and I agreed to it.”
“That’s fine by me.”
“Can I ask you something?”
I turn to face her. “What’s up?”
She lowers her voice even more. “Are you hurt?”
I feel my blood go cold as I straighten my features. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “Yeah. I think I pulled something yesterday, but it’s all fine. I’m on painkillers so that should be sorted once and for all.”
She nods once as she fidgets with a loose strand of hair. Then the words come, casual but loaded: “Now that I’m staying in town… does that mean we can finally have that talk?”
I stop in my tracks, just for a second, and look at her. My chest tightens with memory. We rose through the ranks together, switching firehouses more times than I care to count—her moving from Station Nine, me staying put, chasing the same goal.
Back then, late-night shifts meant late-night rendezvous. Chemistry that shouldn’t have existed, but it did. We had to stop hooking up when both our eyes were on the lieutenant position. There was no way I was jeopardizing my most coveted role, and neither was she.
Now, though? Now we’re both lieutenants. The conflict is gone. The rules have changed.
Now, we can choose to get back into our inappropriate workplace shenanigans.
Angela’s… pretty. Not Millie-level of pretty—hell, no one ever will be—but pretty enough to make me consider crossing a line I didn’t think I’d want to cross again. A woman who knows the job, knows the risks. Could it be so wrong to try?
I reach out and brush my fingers against her cheek, feeling the warmth. “Can we talk about it later?”
Her smile is subtle, but it’s there. She nods once. “Okay.”
And just like that, we step into the town hall.
I spot Liam first, sitting in a corner, fiddling with his phone. He lifts his head when he sees me, eyes wide. He’s been nervous about the town getting a new sheriff.
I rush over to sit beside him. My ass is barely on the chair before he decimates my whole worldview with just a few words.
“Millie slept with someone else.”
That is not at all what I expected him to say.
Time slows. My stomach flips. My chest tightens. The scent, the way she smelled different when I hugged her today… it all clicks.
I was so used to her smelling like Liam when they were fuck buddies. That was a tough enough pill to swallow. However, it never even occurred to me that after Liam and her called it quits, she’d move on and sleep with someone else.
“Who…?” I ask, voice tighter than I intend.
“I’m not sure,” Liam says. His face is pale, shoulders slumping. “I went home after we gamed last night. She wasn’t there… and then she came home, smelling like a man.”
I feel the sick, sharp twist of jealousy and confusion. Another man. Fucking hell.
I glance at Liam, who is devastated, and I realize he’s too wrecked to notice my own devastation mirrored back at him. That’s probably for the best.
Another man.
Who the hell is he?
Does she like someone else?
I swallow hard, leaning back in the chair next to him. I can’t even think straight. Millie, fucking someone else… and I’m here, pretending I’m fine.
But I’m not fine. Not even close.