2. Kane
Chapter 2
Kane
T he pounding in my skull is relentless, each throb a brutal reminder that I drank more than I should have last night. Sunlight slices through the blinds like a knife, and I groan, throwing an arm over my face as if that will make it stop. It doesn’t. My mouth is dry as sandpaper, and the stale scent of vodka clings to my skin.
But the hangover is the least of my problems.
It’s the memories that hit me next—blurry at first, like a bad dream clawing its way into focus. Then they snap into clarity with all the subtlety of a wrecking ball. Gracie. Her eyes sparking with fire, her voice sharp enough to cut glass, the way she marched toward me at Hooplas, daring me to push her buttons.
And I did. God help me, I did.
I sit up too quickly, the room spinning as I brace myself against the mattress. Remembering her lips on mine, her body pressed against me, the heat between us scorching every ounce of reason I had left. It wasn’t supposed to go that far. Hell, it wasn’t supposed to go anywhere. Yet here I am, the taste of her still lingering on my lips, her voice echoing in my head. This never happened .
I glance at the empty space beside me. Of course, she’s not here. She bolted, leaving me to pick up the pieces and try to figure out what the hell happened.
Dragging a hand through my hair, I try to make sense of it. One minute we were tearing into each other with insults, the same way we always do, and the next? We were tearing each other apart in a whole different way. A conference table, for god’s sake. Me and Gracie. That’s a line I never thought I’d cross.
I stumble to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face in a desperate attempt to clear my head. It doesn’t work. Her image is burned into my brain—flushed cheeks, wild hair, the way she whispered my name like it was something sacred.
Or maybe I imagined that last part. Wishful thinking has never been my style, but with Gracie, all bets are off.
Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I ask myself the question I’ve been avoiding: What the hell happens now?
I’ve spent the last year pretending she doesn’t get to me. Acting like I don’t notice every time she walks into a room, like her laughter doesn’t twist something inside me, like our arguments aren’t the most alive I’ve felt in years. But last night? Last night proved what I’ve known all along. Grace Fletcher is burned into my skin, and there’s no pretending otherwise.
Still, she bolted. Left me standing there, the determined tone of her words heavy in the air. This never happened. Like hell it didn’t. I could try and spend the rest of my life trying to forget the way she felt, the way she looked at me, and it still wouldn’t be enough to erase her.
My phone sits on the nightstand, and I glance at the screen, my stomach sinking at the sight of her name. No missed calls. No messages. Just the same name sitting there in my contacts, mocking me. I pick it up, my thumb hovering over her number.
What would I even say? Hey, Gracie, just wanted to make sure you’re okay after that thing we’re both pretending didn’t happen.
Yeah, that’ll go over well.
I drop the phone back onto the bed, pacing the space of my bedroom like a caged animal. Gracie isn’t someone you confront without a plan. She’ll take whatever you throw at her and send it right back, sharper, faster, with a smile that makes you question everything. She’s exhausting, infuriating, maddening. and somehow, I’m addicted to her.
This isn’t just about last night. It’s about the way she challenges me every damn time we’re around each other. The way she makes me want to be a better man, even when I’m too stubborn to admit it.
Leaning against the edge of the sink, I close my eyes, replaying her words. Her laugh. The way her defenses cracked, just for a second, before she bolted out of the conference room.
There’s no going back to the way things were. Not after last night. I don’t know what happens next, but one thing is clear, Grace Fletcher isn’t just a one-night stand. She’s in my blood, and I’ll be damned if I let her pretend last night didn’t mean something.
Whatever this is, it’s not over. Not even close.
I pull into the fire station, the engine of my truck rumbling beneath me as I park. My head is still pounding from last night, but at least I’ve showered and thrown on my uniform. The routine helps get my mind off her for a minute, though I know the second I walk inside, Hudson is going to give me hell. He’s always been able to read me, and after last night’s... incident with Gracie, it’s not like I’ll be able to keep a straight face .
I step out of the truck, slinging my duffel bag over my shoulder as I head toward the station doors. The morning is quiet, the kind of calm that doesn’t always last long around here. As I push through the doors and into the station, the familiar scent of coffee and metal hits me, and for a moment, I can almost relax. Almost.
Then I spot Hudson leaning against the counter in the kitchen with a cup of coffee in his hand, a smirk already curling at the corners of his mouth when he sees me. Great. Here we go.
“Morning, Kane,” he drawls, his tone dripping with amusement. He takes a sip of coffee, his eyes never leaving me. “You look like hell.”
“Thanks,” I grunt, dropping my bag onto the floor. “Glad to see you’re starting the day off with your usual charm.”
He chuckles, setting his coffee mug down. “Rough night?”
I shoot him a look, trying to act nonchalant, but it’s no use. He’s not going to let this go. “Something like that.”
Hudson raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans back against the counter. “Something like that, huh? Funny, I seem to remember a certain someone disappearing with Grace to the back room last night. Care to explain?”
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “Nothing to explain.”
“Right,” he says, drawing the word out like he doesn’t believe me for a second. “So, you two just had a nice chat, huh?”
I glare at him. “Drop it, man.”
But he just grins wider. “You know, I never thought I’d see the day when Grace would actually get to you. I mean, you two have been going at it for what feels like forever, but last night? There was definitely something different.”
I stiffen, trying to play it off, but the truth is, he’s right. Last night was different, and the fact that Hudson noticed only makes it worse.
“Seriously, man,” he continues, pushing off the counter and stepping closer, “you’re telling me nothing happened? Because from where I was standing, it looked like you two were ready to tear each other apart.”
“Just drop it, okay?” I mutter, my jaw clenching.
Hudson chuckles, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Sure, sure. Whatever you say.” He pauses, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studies me. “But you know, for what it’s worth? I don’t think Grace hates you as much as you think she does.”
I bark out a short laugh, shaking my head. “Trust me, she hates me now.”
Hudson shrugs, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “Yeah, well, hate and something else look pretty similar sometimes. Trust me.”
His words hit harder than I want to admit. Because deep down, I know he’s right. What happened between Gracie and me last night wasn’t just a drunken mistake. At least not for me. There’s something more there, something I’ve been ignoring for way too long.
But before I can dwell on it any longer, the alarm bell rings, cutting through the air and sending adrenaline surging through my veins. Hudson immediately snaps into action, grabbing his gear, and I follow suit, grateful for the distraction.
As we load up into the truck, I can’t help but glance at Hudson one last time. His smirk is gone, replaced by the focused, determined expression I’ve seen a hundred times before. But his words from earlier still linger in my mind, echoing in the back of my head.
Hate and something else.
The wail of the sirens echoes in my ears, the usual rush of adrenaline coursing through me as we pull up to the scene. It’s nothing major—just a routine call, smoke coming from a dumpster fire next to a small apartment building. We’ve done this a thousand times, and yet, my mind isn’t where it’s supposed to be. Not today.
As I step off the truck and pull on my gear, my thoughts drift back to last night. Gracie. Her name keeps flashing through my mind, like a neon sign I can’t switch off. The taste of her lips, the heat of her skin, the way she looked at me after… like she couldn’t believe what had just happened between us. Hell, I couldn’t believe it either. What the fuck is wrong with me?
“Let’s move!” the captain barks, snapping me back to reality. I grab the hose and head toward the dumpster, the smoke already starting to billow out of the lid. It’s not bad—just some trash that caught fire—but we need to handle it before it spreads. Should be quick and simple, but my focus keeps slipping.
The heat from the flames doesn’t compare to the heat of last night, the way Gracie’s body felt against mine. I push the thoughts away, trying to concentrate, but they cling to me, relentlessly. I can still hear her voice, the way she whispered my name, the way she bolted out the door afterward like she wanted to erase every second of it from her mind.
“Kane!” Hudson’s voice snaps me out of it as we move closer to the dumpster. I shake my head, trying to clear it, but the distraction lingers. My hands are on the hose, but my mind is tangled up in thoughts of Gracie—how I screwed up, how I let her walk away without a word, how I can’t stop thinking about her, even now.
Before I know it, I’ve made a mistake. Nothing huge, but I fumble with the nozzle, and the water pressure isn’t where it’s supposed to be. I correct it too late, a momentary delay that slows us down.
“Dammit, Kane!” Captain Morgan’s voice booms over the noise, sharp and cutting. “Pay attention! ”
I curse under my breath, my face flushing with embarrassment. I know better. My mind should be here, not on Gracie, not on the heat between us that’s still burning through my thoughts.
We manage to contain the fire, but as we head away from the building, the captain pulls me aside, his expression hard as stone. “What the hell was that back there?”
“I—” I start, but he cuts me off.
“You’re better than that, Mitchell,” he snaps, his eyes narrowed. “I don’t know where your head’s at, but it sure as hell isn’t on the job.”
I grit my teeth, nodding. He’s right. I screwed up, and I know it. “It won’t happen again, sir.”
He studies me for a moment, then nods. “Make sure it doesn’t.”
As he walks off, I let out a long breath, the weight of my mistake settling in. I know I should let it go, put it behind me and move on. But the truth is, I can’t. Because no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop thinking about her and about the way she made me feel last night.
I stare at the blackened dumpster, my jaw tight. Whatever this is with Gracie, I need to figure it out before it costs me more than just a reprimand. Because I can’t afford to keep making mistakes. Not in this job.
The day’s rhythm is finally starting to settle when my phone buzzes in my pocket, dragging me out of my momentary peace. The number on the screen is unfamiliar, but I pick up anyway, half-expecting a spam call.
“Kane Mitchell,” I answer, my tone casual.
“Kane, it’s Chance,” a familiar voice greets me, and I straighten in my seat. Chance Carter. Last I heard, he was neck-deep in arson training, prepping to ace his state exam.
“Well, if it isn’t the golden boy. What’s up, man? You finally coming back to grace us with your presence?” I ask, letting a smirk creep into my voice.
“Sooner than you think,” he says, a heaviness in his tone that puts me on edge. “I passed the exam early, thanks to my instructors, and they’re sending me back home. Guess there’s enough suspicious activity in Hibiscus Harbor to justify it.”
“Suspicious activity?” I lean forward; my interest piqued. “What’s going on?”
“A string of fires,” Chance explains, his voice losing the casual edge. “Dumpster fires, a warehouse blaze in Cedar Grove, and just yesterday, another yacht went up in flames down in Pelican Point. All of them are starting to look less accidental and more intentional.”
My stomach tightens. “Intentional? You think we’ve got a firebug?”
“Yeah,” Chance replies, his voice grim. “It’s not confirmed, but it’s not looking good. Captain Morgan’s letting me take the lead on piecing it together, though he’s still skeptical. He’s old-school, but he knows his stuff.”
I nod, already feeling the shift in the air. Fires like this don’t just happen, especially not around here. “And the yacht fire from last year? The one at the country club—what’s the deal there?”
“That’s the thing,” Chance says. “At first, it was written off as faulty wiring, but now? With these new fires popping up and all the accelerant traces we’ve found... I think it was deliberate too.”
The pieces click together in my head, like puzzle fragments forming an ominous picture. “So, what are we looking at here? Insurance fraud? Something bigger? ”
He pauses, his voice dropping an octave. “It might be bigger. There’s a chance it’s tied to the Torres crew.”
Vincent Torres. That name lands like a blow to the gut. Drug cartel, gunrunner, criminal mastermind. He’s been a ghost, always one step ahead of the law, and if his crew’s dabbling in arson now, we’re looking at a whole new level of chaos.
“Torres?” I say, my voice sharp. “You’re sure?”
“No,” Chance admits. “It’s just whispers and gut instinct right now, but if he’s involved, these fires could be part of something a lot worse than insurance scams. Could be a warning. Could be a distraction. Hell, it could be anything.”
I let out a long breath, trying to keep my thoughts from spiraling. Torres doesn’t play games, he plays war. If he’s in this, we’re already behind.
“Send me what you’ve got,” I say firmly. “I’ll help you dig into it, but Chance... if this is Torres, we need to tread carefully. This guy doesn’t leave loose ends.”
“I know,” Chance replies, his tone somber. “That’s why I need your help. I don’t want to screw this up.”
“You won’t,” I assure him. “We’ll figure it out.”
We hang up, and I sit there for a moment, staring at the phone in my hand. The fires, the whispers about Torres, the possibility of something bigger—it’s a lot to process.
My laptop hums to life as I pull up my email, waiting for Chance to send over the files. I’ve handled arson cases before, but this feels different. Bigger. Messier.
And if Torres is involved? It’s about to get a hell of a lot worse.