Chapter 30
thirty
After a fire, the smell of smoke and burnt everything clings to your skin like a memory you can never quite wash away.
The locker room is blissfully empty. Every muscle in my body twitches with residual adrenaline as I start shedding my gear.
Stripping off my sweat-soaked undershirt, I toss it in the laundry bin. Every visible scar on my skin stands out under the lights. Some are tiny souvenirs from fires past, some not.
I step into the shower, letting the cold water soothe my overheated skin, thinking about how the hell I ended up here.
My dad was a chain-smoking, bourbon-guzzling rancher with a temper that could lay you out if you weren’t careful. He wasn’t cruel, exactly. Just... tired.
He’d built the ranch up from nothing, only to watch it all fray, coming apart at the seams when our mom left, leaving me and my three older brothers behind.
He was killed in a barn fire when I was fifteen. Even then, I was old enough to understand the difference between a spark and a slow, deliberate burn. He’d fallen asleep on a bale of hay with a lit cigarette dangling from his fingers, bottle of bourbon at his side.
I was told he never even woke up, just drifted off on a cloud of black smoke. The fire department showed up too late to save the barn, let alone him. The last of my childhood went up in flames while Dex, Rune, Ace and I watched from our front porch in silence, tears nowhere in sight.
After high school, I bailed as soon as I could, working odd jobs to put me through college until I came to the realization—thanks to Logan—that I could get paid to put out fires instead of watching them burn.
Firefighting was the first thing I ever gave a shit about. It made me feel useful, like maybe I was breaking the Saint family tradition of self-sacrifice, one call at a time.
As I shut off the water and grab a towel, I have the sudden urge to go check on Reyna.
I dry off, drag on a fresh T-shirt and jeans, and head down the hallway to Reyna’s room. Her door is wide open, but it’s empty. She’s not in the EMT office either. So I head upstairs to the kitchen, following the sound of boisterous laughter.
The kitchen smells like pizza and coffee. I round the corner to see her sitting at the table with a slice of pepperoni, one bare foot perched on the rung of her chair, the other tucked underneath her. She looks so much better.
Color flushing her cheeks, her hair is up in a messy knot on top of her head, face still soft from sleep. Other than the red scratch marring her cheek, she doesn’t look too much worse for wear.
Alan, the world’s most obvious flirt (aside from myself), is sitting kitty-corner to her. Not even trying to hide the fact that he’s checking her out, he’s throwing down jokes like he’s headlining at the local comedy store.
“So,” he says, grinning wide. “Will you let anyone take one of your pole dancing classes or…”
She laughs, eyes crinkling as she leans into his orbit.
A sharp pang of jealousy hits. I love her laugh. But I want to be the reason the world gets to hear it.
The image of her pinned beneath me, body trembling, is burned into my brain, right alongside all the other fucked up things I can’t seem to shake—like what I would give to be inside her right now.
“The only pole you should be sliding down is that one,” she fires back, pointing at the fireman’s pole situated in a corner across the room.
“Rude!” Alan huffs in mock heartbreak as he boops her on the nose.
It takes every rational part of me not to rush across the room and snap the fucker’s finger in two. I warned him not to flirt with her.
She bats her eyelashes with exaggerated innocence. “The last thing I need is you sniffing around my students, thank you very much.”
“It’s not them I’m after, sugar.”
The smile she gifts him with hits my solar plexus, nearly bowling me over.
Quickly, I cross the room, aiming for the coffee pot instead of Alan’s face.
Caught up in his banter, she doesn’t seem to notice me until I sit down beside her, making sure our arms brush.
The smell of her shampoo fills my head; the sight of her mouth catching my attention when she turns to look at me.
“Hey, Brex,” she greets, voice softening. “Glad to see you made it back in one piece.”
“Yup. Enough to be ready for round two,” I grin, taking a sip of my coffee, ignoring Alan’s not-so-subtle glare. “How’s your head?”
She lifts one shoulder, wincing a little. “I’ll live.”
“Good.” I take another sip, watching the way her eyes light up as she looks at me, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, lips curving into the sexiest smile I’ve ever seen.
Alan leans in, lowering his voice like he’s sharing a secret. “So, Reyna, what do you think about you and me...”
His words fade away as soon as he sees Logan stride into the kitchen like a man on a mission. Eyes sweeping the room, they zero in on our cozy scene.
Something dark flashes across his face when he sees how close Alan is leaning into Reyna.
I shift, pressing my thigh against hers, hiding my grin with my mug.
“Alan,” he barks, jerking his chin toward the door. “Go help wash the trucks.”
Alan blinks in surprise. “But I just—”
“Now,” Logan barks.
With a reluctant sigh, Alan pushes back from the table. “You got it, Cap.” He gives Reyna a wink as he stands. “We’ll talk later.”
Logan mutters something that sounds an awful like “the fuck you will” under his breath, muscle at his temple pulsing double time as he waits for Alan to clear the room.
Turning his attention to Reyna, the look on Logan’s face is a dead giveaway. He’s trying to play it cool, but I know him almost better than my own reflection.
“You need to go home.”
“What?” She sits up, straightening her spine. “Why?”
“I think it would be better if you went home to rest.” He crosses his arms over his chest, stubbornness practically bleeding from his pores. “You’ll be more comfortable in your own space. In your own bed.”
Casually sliding a hand under the table, I give Reyna’s thigh a soft squeeze and take another sip. Classic Logan. Can’t just say he’s worried about her—has to go and frame it like a tactical decision.
She sucks in a breath at my touch, but recovers quickly. “I feel good,” she argues, tossing what’s left of her pizza on her plate. “Great actually. Dave said—”
“Dave cleared you of a concussion. He didn’t clear you to come back to work.” Logan’s voice drops. “You took a hard hit. You need time to recover properly. And I want a doctor—a real doctor, not just Dave doing a quick assessment—to sign off before you work another day in my station.”
Reyna’s mouth drops open, then snaps shut. Eyes narrowing, I can see her protest gearing up, but Logan doesn’t give her the chance. “This isn’t up for debate. Brex is going to take you home.”
“I am?”
He cuts me a sharp look, and I shrug.
“But my truck—”
“I can have one of the guys drop it off later.”
“Fine.” Swiping a napkin over her pouty lips, she tosses it onto her plate. “Your station. Your rules. Captain.”
My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. If it were anyone else speaking to Logan the way she just did, there would be hell to pay. Not to mention a possible write-up.
A brief flash of anger is quickly replaced with a twitch of his lips.
Logan circles the table like a wolf stalking its prey, and the air in the room shifts. My hand stays right where it is on Reyna’s thigh as he plants both palms flat on the table, leaning in until they’re nose to nose.
“Any other place and time, Angel,” he rumbles, “and you’d be bare-assed and tossed over my knee in a heartbeat.”
Reyna’s thigh twitches under my palm—a tiny, involuntary jerk of surprise right before I feel her squeeze her thighs together. Her reaction makes my mouth water and my cock kick so hard I nearly choke on my own spit.
Holy shit.
When I lock eyes with Logan over her head, an understanding passes between us. It’s a veritable current, one of recognition and understanding that we’ve been honing for years.
Pupils blown wide, his mask slips long enough for me to see it all. The want, the jealousy, the barely contained need to grab her and claim her right here on top of this goddamn table.
And I know, in this moment, he means every fucking word he just said.
Leaning in close, I skim a breath over the shell of her ear as my fingers trace a slow circle on the inside of her thigh.
She shivers and sucks in a breath.
“Better do as he says, Pretty,” I murmur. “Trust me. You don’t want to know what could happen if he has to ask twice.”
Logan cocks his head at me, giving me a subtle nod.
Slowly sliding my hand up her thigh, I graze her center with my pinky. “Or… maybe you do.”
Reyna’s breath hitches. Ice-blue eyes dart between us, lips parted just enough that I can see the tip of her tongue. The flush creeping up her neck tells me everything I need to know—she’s just as turned on as we are.
Jaw set, Logan straightens. “Go pack.”
Giving her thigh one last squeeze, I reluctantly remove my hand. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”
She stares at Logan for a beat, something unspoken buzzing between them, before she pushes away from the table. “Fine. But this is bullshit and you know it.”
“It’s protocol,” he counters, though the way his gaze drops to her mouth says otherwise. He’s doing this on purpose. On the edge of reason. If he doesn’t keep her out of his sight, he’s going to break all his self-imposed rules.
“Whatever,” she huffs.
Brushing past him, she pauses, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. “You might be my boss, but off the clock, you don’t get to tell me what to do.” She places a hand on his chest, and his nostrils flare. “You’d do well to remember that.”
A slow, devious smile cuts across his face. “Keep telling yourself that, Angel.”