Chapter 3 Hux
HUX
Iwas being a creeper.
I knew that. I was standing in the doorway of the bunk room, still in full turnout gear, staring down at a sleeping woman like some kind of stalker. If any of the guys walked in right now, I’d never hear the end of it.
But I couldn’t make myself look away.
Allegra was curled up on one of the bunks, a thin blanket pulled up to her chin, dark hair spilling across the pillow.
In sleep, all the tension she carried in her shoulders was gone.
Her face was soft and unguarded, her lips slightly parted.
She looked younger than she did when she was running that kitchen, bossing me around, and keeping everything under control.
She looked beautiful. So damn beautiful, it made my chest ache.
I’d barely slept two hours before Captain called me back out. Another downed tree near Old Bear Ridge. A family was stranded in their car near the pass. An elderly couple’s heat went out.
I’d been running on fumes and adrenaline ever since, and now it was dark outside, and I was covered in snow and soot from a chimney fire that had gotten out of hand before we contained it.
I’d come back to the firehouse expecting it to be empty. The crew was scattered across town, waiting wherever they could between calls. Instead, I’d found her.
Someone must have sent her over to rest. Made sense—she’d been cooking all day, and the firehouse had been sitting empty.
Probably Kameron’s idea. I vaguely remembered hearing radio chatter about Elsa and Gabby heading back to the roadhouse to help with something, which meant they’d left Allegra here alone without realizing it.
I should wake her. Let her know someone was here so she didn’t freak out when she opened her eyes and found a man in the room.
But for just another moment, I let myself look.
This morning, she’d found me passed out on her counter. Made me food while I slept. Took care of me without being asked. Now here I was, watching her sleep, wanting to do the same for her. Wanting to take care of her. Wanting—
My helmet clanked against the doorframe as I shifted my weight. Her eyes flew open.
For a split second, she just stared at me—a massive figure in full firefighter gear, silhouetted against the dim hallway light. Her gasp cut through the silence.
“It’s me,” I said quickly, pulling off my helmet. “Just me. Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
She sat up, pushing hair out of her face, blinking like she was trying to remember where she was. “Hux? What time is it?”
“Late. After eight, I think. You’ve been out for a while.”
“Eight?” She threw the blanket off and swung her legs over the side of the bunk. “I need to get back. I’m supposed to be making dinner. People are going to be hungry, and I’ve just been—”
“Hey.” I held up a hand. “Slow down. The crew’s still out on calls. Nobody’s expecting food right this second.”
She paused, one hand pressed to her forehead like she was trying to orient herself. “The others left. Elsa and Gabby. They were here and then they were gone and I didn’t even notice.”
“You needed the rest.”
“I don’t sleep well in strange places.” She looked around the bunk room, at the row of narrow beds and the lockers along the wall. “I didn’t even notice when they left. I must have been more tired than I thought.”
I crossed to the bunk across from hers and sat down heavily, the mattress creaking under my weight. I was still in full gear—coat, pants, boots—and I should probably take it off, but I was too exhausted to deal with the buckles and clasps right now.
She studied me, her eyes adjusting to the low light. “You look terrible.”
“Seems to be a theme today.”
“Chimney fire?”
I looked down at myself, at the soot streaking my coat. “How’d you guess?”
“You smell like smoke.” She pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. “Bad one?”
“Could have been worse. Got there before it spread to the roof.” I leaned back against the wall, letting my head drop. “Hell of a day.”
“Hell of a storm.”
We sat in silence for a moment. The wind howled outside, rattling the windows. Inside, it was warm enough, the old radiators clanking and hissing. Dim light from the hallway spilled through the doorway, casting long shadows across the floor.
It was intimate in a way I hadn’t expected. Just the two of us, alone in the dark, the rest of the world buried under snow.
“Your parents still in town?” I asked. “With this storm, I mean.”
She nodded. “They live out past the old mill. Dad’s probably loving this—he stocks up for winter like the apocalypse is coming every year. Mom’s probably going stir-crazy.” A small smile crossed her face. “She’s not great at sitting still.”
“Sounds like someone else I know.”
She raised an eyebrow. “What about yours? Your family?”
I hesitated. This wasn’t a topic I usually got into. But something about the darkness, the quiet, made it easier to say things I normally kept to myself.
“My folks are back in Knoxville. We’re not close.
” I picked at a scorch mark on my coat. “I’m the middle kid.
Older brother was the golden child—football star, dad’s favorite.
Younger sister had health problems, so mom was always focused on her.
” I shrugged. “I learned pretty early that if I wanted anyone to notice me, I had to be funny. Be loud. Be the guy who made everyone laugh.”
She was quiet for a moment. “That sounds lonely.”
“It was.” The admission came out easier than I expected. “Still is, sometimes. But I got good at hiding it.”
“Is that why you moved here? To get away from all that?”
“Partly.” I looked at her, at the way the shadows played across her face. “Mostly, I just wanted a place where I could be something other than the family clown. Build something that was mine.”
Before she could respond, my radio crackled to life.
“—got a call from one of the roadhouse servers. Meghan something. Her heat went out, and she’s losing power. Says the snow’s piled too high for her to dig herself out, and her place is getting cold. Anyone available?”
I recognized the voice. Conner, sounding harried.
Then another voice cut through, sharp and immediate. “I’ve got it. I know where she lives. Heading out now.”
Wolfe. I frowned. Since when did Wolfe know where some server lived? And since when did he volunteer for anything that wasn’t directly fire-related?
The radio chatter continued for a moment—someone asking if Wolfe needed backup, Wolfe cutting them off with a terse negative—and then it went quiet.
Allegra was watching me. “Did he say Meghan?”
“She works at the roadhouse, right?”
“She’s one of our servers.” Concern crossed her face. “Sweet girl. I hope she’s okay.”
“Wolfe’s got her.” I clipped the radio back to my belt, still puzzling over his reaction. The guy barely talked to anyone on the crew, and now he was racing out into a blizzard to rescue a woman he claimed to know? “She’ll be fine.”
The interruption had broken something between us, but not entirely. We were still here. Still alone. Still sitting across from each other in the dim light while the storm raged outside.
She should get back. I knew that. She had work to do, people to feed. But I didn’t want her to go. Not yet.
“Stay,” I said. “Just a few more minutes.”
She hesitated. I could see her weighing it—the responsible choice versus whatever this was building between us.
“You’re not what I expected,” she said finally.
“What did you expect?”
She pulled her knees tighter to her chest. “Someone who doesn’t actually see me. Guys like you—” She stopped, started again. “Charming guys. Funny guys. They flirt with everyone. They’re not serious.”
“I’m serious about you.”
The words came out before I could second-guess them. They hung in the air between us, heavy and undeniable.
She didn’t say anything for a long moment. Her eyes searched my face, looking for the joke, the deflection. Finding nothing but the truth.
“I felt something this morning,” I said. “When I woke up and saw you standing there with that bowl of soup. I know it sounds crazy. I know this is all new. But I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
She was quiet. Too quiet. I’d pushed too hard, said too much, scared her off—
“I’ve never done this before,” she said. “Any of this.” She met my eyes. “I’ve never been with a man.”
The words hit me like a punch to the chest. Not because it changed anything. It didn’t. But because she was trusting me with something real. Something vulnerable.
“That doesn’t change anything,” I said. “Not for me.”
She stood up. So did I. We were close now, close enough that I could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the uncertainty in her eyes mixed with something that looked a lot like want.
She reached up and brushed her fingers across my cheek, tracing a line through the soot I hadn’t bothered to wipe off. Her hand trembled slightly.
“I want this,” she said quietly. “I just don’t know what I’m doing.”
I caught her hand, pressed a kiss to her palm. Felt her breath catch.
“Then let me show you.”
I kissed her. Slow, careful, giving her every chance to pull back. She didn’t. Instead, she leaned into me, her hands fisting in the front of my coat, and I felt something crack open in my chest.
This was it. This was her. The woman I’d been waiting for without knowing I was waiting.
And I was going to spend the rest of my life making sure she knew exactly how serious I was.