Chapter 12
Rory
Morning comes quietly in the firehouse. Pale sunlight filters through frosted windows, dusting the concrete floors in gold flecks. The storm has burned itself out, leaving the world hushed and white and deceptively innocent.
I wake curled against Dax’s chest, my cheek tucked into the worn cotton of his T-shirt, his arm heavy and warm around my waist. For a split second, panic flares—but then I remember I’m right where I belong.
His thumb moves, slow and deliberate, brushing the bare skin at my hip like it’s been doing that for years.
I don’t move. I don’t breathe.
I just feel.
Last night doesn’t crash back into me—it settles. The careful touches. The way he looked at me like I was something precious and inevitable all at once. The way he stayed. The way I slept without fear for the first time in years.
“Morning, Red,” he murmurs, voice low and rough with sleep.
I smile before I can stop myself. “You’re awake.”
“Been awake a while.” His lips graze my hair. “Didn’t want to move.”
My heart stumbles. “Good reason?”
“Plenty.”
I shift just enough to look up at him. His eyes are soft, unguarded, the kind of look he never wears in daylight. Firefighter Dax is confident and commanding. This version—this one is the man who stayed. The man who cherishes me.
We lie there, snowlight climbing the walls, neither of us in a hurry to name anything.
Then the firehouse doors roll open.
Metal grinds. Voices echo. Boots stomp snow loose.
Dax stiffens beneath me.
“Oh no,” I whisper.
He exhales through his nose. “Give it three seconds.”
“Morning!” someone calls too loudly. “Hey—who’s in the spare bunk room?”
Another beat. Then—“Well I’ll be damned.”
I squeeze my eyes shut as laughter erupts. Loud. Relentless. The kind that echoes off cement and refuses to be ignored.
I sit up too fast, tangling myself in Dax’s arm and the blanket. My hair is a mess. My shirt—his shirt—has ridden up my thigh. I am painfully, mortifyingly aware that every man in the hallway is staring, the door hanging open and a smirk dancing on Ash’s face.
Ash’s grin is feral. Axel’s eyebrows are practically in his hairline. Someone wolf-whistles.
“Well,” Ash drawls, “guess Valentine’s Day worked out after all.”
I feel heat crawl up my neck. “Good morning to you too.”
Axel laughs. “Morning, Rory. Didn’t realize we were hosting sleepovers.”
Dax sits up slowly, deliberately, like he’s choosing his ground. He doesn’t move his arm from around me. Doesn’t try to hide anything.
That’s when I realize something important.
He’s not embarrassed.
He looks… pleased.
Ash leans against the table, arms crossed. “So. You finally gonna tell us, or should we just assume the obvious?”
Dax glances down at me. Checks my face. Gives me a second to pull myself together.
Then he looks back at them. “Assume whatever you want.”
Axel snorts. “Oh, we will.”
I laugh despite myself, ducking my face into Dax’s shoulder. “I’m never coming back here.”
“Liar,” Ash says cheerfully. “You love us.”
“Not right now.”
The teasing ramps up instantly.
“How long’s this been going on?”
“Place your bets—high school?”
“I told you,” someone mutters. “Told you he was gone the second she looked at him sideways.”
Dax finally smirks. “You all done?”
“Not even close,” Axel says. “So what’s the plan here, Hayes?”
Dax’s hand tightens at my waist, just enough to ground me.
“No plan,” he says evenly. “Just… us.”
Ash’s grin turns sharp. “Careful. That sounds like commitment.”
Dax doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”
The room goes quiet.
Not dead silent—but enough.
I lift my head, heart racing, and look at him. He’s not looking at the guys. He’s looking straight ahead, steady as a mountain.
Axel breaks first, laughing. “Well hell. Guess that answers that.”
Ash points at him. “You better put a ring on it, Hayes.”
My face goes nuclear.
Every instinct in my body screams to deflect, joke, run—but Dax doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t laugh it off. Doesn’t say someday or maybe or whoa, slow down.
He just shrugs. “Working on it.”
The room explodes.
I stare at him. “You are not.”
His mouth curves. “Didn’t say when.”
I swat his chest. “You are impossible.”
“And you love it,” Ash says.
“I absolutely do not.”
Dax laughs then—full and warm and completely unbothered. “She does.”
Axel claps his hands. “Alright, lovebirds. Coffee’s on. Rory, you’re officially responsible for Hayes smiling before noon.”
I slide off the couch, smoothing my hair, trying to reclaim dignity that left me somewhere around the wolf whistle. Dax stands with me, towering, solid, unapologetically close.
As the crew disperses, Ash pauses beside us. His tone softens just a fraction. “About damn time.”
Dax nods once. “Yeah.”
The firehouse empties into motion—coffee brewing, radios crackling, the day reasserting itself. I realize with a strange sense of wonder that nothing feels ruined. Nothing feels broken.
If anything, it feels claimed.
Dax leans in, voice low. “You okay?”
I meet his gaze. “I think I am.”
He smiles like that means everything.
We move toward the kitchen together, shoulders brushing, steps in sync. The snow outside gleams, the storm officially over.
And for the first time, the morning after doesn’t feel like a question.
It feels like a beginning.