Page 32 of Controlled Burn
She hated how fast the doubt slid in—sharp and quiet, like a splinter. And Jake saw it. Fed off it.
Her eyes flashed. "You don't know shit about me."
"I know a lot," he said, voice low. "I know he can't touch you in public. Can't show you off. But I could."
Disgust curled in her stomach. Her skin itched under his gaze.
Just then, out in the hallway, she caught a movement—Brooks lurking by the doorway, pretending to check the EMS board but watching the kitchen through the reflection in the glass. Always watching. Always listening. He gave her a stiff nod, eyes unreadable, then slunk down the hall like a shadow that never quite disappeared.
She stepped back. "Not interested."
Jake's smile cracked.
Then he laughed it off and threw up both hands. "Hey, hey. Just saying. If you get tired of the silent treatment… I'm not hard to find."
He walked off without another word.
But the air he left behind felt toxic. She exhaled slowly, trying to release the tension in her chest, but it clung to her like smoke. Brooks's presence still prickled at her nerves—like she was being cataloged for future gossip.
Just then, a soft cough echoed from the hallway, and for half a second she tensed—until Ryan appeared, yawning, half-asleep, rubbing his face with the back of his hand.
Ryan was the opposite of Jake. Where Jake was loud and cocky, Ryan was steady—good-looking in a quiet way, with shortbrunette hair, soft brown eyes, and a loyalty that didn't ask for anything in return. He moved with a calmness that made people feel safe—the kind of guy who always knew when to leave something alone—and when not to.
"Everything okay?" he asked, eyes flicking between her and the hallway Jake had vanished down.
"Fine," she lied.
Ryan gave her a look—one that suggested he didn't fully buy it—but he didn't press the issue. Just nodded and ducked into the kitchen for water.
She glanced toward the darkened bunkroom, where she could make out Kennedy's silhouette—backlit by the soft blue glow of her phone. Kennedy's voice was a whisper: "I know, Mom, I'll say my prayers before bed. Yes, I promise, Dad." A sigh, soft and small, as if she were trying to fold herself up and disappear under the weight of her parents' expectations. Talia almost envied that kind of simplicity. Almost.
For a second, she wished she could've talked to Ryan instead. But she didn't want kindness at the moment.
She wanted control.
Maddox
He spotted her the second he turned the corner—face pale, posture tight like someone had just pulled the rug out from under her.
"Talia."
She looked up. Too fast. Too guarded.
"What happened?"
"Nothing," she said, too quickly. "I'm fine."
His eyes flicked down the hall—just in time to see Jake disappearing toward the bunkrooms, and Brooks drifting after, his eyes already sliding away, mouth twisted in that half-smirk that always spelled trouble.
His jaw clenched. What the hell did he say to her? Who else was watching?
"What did he say?"
Talia hesitated. "It doesn't matter."
"Bullshit."
"Maddox."
