Page 35 of Controlled Burn
Jake Hastings stood at the center of it all, roped into a forced entry demo with two recruits. Shirt tight across his chest, sleeves shoved up, laughing like he owned the place. Dirty blond hair stuck to his forehead, tan arms flexing for the crowd like he was the star of his frat party. He jammed the Halligan into the mock doorframe, leveraging it open with a dramatic grunt. A loud crack echoed through the bay.
Cheers. Applause. The recruits ate it up.
“Textbook, gentlemen,” Jake called, tossing the Halligan aside like a mic drop. “That’s how you make an entrance.”
Someone snorted. Someone clapped. Someone swooned.
Talia rolled her eyes and headed for the lockers. But Jake caught sight of her and peeled off from the group, wiping his forehead with a smug grin.
“Hey, Cross.”
She kept walking. “Morning, Jake.”
“You see that? Clean breach. One try.” He jogged up beside her, nudging her shoulder. “Bet even Maddox couldn’t do it faster.”
“I’m sure he’s crying into his clipboard.”
Jake laughed. “Come on. You can admit it. Impressive, right?”
“I’ve seen better,” she said, not looking at him.
He cut in front of her, walking backward. “What, Captain Perfection’s still your benchmark?”
She stopped. “Is there a point to this, or are you just bored?”
His smile turned sharper. “I just think it’s a shame. Someone like you… stuck chasing rules and closed doors when there’s a whole lot more fun to be had.”
She stared at him. “I’m not a thrill ride, Jake.”
“Oh, I know. You’re a challenge. That’s what makes it fun.”
He winked and walked off, leaving her jaw tight and blood hot beneath her skin. Her pulse thudded with something sharp—irritation and something darker, more dangerous.
She wasn’t here to be a dare. She wasn’t here to be bait for locker room bets or frat boy bullshit. She was here because she earned it—because she’d bled and clawed her way through every obstacle her father’s shadow left behind.
In the corner, Brooks scrolled on his phone, eyes flicking up just long enough to catch the tension and catalogue it. Kennedylingered by the ambulance outside the hotzone, biting her lip, arms folded, eyes darting between the drill and her own nervous hands.
Across the bay, Dean watched it all from behind the rig, jaw clenched so hard she could see the tick in his cheek. He said nothing. But his eyes said everything.
Maddox
The moment the drill ended, Dean found Jake at the rig. The younger firefighter was wiping down tools, still glowing with cocky energy.
“Nice show,” Dean said flatly.
Jake grinned. “Just trying to keep the new guys entertained. Gotta build morale.
“Morale doesn’t mean running your mouth or making Cross uncomfortable.”
Jake leaned in. “Uncomfortable? I thought she liked a little attention. A girl like that doesn’t put all that effort into those tight uniforms just to be invisible.”
Dean’s hand tightened on the clipboard. Pressure, again, threatening to snap the plastic in his grip. “Watch yourself.”
Jake raised his hands, mock-innocent. “Relax, Cap. I’m just saying—if she wanted someone who knows what to do with her, she’d stop looking at you like a kicked puppy.”
Dean stepped closer, voice low. “You’re out of line.”
Jake smirked. “And you’re in denial.”
