Page 44 of Controlled Burn
“You’re a good guy, Ryan.”
He shrugged. “Don’t let it get around.”
They sat there for a moment longer, the hum of the building like a heartbeat. Kennedy walked past then, pink-faced and focused on her phone, refusing to make eye contact with Jake, who grinned at her and made a crude little finger-gun gesture behind Ryan’s back. Brooks drifted by next, shooting a look at the cluster on the bumper. “Y’all need a sign-up if you’re turning this into group therapy,” he said, not quite joking. “Some of us are trying to enjoy the leadership shuffle in peace.” He ambled off toward the engine, already texting.
Then Ryan stood and stretched. “Heading to the rec room. Brent and Reyes are arguing about who could eat more hot dogs. You want to see two grown men disgrace themselves in front of a microwave?”
She smirked. “Tempting.”
“Offer stands.” He walked off whistling, shoulders loose.
Behind her, Watts breezed by on her way to the laundry, lips curled in a sneer. “Just remember, Cross—everyone here pays for their mistakes. Some sooner than others.” She let the words hang before disappearing into the shadows.
Dean
From the second-story window of his office, Dean watched Ryan leave her side. Watched Talia lean back against the truck, bottle in her hand, lips slightly parted like she was catching her breath.
He turned away before she could look up.
The report in front of him—something about a training drill—had blurred hours ago. He hadn’t been able to focus since the inspection. Since the words no distractions started ringing in his ears like sirens.
Too late.
His phone buzzed on the desk. He answered out of habit, not desire.
His wife’s voice, thin and sharp, poured through the receiver. “You missed another dinner, Dean. I hope whatever’s keeping you is worth it.”
He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry. Things ran late. Inspection day.”
She scoffed. “It’s always something. You used to fight for this family. Now it feels like we’re just your layover between shifts.”
He had nothing left to say that wouldn’t sound like an excuse. She hung up first. Silence fell, loud as a slammed door.
But the second he heard Talia’s laugh drift up from the bay, everything inside him lit up and ached at the same time. He was losing his grip, and he knew it. He should be thinking about home, his wife, that never-ending distance. Instead, all he could think about was her.
He couldn’t stop thinking about the way she existed—how she smelled like smoke and calm, how she moved like she knew the station was watching.
The secret he was still carrying from the night she came undone in his arms.
It was an obsession, plain and simple. And it was killing him.
A knock.
Reyes.
“Got a sec?”
Dean nodded, grateful for the interruption.
Reyes stepped in, leaving the door half open. “I just wanted to say... I know things were tight today. But the crew held it together.”
Dean arched a brow. “That supposed to be a compliment?”
Reyes smirked. “Trying to be. Look, man, you run a sharp crew. It’s just weird sometimes. I’m giving orders to the same dudes I used to shotgun beers with.”
Dean didn’t smile, but the edge in his shoulders softened.
“And Hastings?” Reyes asked carefully.
