Page 55 of Controlled Burn
He dropped his gaze and shrugged faintly. No smile. No joke. Just a twitch of sympathy, maybe guilt, and something else she didn't have time to name.
Yeah. She was radioactive.
She turned back to the rig, teeth gritted. She wasn't going to cry. Not over this. Not over rumors. Not over the ugly fact that Watts had finally found a vein of power to sink her claws into—and had the whole crew tugging back.
Not over how Dean hadn’t said a damn word since yesterday.
Not over the gnawing thought that he might never speak to her again.
She pulled the aerial's cabinet door a little too hard, the latch clanking like a shot.
Maddox
He walked into his house and was met with silence.
Rachel didn't look up from her phone. She sat on the couch in yoga pants and a loose sweatshirt, one leg tucked under her, scrolling through Instagram like he wasn't even there.
"Zach's practice is at six," she said. "Don't forget he's got the orthodontist next Thursday."
No "hi." No, "you're home."
Dean stood there, gear bag still slung over his shoulder, faintly smelling of diesel, ash, and the ghost of her.
He showered hard, hot, and long. Scrubbed his skin red trying to wash the firehouse off him. Trying to scrub off memory. Off sin. But when he stepped out—towel slung low, steam curling off his chest—she still hadn't moved from the couch.
It wasn't just the lack of sex. It was the lack of care. Of presence. Of anything human left between them.
He'd stopped expecting warmth from his wife a long time ago.
What he hadn't expected was the quiet, dangerous relief he felt in its absence.
Because for once, he didn't want her eyes on him. Didn't want to feel her gaze when all he could think about was the sound of Talia gasping against his mouth. The way her body had opened under his. The way she had clawed at him, like she needed him to survive.
It wasn't just sex. It wasn't just a lapse.
It had felt like resurrection.
And that scared the shit out of him.
Because he'd done the thing he swore he wouldn't. The thing that wrecked marriages and careers. He'd crossed a line with someone under his command—with a woman who deserved better than backroom heat and hidden shame.
And yet…
Under the guilt, darker and louder, came something far more dangerous:
He didn't regret it.
The chief called him in that afternoon.
Dean knew the moment he saw Stark's face that something was off.
The blinds were drawn. The door clicked shut behind him with a little more finality than usual.
"Got a heads-up for you," Stark said, voice low, steady. "Off the record—for now."
Dean's pulse ticked up. "Sir?"
"One of your crew members has been talking. Nothing official. Yet. But she's stirring the pot. Says Cross is manipulative. Says she flirts to get ahead. That you're… soft on her."
