Page 6 of Let it Burn
“I wouldn’t ask,” I murmur, “if I didn’t need it.”
Marla’s eyes soften. “You don’t need to explain. Go.”
The ride home is a blur of trees and buildings bleeding together as I drive on muscle memory. By the time I reach my apartment building, exhaustion claws at me so fiercely that my hands shake as I dig for my keys. I fumble them twice, drop them once. My fingers won’t steady. My breath catches in my throat. The lock won’t turn.
I try again, jamming the key harder this time, biting down on a curse. The simple act of getting inside has turned into a battle, and I can feel tears threatening to rise—not from fear, but from sheer frustration. I just want this day to end. I just want to—
“You okay?”
I spin around so fast I nearly stumble back against the door. Zeke stands at the bottom of the stairs, dressed in jeans and a plain navy T-shirt. He looks even better in the daylight—broad shoulders, rugged jaw, arms thick with strength that could crush a man or hold you like nothing could ever hurt you again. And those eyes—dark, steady, reliable—lock on mine like they already know the worst parts of me and don’t flinch.
I suck in a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. He’s gorgeous. Not in that too-pretty, polished way. No, Zeke McCoy is all rough edges and quiet fire—dangerous and safe at the same time. And what terrifies me most is how badly I feel it. How my skin heats under his gaze. How I suddenly want to lean in instead of run.
He’s carrying a brown paper bag, maybe groceries, maybe gear—I can’t tell. All I can focus on is him. It’s been so long since I felt anything but fear. But him? He makes me forget for a second.
And that moment of peace—it’s intoxicating. He takes a few steps up, careful, slow, like I might spook again.
“Want some help?”
I nod before I can stop myself. “The lock—it’s just being stubborn.”
Zeke doesn’t say anything. He just comes closer, holds out a hand, and waits until I pass him the keys. The door clicks open. Effortless.
I exhale a shaky breath and push it open. But I don’t walk in.
Instead, I glance back at him, the words tumbling out before I can second-guess myself. “Do you... want some coffee?”
He blinks, surprised. Then that quiet nod. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
I step inside first, my hand brushing the frame, my pulse still uneasy—but for the first time in a long time, it’s not dread curling in my gut.
It’s anticipation. And it’s replacing the dread. And that feels like its own kind of risk.
Chapter 4
Zeke
She’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, holding a chipped mug between her hands like it’s the only thing grounding her. And maybe it is. Her shoulders aren’t pulled so tight now. There’s color in her cheeks again. She’s still pale, still shaken, but she’s letting me in inch by cautious inch.
I’m trying like hell not to stare. Or at least, not get caught. But damn.
Even now, in those loose scrubs and faded socks, with tired eyes and shadows under them, Lena Quinn is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. It’s not just her face and her body, it’s the way she holds herself, like she’s been holding everything up for so long and she’s too damn used to it. There’s something breakable in her. And something unbelievably strong. And that mixture of vulnerability and strength is so dam hot.
I want to touch her, just to prove she’s real.
But I keep my hands wrapped around my own mug, giving her space.
She looks over the rim of her cup at me, lashes low, eyes searching. “Why’d you become a firefighter?”
Her voice is soft, curious. The question hits somewhere deep.
I take a breath, then another, buying time. “My dad was one. A good one. Town hero type.” I glance at her. She’slistening. Really listening. “He was great at saving people. Just… not great at being a dad.”
Her brow furrows, like she gets it more than she should.
“How so?” she asks quietly.
I stare into my coffee for a moment, watching the steam curl up and vanish. “He showed up for everyone—house fires, accidents, every damn community barbecue. He wore that uniform like a second skin. People loved him for it. But at home…” I trail off, jaw clenching. “It was like he left all his warmth out there. He had nothing left for us. Emotionally he was dead. Served in Iraq and was never the same.”
