Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 39414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 197(@200wpm)___ 158(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 197(@200wpm)___ 158(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
I don’t blink. “For her.”
Saxon’s gaze drops to the flannel on Ellie’s body, then back to my face, and that look sharpens into something that could almost be amusement if it wasn’t so controlled.
“Five minutes,” he says. “Then my office.”
He turns and walks away like he expects obedience.
He gets it.
I lead Ellie to the storage room, ignoring the way Levi’s eyes follow us like he’s already scripting a group chat. Ellie keeps pace, jaw tight, shoulders tense. She’s trying to look like she doesn’t care, but her hand keeps clenching around her phone like she expects it to explode.
Inside the storage room, the air is cooler, packed with the smell of canvas and metal and antiseptic. Shelves line the walls with first-aid kits, flashlights, batteries, thermal blankets, hand warmers, and spare radios.
Ellie looks around, swallowing. “You’re… stocking me.”
“I’m preparing,” I correct, grabbing a duffel and tossing items in with practiced speed.
“For what?”
“For anything.”
She watches me, eyes narrowing. “You’re doing that thing again.”
“What thing.”
“That… alpha command thing.” She gestures at me like she can’t decide if she hates it or wants to climb me like a tree.
I zip the duffel halfway. “It’s called competence.”
“Mm-hm.” She leans a hip against the shelf, flannel riding up her thigh just enough to make my attention snag. “Do you always pack like you’re planning for the apocalypse?”
I toss in a flashlight. “If it keeps you alive, yes.”
Her mouth tightens. “You keep talking like someone’s going to hurt me.”
I stop long enough to look at her fully. “Someone is.”
Her face goes still.
I step closer, until the storage room feels smaller, until there’s only the two of us and the hum of the fluorescent light. “You don’t have to tell me everything,” I say low. “But you tell me the parts that keep you breathing.”
Ellie’s throat works. “Wyatt…”
My gaze drops to her mouth. “Say it.”
“Say what?”
“His name.”
Her eyes flash with anger and fear. “No.”
I hold her stare. “Ellie.”
She shoves off the shelf, stepping into my space like she’s going to fight me with her body if she has to. “I came here because I needed a place to stay,” she snaps. “Not because I wanted to drag your whole firehouse into my mess.”
“My firehouse is my mess,” I say. “My people. My resources. You’re under my roof. That makes you my responsibility.”
Her eyes flare. “I’m not your responsibility.”
I lean in, voice rough, unfiltered. “You’re wearing my shirt, sweetheart.”
Her breath catches. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why?” I murmur. “Because it makes you feel something you don’t want to feel?”
Her cheeks flush. “Because it’s—”
“Because it’s what?” I press.
She swallows hard, eyes flicking away for half a second. “Because you shouldn’t.”
I let a slow breath out, letting my gaze drag down her body again. “You answered a bride ad and walked into my cabin with nothing but a backpack and your pride. We’re past ‘shouldn’t.’”
Ellie’s lips part.
I don’t touch her. I could. I want to. But this isn’t the time. Not with her fear sitting under her skin like a bruise. Not with a threat circling.
I step back and zip the duffel closed. “Thermal blanket. Hand warmers. First-aid. Radio charger. Pepper spray.”
Ellie stares at the pepper spray. “Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“You think I’m going to mace you?” she asks, eyebrows raised.
I meet her gaze. “If you try, you better commit.”
Her eyes widen, then she lets out a sharp laugh despite herself. “God. You’re impossible.”
“I’m effective,” I correct.
She rolls her eyes, but the tension in her shoulders loosens a fraction. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet,” I say, stepping past her toward the door, “here you are.”
She follows me out, muttering something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like “unfortunately.”
The common room is louder now. The whole station is pretending not to stare while absolutely staring. Levi is already holding his phone like a microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announces, “I am now taking bets on how long before Cooper snaps.”
Sadie smacks Levi’s arm. “Stop.”
He ignores her. “Twenty bucks says he growls the words ‘touch her and die’ by sundown.”
Ellie’s head whips toward him. “He does not talk like that.”
Levi grins. “Oh, he will.”
I shoot Levi a look. He lifts both hands. “Just saying. I’ve seen his face when you walked in.”
Ellie’s cheeks flush again. She glares at me like it’s my fault my face betrayed me.
It is.
Saxon’s office door opens.
He stands in the doorway, gaze steady. “Now.”
I nod and guide Ellie forward. She hesitates for half a beat, then follows, chin lifted like she’s not intimidated.
Good. Saxon respects spine.
Inside the office, it’s cleaner than the rest of the station—file folders, maps, a bulletin board with shift schedules and training reminders. Saxon sits behind the desk without gesturing for us to sit.
Power move.
Ellie stays standing.
I stay standing.
Saxon’s gaze pins me first. “Talk.”
I keep my voice low. “There were boot prints circling my cabin. Not mine. Not hers.”
Ellie’s head snaps toward me. “You told him.”