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 should remember Wade.
I should remember this is “temporary.”
Instead, I tilt my head and kiss him back like I’m starving.
Wyatt’s hand slides up the back of my neck into my hair, fingers tangling, controlling the angle like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. His mouth moves against mine like he’s writing a rule I can’t break.
When he pulls back, it’s only an inch. Close enough that his lips still brush mine when he speaks.
“Tell me you’re going back to him,” he says, voice rough. “Tell me, and I’ll let you.”
My breath comes out shaky. “I’m not.”
Wyatt’s eyes flash. “Say it again.”
“I’m not,” I repeat, and my voice is stronger now. “I’m not going back.”
Wyatt kisses me again, shorter this time, like punctuation.
Then a siren blares in the distance.
For half a second, it doesn’t register.
Then it does—because the sound cuts through everything in Devil’s Peak. It’s the sound of emergency. The sound that owns Wyatt more than I ever could.
Wyatt goes still.
His head turns toward the station radio on his belt like he can hear it before it speaks.
A crackle.
Then dispatch: “Devil’s Peak Fire & Rescue—structure fire. Possible occupants. Respond.”
Wyatt’s whole body shifts. Duty snaps into place like armor.
He looks at me, jaw tight, eyes still dark from the kiss, and something like frustration flickers across his face—like he wants to stay and tear the world apart for me, but he’s wired to run toward the flames.
“I have to go,” he says.
My throat tightens. “Wyatt—”
He grips my face gently—too gently for how hard he is everywhere else. “You stay inside. You lock the doors. You don’t open for anyone.”
My pulse spikes again. “You’re leaving me alone.”
His eyes harden. “Not unprotected. Call Wade—”
“He left this morning for Sacramento.”
“Call Captain—or Levi—they know what’s been going on.”
“I don’t want—” My voice catches. “I don’t want him here.”
Wyatt’s gaze goes lethal. “He won’t touch you.”
He kisses my forehead—brief, controlled, like a promise he can carry into fire.
Then he steps back, already moving, grabbing his phone, his keys, his jacket.
The bell over the door jingles as he strides out.
And suddenly I’m standing in my shop, wearing Wyatt’s shirt, lips swollen from his kiss, heart hammering in my chest—alone.
My phone buzzes in my pocket like a threat waking up.
I pull it out with shaking fingers, already knowing I shouldn’t.
The screen lights up.
No name.
No number.
Just a notification.
And the sick realization that the call didn’t just pull Wyatt away.
It pulled the only wall between me and Graham.
Chapter 11
Wyatt
The call comes in at the worst time possible.
That’s how it always works. Fire doesn’t wait until your life is convenient. It doesn’t care that my wife—temporary on paper, permanent in my blood—is standing alone in a shop her ex just turned into a battlefield. It doesn’t care that I tasted her mouth five minutes ago and promised myself I’d never let her be afraid again.
Dispatch crackles, and my body moves on instinct.
Structure fire. Possible occupants.
I don’t get to hesitate.
I run.
The drive to the scene is a blur of lights and sirens and muscle memory. Levi’s in the passenger seat, jaw set, eyes sharp. He’s quieter than usual, which means he’s taking it seriously. Saxon’s voice is calm on the radio, steady commands snapping the whole crew into formation like we’re one organism.
My hands are tight on the wheel.
My mind is split—half on the fire, half on Ellie.
She’s in my flannel. In my town. With my name. And a man with money and entitlement thinks he can still reach for her.
I can’t be in two places at once.
It makes me want to break something.
We handle the call fast. We always do. We’re trained for chaos. We move through smoke, find the source, clear the structure, confirm the occupants are out, and knock it down before it eats half the block. It’s brutal, hot work, the kind that drains you without asking. When it’s over, my gear reeks and my lungs burn and my adrenaline wants somewhere to go.
It wants to go to Ellie.
Saxon catches my gaze over the engine hood, sweat streaking down his temple. He doesn’t have to ask. He already knows my attention is somewhere else.
“Go,” he says, quiet.
I don’t argue. I yank my helmet off, shove my gloves into my coat, and head for the truck like my boots are on fire.
Levi follows without being told.
Of course he does.
We’re halfway to Devil’s Kiss when my phone vibrates against my thigh.
Unknown number.
I answer without slowing. “Cooper.”
Ellie’s voice hits my ear, tight and breathless. “Wyatt.”
My grip tightens on the wheel. “Talk.”
“He’s here,” she says, and the words are clipped, controlled, like she’s forcing herself not to crack. “Graham is here.”
My vision sharpens. The road narrows. Everything in my body goes cold.
“Where,” I grind out.
“In the shop,” she says. “He cornered me. He’s—” She inhales, steadying. “He’s talking like he’s doing me a favor. Like he owns me.”