“You got it, firecracker,” he said, his tone dipping low enough for me to feel it.
Halo – 1
DaVinci - 0
Every eye was on us. His crew was wondering if their golden boy was really about to let a five-foot firefighter son him in front of everybody. My crew was steady, waiting, knowing I had it under control. And somewhere in the crowd, phones were up, deciding if the headline was the house or this moment.
The firelight flickered across his face, shadows cutting across his jawline, making his eyes look like they were burning too. That little throb of interest stirred again, low and out of line.
I held his gaze longer than I should’ve, then stepped back to get my mind off whatever that moment was turning into.
“Good. Now stay behind the line and let me save what’s left of your house. Or you and handcuffs will become fast friends.”
I turned away, pulling my helmet down. Rodriguez was calling positions, and I had work to do. But I was rattled.
The smoke was clearing, but the imprint of his hand on mine wasn’t. It lingered, hot and heavy, even after I walked away. I didn’t know it yet, but that touch had already set something in motion neither of us could undo.
The next twenty minutes blurred into controlled chaos: smoke, heat, and the methodical rhythm of clearing rooms. I moved through the interior with Miller and Keith, flashlight cutting through darkness, calling out for survivors in a house that was thankfully empty. The gasoline smell was everywhere, proof that someone had wanted this place gone. By the time we confirmed the structure was clear and helped contain what remained of the east wing, my lungs burned, and exhaustion was setting in hard.
I emerged from the scene, pulling off my helmet. Sweat dripped down my temples as cool air hit my face. The fire was beaten. The house was saved, mostly. But it would take a lot to rebuild.
“Good work, Grant,” Captain Rodriguez said, approaching with soot-stained gear.
“House is clear. Definite accelerant. The fire marshal’s gonna have plenty to work with.”
“Halo, he asked to speak with you,” Tessa whispered in my ear, nodding toward where DaVinci stood.
I looked over. He was still there, watching the smoldering remains of what used to be his home. Part of me knew I should walk over there. Say something. Losing everything you own wasn’t a joke, even if you could afford to replace it. But the other part of me could still feel his hand wrapped around mine. I could remember how my body responded to his touch. That part kept my feet planted exactly where I was.
“I’m good,” I said, turning back to Rodriguez. “If he wants to thank the department, he can write a check.”
Tessa chuckled. “You so hard on these niggas.”
“Somebody has to be.”
I headed toward the engine, ready to pack up. No injuries, minimal damage beyond the east wing, and I’d reminded someone that fame didn’t make you exempt from the rules.
Time to go home, shower off smoke, and grab sleep before my hair appointment. But I already knew the problem—I’d be thinking about the way DaVinci Bryns looked at me, the way his hand felt on mine, long after the smoke cleared.
Sweet but sharp, that was the first thing I noticed about her. Not her size, not her rank, not even the fact that she had the nerve to put her hands on me. Just that scent cutting through fire and chaos, pulling my focus from everything else, the flames, my anger, all of it.
When she grabbed my shirt and yanked me back, my first instinct was to check her. Remind her who the fuck I was. But she didn’t flinch, and something in her face stopped me cold. To her, none of the things I thought mattered—my height, my money, my name—meant a damn thing to her. Most women saw me coming before I opened my mouth. The chains, the jersey, the height, they’d clock it all and immediately switch up. Their voices softened, and they offered calculated smiles, the look in their eyes indicating they were already planning their approach. It was the same routine every time—predictable and empty.
Not Lieutenant Grant.
I memorized her nameplate as quickly as I memorized her face. Five feet of brown skin and fire, moving through that scene like she owned it. She cut through the chaos without even trying, commanding the whole space, me included. Smoke clung to her gear, a few curls slipping from her bun, but she still looked composed. And when those almond-shaped eyes locked on mine,the authority in her stare had my whole body reacting before my mind caught up.
I was impressed. She wasn’t trying to impress me. She was just doing her job. And still, she got my attention. I hadn’t let a woman get that close in years, not since Devyn. After she died, I closed that door and never looked back. Ball, money, family, repeat. I didn’t have time for distractions.
But now, with flames eating through my house, all I wanted to do was know more about the woman who told me I didn’t run shit like I didn’t pay the mortgage here. I shook my head again. I needed to snap out of this haze.
She was fine as hell. That accent said she came from somewhere else, probably some small town that couldn't hold her. I watched her walk away, back straight, authority in every step, and made my decision right there. I was going to get this woman. Period. She didn't know it yet, but Lieutenant Grant had just become my priority. And when I lock in on something, I don't miss. Lieutenant Grant had just snatched all my attention, and she didn’t even know it.
I need a name.
“Dawg.” Chance walked up, shaking his head, already reading my face. Chance was my best friend and sometimes manager. We’d been friends since college at Duke, and I hadn’t been able to get rid of him.
“Man, don’t even start. As you can see, I’m not in the mood. Get Marsha on the PR shit and clean it up before it spreads.”
