"Come here." He pulls me against his chest, one arm banding around my waist and the other cradling the back of my head. His heart pounds against my cheek, fast and hard, and the steady rhythm starts to calm mine. His aftershave scent surrounds me, familiar and centering.
"I've got you," he says into my hair. "You're safe."
I nod against his chest, my fingers curling into his shirt. Around us, people are starting to move again, talking in excited voices about what just happened. But he doesn't let go. He holds me like I'm the only thing that matters, his hand splayed across my lower back, possessive and protective all at once.
Then his mouth is on mine.
No hesitation. No checking for witnesses. His hand tightens on my hip, pulling me flush against him, and his other hand slides into my hair. The kiss is hard and public and claiming. I tastesmoke and desperation and something raw I don't have a name for.
When he pulls back, his eyes are too dark. Too wild.
Around us, conversation stops. I feel the weight of a dozen stares, hear the sharp intake of breath from somewhere to my left. Sophie stands near the lemonade table, grinning at me with knowing eyes.
Brooks just claimed me publicly where the whole town could see. And he didn't hesitate. Didn't look around to check who was watching.
Heat blooms in my chest, spreading through every limb. He's not ashamed of me. He's proud to be seen with me.
But something's wrong.
I see it in the tension still locked through his shoulders. The way his jaw clenches. The way his eyes keep darting back to where the fire was, like he's checking to make sure it's really out. Like he's waiting for it to reignite.
"Brooks?"
"I need to get you out of here." He's not asking. He's stating. His hand finds mine, and his grip is too tight as he leads me toward his truck.
I catch Sophie’s eye as Brooks leads me away. She waves me off with a nod and a smile, pointing at Carla who is already pouring lemonade, then giving me a thumbs-up. I take that to mean they’ll wrap up without me.
The fire marshal has already arrived. Technicians are checking the lines. The crowd has mostly dispersed. Brooks opens the truck’s passenger door and helps me inside, but something in the deliberate care of the gesture makes my stomach twist.
He climbs into the driver's seat but doesn't start the engine. Just sits there with his hands on the wheel, staring straight ahead. His knuckles show white with the force of his grip.
I wait, not pushing. I've learned that Brooks needs time to find his words. That silence doesn't always mean distance.
Finally, he speaks. "I froze."
His voice is barely above a whisper. His hands tighten on the wheel until the leather creaks.
"What?”
"When the tank flared, for three seconds I couldn't move." He turns to look at me, and the devastation in his eyes hollows out my ribs. "I saw his face in those flames. Marcus. For three seconds, I was back in that hangar, and I couldn't breathe.”
"Marcus?" I keep my voice gentle. "Who's Marcus?
His eyes close. When they open again, pain stares back, raw and old and still bleeding.
"My best friend." The words scrape out of him. "Seven years ago. We were training a new crew at the base. There was smoke in one of the hangar’s adjacent storage areas. We couldn’t tell where it was coming from at first. I made the call to split up and sent Marcus in with two rookies while I handled the main hangar."
He stops. Swallows hard. His knuckles are still white against the wheel.
"The ceiling collapsed. He died trying to get those rookies out.” The grief in his voice makes my chest ache. I reach for his hand, and for a moment he lets me hold it. His fingers are cold, trembling slightly.
"Brooks, that wasn't your fault—"
"I should have gone with him." His voice hardens. "Should have sent someone more experienced. I made the wrong call, and he paid for it." He pulls his hand from mine, and the loss of contact feels like a door slamming. "And today I froze. What if next time I freeze for longer? What if it's not a propane line but something worse?”
"But you moved. You saved everyone here.”
"This time." His jaw locks, muscle jumping beneath stubble. "What about next time? What if you're there and I can't—"
