We slip away from the party with plates loaded with chocolate-dipped strawberries, cheese cubes, and an assortment of treats. The garage area is quieter, the party noise muffled by distance. The trucks loom in the dim lighting—massive, gleaming, impossibly red.
Elias helps me climb into the cab of the largest truck, his hand warm on my back as I settle into the passenger seat. The interior smells like leather and metal and something faintly chemical—fire retardant, maybe, or industrial cleaner. It's surprisingly comfortable, the seat worn soft by years of use.
He slides in beside me, our shoulders brushing, and hands me a chocolate-covered strawberry.
"So," I say, biting into the fruit and letting the sweetness burst across my tongue. "This is your kingdom."
"Something like that." He leans back, gazing out the windshield at the darkened garage. "I know it's weird—spending Valentine's at work. But this place..." He trails off, searching for words. "The guys here, they're family. Rodriguez gives me grief constantly, but she'd take a bullet for any of us. When you don'thave the most traditional home life, you find family where you can."
I nod, understanding exactly what he means. "Found family," I say softly. "Sometimes it's better than the one you're born into."
"Exactly." He's quiet for a moment, dipping a piece of bread into the container of melted chocolate we brought. "Can I tell you something? About my past?"
"You can tell me anything."
Elias sighs, running a hand through his hair. The motion makes him look younger somehow—less like the confident fire chief and more like the man underneath.
"Remember Destiny? From the registration office?"
Oh. That Destiny. The clingy one who covered her natural scent with perfume and couldn't take a hint.
"The one who was... very enthusiastic about reconnecting?" I ask diplomatically.
He snorts. "That's one way to put it. We dated. A while back." He pauses, staring at the chocolate dripping off his bread. "It was... toxic. Not physically or anything like that, but she was only interested in the image. Dating a firefighter seemed romantic to her. The hero thing, you know? She loved showing up at the station, loved telling people her Alpha was a first responder, loved the attention it got her."
"But?"
"But she wasn't interested in me. The actual me. The one who comes home exhausted and haunted by the calls that went wrong. The one who has nightmares sometimes. The one who isn't always heroic and brave—who's sometimes scared and unsure and just... human." He shrugs, trying to pass it off as casual, but I can see the old hurt beneath the surface. "She valued the hero image over the vulnerabilities. And when I tried to show her the real me, she didn't want to see it."
Another person who couldn't handle the reality behind the facade. Another person who wanted the shiny exterior without dealing with the complicated interior. Why does everyone keep doing this to the people I'm growing to care about?
"The fallout wasn't insane," Elias continues. "It's not like Tank's situation—no engagement broken, no dramatic exits. And it's not like Tank or Julian were even close to being interested in settling down back then. But maybe I was just... desperate to make something work for the sake of it. Because we're all getting older, you know? The Late Alphas pack. The ones who couldn't find an Omega. At some point you start wondering if the problem is you."
"It's not you," I say firmly. "It's never been you."
He smiles—a real smile, not the performative one he wears for the public. "Thanks, Sweet Rebel."
I set down my strawberry, turning to face him more fully in the confined space of the truck cab. "Can I ask you something?"
"Anything."
"Are you okay with this? The temporary arrangement?" The question has been nagging at me—whether any of them resent being thrust into this situation, whether they're going along with it out of obligation rather than genuine interest. "I know it started as a business deal, and I don't want?—"
"Yes," he interrupts, his voice steady and certain. "I'm okay with it. More than okay, actually."
"Really?"
"Really." He shifts to face me, his knee brushing against mine. "Maybe it allows me to also realize the potential I can have with someone who's actually respectful. Someone who isn't doing it for shits and giggles or because dating a firefighter sounds romantic." His eyes meet mine, warm and sincere. "Sure, we're technically faking it. But it's not like you're trying to use any of us. The arrangement worked in our favor—otherwise, youwouldn't be doing more than was absolutely necessary. You'd be keeping your distance, not showing up to firehouse fondue nights and drinking beer with my crew."
He's right. If this were purely transactional, I wouldn't be here. I wouldn't be eating chocolate in a fire truck at eleven at night. I wouldn't be learning their histories, their hurts, their hopes. I'd be doing the minimum required to fulfill our deal and nothing more.
But that's not what's happening. That's not what I want anymore.
"Rosemarie," Elias says softly, and I realize I've been staring at him while lost in thought.
"Hmm?"
"You have chocolate on your lips."
