“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.
