Page 6 of Jagged Burn (Kidds Beach Fire Department #2)

Memories And Smart Mouths

Anna Alexander

The sheets smell like him.

Not in a creepy, oh-God-what-have-I-done way.

More like soap and cedar and something uniquely Stefan that I can’t put into words.

I’m wrapped in it, his shirt swallowing me whole, and for the first time in months—hell, maybe years—I actually sleep through the night.

No flinching awake to Sam’s fists, no pacing the floor praying I’d hear the door click shut when he left. Just deep, peaceful sleep.

When the sun filters through the blinds, I stretch and groan, my body reminding me of every bruise, every ache. My throat burns when I swallow, and my ribs scream if I move too fast. Still, it’s worth it because I’m alive and free. At least for this morning.

Voices carry down the hall. Stefan, low and gruff, and my brother Matt, sharper, impatient. I can’t make out words, just tones, but I can guess. They’re talking about me.

“Stop being paranoid, Anna,” I whisper to myself as I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. “They’re not plotting your death. Hopefully.”

The sweats Stefan gave me drag on the floor like I’m a kid playing dress-up. I knot the waistband three times before I give up, drop them to the floor, and pad down the hall toward the smell of coffee. The material of his t-shirt reaches almost to my knees so it’s not like I’ll flash anyone.

They go silent when I walk into the kitchen. Classic.

“Wow,” I say, tugging at the hem of the enormous t-shirt. “If you two ever get tired of firefighting, you’d make a killing as secret agents. Very subtle.”

Matt scowls. “Anna...”

“Nope. Don’t start.” I hold up a hand. “Not before coffee.”

Stefan smirks, the corner of his scarred mouth tugging upward in a way that does dangerous things to my insides. He sets a steaming mug on the counter and nudges it toward me. “Milk, two sugars. Still the same?”

For a moment I just blink at him. He remembers. After all this time.

“Yeah,” I manage, wrapping my hands around the mug. “Still the same.”

Matt clears his throat like he’s trying to reclaim the room. “You should have told me what was going on. You should’ve told me you were back in town, Anna. What the hell were you thinking? Living with that asshole?”

Here we go. Big Brother Lecture 101.

“What was I thinking?” I echo, my tone sharp. “Gee, Matt, I don’t know. Maybe I was thinking I fell for a guy who pretended to be Prince Charming until he turned into a psycho. Maybe I was thinking I didn’t want to drag you into my mess.”

His jaw tightens. “You’re my sister. You don’t get to decide what I can or can’t handle.”

“And you don’t get to decide how many times I should’ve left or how long it took me to call you.” My voice cracks on the last word, so I tip back the coffee like it’s armor. Hot, sweet, strong. Stefan’s gaze flicks to me, steady and grounding.

Matt throws up his hands. “You drive me insane.”

“Good. At least I’m consistent,” I reply with an eye roll. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

The corner of Stefan’s mouth twitches again, and suddenly I’m ten years old, standing at the edge of the football field, tossing out snarky comments just to see if I can make him laugh.

Back then, I told myself I was just bugging my brother’s best friend.

The truth? I’d been addicted to that half-smile since before I knew what addiction was.

Matt eventually storms out muttering something about checking in later. The door slams and silence settles over us.

“Subtle as a freight train, isn’t he?” I say.

Stefan chuckles, shaking his head. “He worries.”

“He lectures. There’s a difference.”

His eyes meet mine, grey and stormy. “You scared the hell out of him, Anna. You scared the hell out of me too.”

My throat tightens, but I force a smile. “Guess I’m talented that way.”

We sit at the counter, sipping coffee, not talking, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s ... charged. Every time our eyes meet, my stomach flips. Every time he shifts, the scarred side of his face catches the light, and he looks away, like he thinks I can’t handle it.

Finally, I can’t take it anymore. “You know you don’t have to do that, right?”

He blinks. “Do what?”

“Hide your face like it’s going to send me screaming. News flash, Stefan, I grew up with you. I saw you puke your guts out after chugging three bottles of warm beer at prom. I saw you cry when your dog got hit by a car. You really think a few scars are going to scare me off?”

Color creeps up his neck. “It’s more than a few scars, Anna.”

I shrug. “Then I guess I’m into monsters.”

The look he gives me is equal parts shock and something darker, something that makes heat curl low in my belly. I sip my coffee to cover the fact that I’m blushing like a damn teenager. To break the tension, I lean back on the stool. “Remember the summer you tried to teach me to swim?”

His lips twitch. “You mean the summer you almost drowned me because you refused to admit you didn’t know how?”

“Details, details.” I wave a hand in the air. “My point is, you didn’t give up on me, even when I was being a brat. You stuck it out. And I didn’t forget that.”

He studies me like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. “You were always tougher than people gave you credit for.”

“Tell that to my bruises,” I mutter.

His jaw flexes. For a second I think he’s going to get up and punch a wall, but instead he reaches across the counter, covers my hand with his. His palm is warm, rough, calloused, scarred. I should flinch. Instead, I squeeze back.

The air between us shifts. He doesn’t pull away and neither do I.

My heart’s beating way too fast, and I know—God, I know—I should slow down. I’m fresh out of a nightmare, I’m still wearing the bruises to fucking prove it. And he’s still carrying his own. But all I can think about is how safe his hand feels on mine. How it feels like home.

I could have died last night but I survived. I won’t let anyone hurt me again, but I also won’t let that experience keep me from moving forward and living my life. The only thing I can do moving forward is make better choices.

I clear my throat. “So, uh ... what’s the plan? Am I supposed to hide out here until Sam gets bored and moves on to his next victim?”

Stefan’s expression hardens. “Not happening. You’re not going back there. Not ever.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” I shoot back. “But what, then? You going to lock me in your house like some damsel in distress?”

“If that’s what it takes to keep you safe.” The intensity in his voice makes my pulse jump.

I smirk to cover it. “Careful, Grey. You’re starting to sound like a knight in shining whatever.”

He finally smiles—really smiles—and the scar pulls with it. It should look twisted. It should scare me. Instead, it makes my chest ache in the best conceivable way.

“Not much of a knight,” he mutters.

“Good. I always thought knights were overrated.”

We hold each other’s gaze a beat too long. My breath hitches, his eyes drop to my mouth, and for one reckless second, I think he’s going to kiss me. I want him to. God help me, I want him to.

But then he stands abruptly, breaking the moment. “I’ll call the chief, let him know what happened. We’ll figure out next steps after that.”

I nod, trying not to look as disappointed as I feel. Figures. Stefan Grey, the man I’ve secretly wanted since I was fourteen, and now that he’s within arm’s reach, he still thinks he’s not good enough.

I watch him walk away, broad shoulders tense, scar catching the light again. And even though I know this whole situation is a disaster waiting to happen, one truth blazes hotter than all the rest.

I’m done fighting what I feel. Sam almost fucking killed me, and I get a second chance to do this right. I don’t care about his scars. I just care about him.