Page 4 of Let it Burn (Playing with Fire #1)

Zeke

She’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, holding a chipped mug between her hands like it’s the only thing grounding her. And maybe it is. Her shoulders aren’t pulled so tight now. There’s color in her cheeks again. She’s still pale, still shaken, but she’s letting me in inch by cautious inch.

I’m trying like hell not to stare. Or at least, not get caught. But damn.

Even now, in those loose scrubs and faded socks, with tired eyes and shadows under them, Lena Quinn is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

It’s not just her face and her body, it’s the way she holds herself, like she’s been holding everything up for so long and she’s too damn used to it.

There’s something breakable in her. And something unbelievably strong.

And that mixture of vulnerability and strength is so dam hot.

I want to touch her, just to prove she’s real.

But I keep my hands wrapped around my own mug, giving her space.

She looks over the rim of her cup at me, lashes low, eyes searching. “Why’d you become a firefighter?”

Her voice is soft, curious. The question hits somewhere deep.

I take a breath, then another, buying time. “My dad was one. A good one. Town hero type.” I glance at her. She’s listening. Really listening. “He was great at saving people. Just… not great at being a dad.”

Her brow furrows, like she gets it more than she should.

“How so?” she asks quietly.

I stare into my coffee for a moment, watching the steam curl up and vanish.

“He showed up for everyone—house fires, accidents, every damn community barbecue. He wore that uniform like a second skin. People loved him for it. But at home…” I trail off, jaw clenching.

“It was like he left all his warmth out there. He had nothing left for us. Emotionally he was dead. Served in Iraq and was never the same.”

Lena doesn’t speak. She doesn’t have to. Her silence is safe, open. So I keep going.

“I remember being seven, watching him pack his gear while Mom sat at the kitchen table, trying not to cry. He’d kiss her cheek like it was an obligation. Then he’d leave and come back smelling like smoke and ash, looking right past me.”

Her hand tightens slightly around her mug. “That must’ve been hard.”

“Yeah,” I admit. “It was. You grow up learning to stop needing what you never got. Eventually, I figured if I couldn’t have a dad who was there for his family, maybe I could become the man who did.”

“You did.” Her voice is gentle but firm. “You stayed. For me.”

That lands harder than it should. I look at her—really look. There’s no pity in her gaze. Just quiet understanding. Recognition.

“You’ve done that a lot too, haven’t you?” I ask. “Stopped needing things. Taught yourself how to survive without them.”

She looks away, lashes low. “It’s safer that way.”

“Yeah,” I say softly. “It is. But it’s lonely, too. And that can break you.”

She nods, slowly. No arguments. Just the truth, sitting quietly between us. And for the first time in a long time, it doesn’t feel so heavy.

I watch her fingers trace the rim of her mug.

There’s a small scar on her hand—like a cut that healed wrong.

I shouldn’t be noticing things like that.

Not when she’s still flinching at shadows.

But I can’t help it. Everything about her draws me in.

The way she folds into herself, the way she listens like it matters.

Like I matter. And fuck it if all I want to do her is hold her close to me, and let her know that while I’m around nothing will happen to her.

“You shouldn’t have to live like this,” I murmur, my voice lower now. “Always looking over your shoulder. Jumping at every noise. Like today when you were opening your door.”

Her eyes flick up to mine, guarded but soft.

I shift forward, on the couch across her. “Let me help, Lena. Not just in the moment. Long term. I could install better locks for you. Real ones. A proper security system. Cameras. Door sensors. Stuff you can control from your phone so you don’t have to feel scared every time you close your door.”

Her lips part, and for a second, I think she might say no. That she’ll tell me she’s got it handled. That I should stay out of her business.

But then she exhales, slow and shaky. “That... actually sounds like something I’d like.”

There’s this pause between us, thick with things unsaid. Gratitude and relief. Maybe even a flicker of trust.

And underneath it all, something warmer. Something that hums low in my chest when she looks at me like that. Like maybe I’m more than just the guy who stormed in her apartment to help her. Maybe I’m the one who gets to stay. Immediately I whip out my phone to check out some options I can show her.

I get up and move to the couch she’s sitting on. I settle beside her on the couch, careful to leave a bit of space. Not much, though. Just enough so she doesn’t feel boxed in—but close enough to feel the gravity pulling between us.

She watches me scroll through security options—Ring cameras, smart locks, motion sensors. Her fingers are curled around her coffee mug like it’s a lifeline, but there’s a softness to her now, like some part of her is starting to unclench.

“Here,” I murmur, turning the screen toward her. “This one’s solid. Built-in camera, alarm notifications, even lets you monitor from your phone.”

She leans in to look, but I can tell she’s squinting.

I nudge the phone a little closer and offer a small smile. “Want to hold it? Might be easier.”

She hesitates, then reaches for it. Her fingers brush mine.

Just a second. A flicker of skin. But damn if it doesn’t feel like a live wire surging through me.

Her eyes flick to mine, startled—and maybe something else.

Curious and a little shy. She quickly tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and it makes her cheeks turn the softest shade of pink. God, that blush.

She’s already beautiful—but that blush? That reaction?

I always want to be the man who earns that look. The one who makes her blush like that again and again.

She leans in closer to the phone, our shoulders nearly touching. Her thigh brushes against mine, just slightly, and she doesn’t pull away. Her breath fans my neck, warm and sweet from the coffee, and I swear every part of me goes still.

“This one looks good,” she says, her voice quieter now. “It has all the features you said.”

Our heads are nearly touching now, both of us leaning in, barely an inch of air between us.

“It has everything you need,” I say, my voice low and steady. But I don’t mean just the doorbell camera anymore.

She turns toward me slowly, her face still close to mine, and I catch the tiniest twitch at the corner of her lips—something like a smile. Not quite. But close.

“Okay,” she says. “Let’s get that one.”

After she agrees to the system, something shifts between us.

It’s subtle, but I feel it in the way she lets her shoulders drop, the way she lets the silence stretch out a little longer without rushing to fill it.

We talk more after that—nothing deep at first. Just easy things.

Her favorite kind of coffee. The small clinic she works at.

I tell her about the firehouse and Maddox being a pain in my ass half the time.

She actually laughs—quiet, but real. And it does something to me.

Makes me want to earn more of those laughs.

I show her a lock option for her door, and she leans forward to see better, her arm brushing mine briefly as she takes the phone from me. The contact is fleeting, but every nerve in me stands at attention.

“You can control everything from your phone, but it’s completely secure so no one can hack in. There’s even a panic feature in case you see that creep again. I’m sure he’s long gone, though, there’s no reason for him to stick around after what I did to him,” I reassure her.

Her fingers pause on the screen, and I see her hesitate. When she lifts her eyes to mine, they’re no longer casual. There’s something in them—something that’s been waiting to be said.

“I do know him. I know who it is I mean. I didn’t even really date him,” she says quietly, her voice almost too soft to catch. “We had like three dates. If you can even call it that.”

I don’t interrupt. I stay still, let her set the pace. Even though I wonder why she didn’t tell Jake she knew him.

“He was nice at first. Charming. Knew what to say, how to listen. But after that second date, I started getting this feeling—like he wanted to control everything. Even told me I need to change my shifts at the hospital so they could sync with his working hours. Third date I told him we were done. But he didn’t listen to me.

Then he was everywhere. He’d show up outside my building.

Or at the grocery store. At the hospital. Even once at my mom’s place.”

She swallows hard. Her grip on the phone loosens slightly, but she doesn’t let it go. “When I told him he needed to leave me alone, he lost it. Caused a scene at my job. Yelled at me. Accused me of things. Said I’d led him on. He caused so many scenes at work, they fired me.”

“You got fired because of him?” My voice is low, even, but the anger is there. Controlled, for now.

She nods. “They said I was creating an unsafe work environment. That it was better if I stepped down. He never laid a hand on me, and the calls he made to work were anonymous, so the restraining order I had on him went nowhere. My friends tried to help, but after a while, even they thought I was crazy because every shadow freaked me out. And I would constantly be talking about him, but he was so charming, I don’t know if they believed what I was saying.

And one by one, they just drifted out of my life.

So, he got his way after all—I was totally isolated. ”

A fire lights up in my chest. This woman—strong, quiet, carrying all this on her own.