Page 8 of Let it Crackle (Playing with Fire #4)

Maya

I don’t cry. Not right away.

I don’t even limp at first. Not until I’m around the corner, out of sight, and the sharp throb in my ankle starts screaming again, like a cruel reminder that I’m still human. Still breakable. Still fucking stupid.

I should’ve known better. I told myself—warned myself—not to fall.

Not for Maddox Cole. Not for the same boy who laughed at me in high school, even if he’s grown into a man with strong arms and soft eyes.

But then he touched me like I mattered. Held me like he meant it.

Looked at me like I was the only girl on the planet worth a damn.

And God help me—I believed him.

I actually believed it. How stupid was I?

The joke didn’t even hurt that much. “Easy prey.” Ha ha. Whatever. Stupid and juvenile. But the silence? That’s what gutted me. That’s what split me wide open.

He didn’t say a damn thing. Didn’t defend me. Didn’t correct the guy. Didn’t so much as blink.

Just stood there. Let it hang in the air like some inside joke between brothers. Like he agreed. Like I was just another girl to use and leave standing in the shadows, humiliated.

The worst part is how familiar it feels.

I press my back against a stop sign and suck in a breath that tastes like rust and failure. Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry. I get out my phone and get an Uber. There’s no way in hell I’m going back to his house.

But the moment I shut the apartment door behind me, my legs give out. I slide to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. And that’s when the sobs come—raw and humiliating, shaking my whole body.

Because I let him in.

I let him read my words. My fantasies. I kissed him like he was the last first kiss I’d ever have.

I let him see every part of me—needy, messy, desperate.

I opened myself wide and let him crawl inside.

My phone keeps buzzing. I know it’s him.

So I pick up my phone switch if off and throw it across the room.

I curl up on the couch, clutching his fireman T-shirt around me like armor. It still smells like him—peppermint shampoo and smoke and something warm underneath. I hate that it makes me feel safe. I hate that I don’t want to let go of it.

My laptop sits open on the coffee table, taunting me with its blinking cursor. The final chapter waits—our final chapter. The firefighter and the librarian. A happy ending I let myself believe in for one second too long. I was going to show it to Maddox tonight. Surprise him with it.

I stare at it. And then I reach out.

Delete. Delete. Delete.

One key. Then another. And just like that, it’s gone.

Like he was never there at all.

I snap the lid shut and shove the laptop under a pillow, like burying it could erase the shame bleeding through my skin. All I want to do is crawl in a hole and die.

I don’t go to work the next day. I know he thinks he’ll find me there, but I don’t want to cause a scene by storming out the minute he walks through those doors.

I don’t answer the phone. Don’t check the messages. Even when the landline rings—probably Miss Esther wondering where her limping librarian disappeared to—I let it go.

Was this just a game to him? Was I just some dirty fantasy to bring to life before going back to his real world, his real life, where girls like me don’t exist?

I limp to the bathroom and catch my reflection in the mirror. Red eyes. Splotchy cheeks. Wild, hopeless hair. Just a girl who should’ve known better.

“You’re an idiot,” I whisper.

And the worst part?

I’d do it all over again.

Every word. Every kiss. Every breathless second of being wrapped up in his arms. Just to feel that good again. Just to believe, for one brief moment, that someone wanted me like that. But he didn’t. Not really.

I hear the knocks, but I don’t answer the door right away. Not even when the knocking continues.

I just sit there on the floor, knees drawn up, phone face-down beside me like it’s done something wrong. The apartment’s dark except for the rain slashing across the window and the faint glow from the hallway outside.

Another knock. Louder. Then his voice. “Maya.”

I close my eyes. Of course it’s him.

I know I should ignore it. Pretend I’m not home. Make him feel even half of what I’ve been sitting in for the last forty-eight hours. But then I remember how I begged to be wanted. To be seen. And now that he’s here— seeing me —I hate how my body still wants to let him in.

The door creaks open.

He’s soaked, hair dripping into his eyes, still in his uniform shirt with the collar half undone like he tore it off mid-drive. His boots leave puddles on the mat.

I don’t say anything.

He doesn’t either. Not at first. Just stands there, like he knows any wrong word might detonate the moment.

“I went to the library,” he says finally, voice low, raspy. “Miss Esther told me you hadn’t shown up. She’s worried. So was I.”

I turn away, arms tight across my chest. “You didn’t care when it mattered.”

His breath catches. “That’s not true.”

“You didn’t say anything, Maddox,” I whisper. “That guy mocked me to your face. And you didn’t say anything . Just like in high school. Just like before.”

“I know,” he says, stepping into the room slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. “And I hate myself for freezing. I’ve replayed it a hundred times. Thought of a hundred things I should have said. But I didn’t. And that silence… it hurt you, and I will never forgive myself for that.”

I blink fast. “I deleted it, you know.”

He frowns. “Deleted what?”

“The final chapter.” My voice cracks. “The one where the firefighter and the librarian actually make it work.”

Maddox stares at me, stunned. “Maya…”

I shake my head. “You don’t get to be surprised. You don’t get to act like it meant something to you when you let them laugh at me. I was just another girl you touched and forgot.”

He closes the distance in three strides.

“You weren’t,” he says, breathing hard. “You’re not.”

His hand brushes my arm, but I step back. “You don’t get to fix this with sex.”

“I’m not here for that.” He exhales. “I’m here because I haven’t been able to breathe since you left. I keep hearing your voice reading that scene. I keep seeing the way you looked at me—like I was someone good. And I let you down.”

My voice is hollow. “So why now? Why come back?”

“Because I didn’t just fall for the girl in the librarian glasses.

” He looks straight at me, soaked and wild and too real.

“I fell for the girl who writes dirty little stories and hides them in her bag. The girl who was brave enough to read them out loud to me. The girl who trusted me with something she’s never trusted anyone else with. I fell for all of you, Maya.”

I don’t speak.

He steps forward, and this time, I don’t move.

“I don’t care who hears it now. You think I give a shit what the guys say? I’ll kiss you on the firetruck. I’ll read your stories out loud during training if that’s what it takes to make it right.”

“Maddox—”

“I’m in love with you. That’s it. That’s the story. No edits. And I’ll never forgive myselfever if you don’t forgive me. Or at least try to.”

The words land like a match on dry paper—instant fire. They tear through me, melting every wall I thought I rebuilt. Silence swells around us, not empty, but full. Full of every unspoken thing I’ve been too scared to name.

He steps closer. Eyes locked on mine.

And then he pulls something from his jacket pocket. Small. Rectangular. Laminated.

A library card.

I blink, confused—until I see my name printed neatly at the top: Maya Gibbons. And underneath, scrawled in thick black Sharpie: Checked out for life. —Maddox Cole.

My throat tightens. The world blurs. My name. His name. A promise in ink and plastic.

“Maddox…” I whisper.

He steps in, close enough for his warmth to chase away every cold thought that’s haunted me for days. “I went back to the library,” he says, softer now. “Had one made for you as well.”

I try to laugh, but it cracks. My hand trembles when I take the card. “You can’t just fix everything with a laminated card and a conversation.”

His palm comes up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing beneath my eye. “No,” he murmurs. “But maybe I can earn back a page.”

And that’s when I say it. The thing that’s been clawing its way up from my ribs all along.

“I love you too,” I whisper, tears spilling freely now. “I think I have for a long time. I just… didn’t know how to believe it could be real.”

His lips crush into mine before I can say another word.

The kiss is raw and aching and everything I never thought I’d have. It’s the apology we both needed. The forgiveness neither of us said out loud. It’s messy and tear-stained and a little salty—but it’s ours.

When he pulls back, forehead pressed to mine, I can’t stop smiling.

“Write the last chapter again,” he says. “Give them a happy ending. If you do—I’ll be here to read it. Every damn word.”

I nod, my voice barely a breath. “Only if you stay tonight.”

He grins, slow and sure. “I brought snacks. I’m not going anywhere.”

And just like that, the story isn’t over.

It’s our once upon a time.