Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Her eyes narrow. “Not interested.”
I chuckle, though it comes out rougher than I intend. “We’ll see.”
But I don’t mean it the way it sounds. Not really. This isn’t a chase. This isn’t a game. This is a full force, head on collision.
Raff moves past me then, grounding the moment without meaning to. He sets Journey into the bassinet, careful, delicate like. The room’s focus goes back to where it belongs, this new life.
I watch from the sidelines as he kneels in front of Justice, his voice low and steady, saying all the things a kid needs to hear when his world just rearranged itself. I should be watching that. I am watching that. But my awareness keeps sliding back to Danae like a pulled muscle, an ache I can’t escape.
She’s near the couch now, sitting with Josie, her knee angled toward her, listening like it matters. Like she matters. I tell myself to breathe.
This is Raff’s night. Josie’s night. The baby’s night. Danae being here shouldn’t mean anything to me.
Except it does.
Because I know her.
Not her name, at least other than seeing it on paper when I looked at her mail. But I know the intimate details. The way she inhales before she says something she’s trying to be brave about. I know the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s holding herself together with threads. I know the way she goes quiet when she’s processing something too big to touch yet.
I know her body, too. The memory comes uninvited, heat flashes sharp, and I have to clench my jaw to keep it from showing on my face.
Get it together.
Justice clings to Raff, and I look away when my chest tightens. I don’t belong in the center of this moment. I never did. I’m an outside observer. Support of sorts. But this isn’t the life I can have, can touch.
Danae catches me watching, and her gaze doesn’t soften this time. It holds me at arm’s length, all boundaries and unsaid things.
Good. That’s safer. She needs to keep her distance from me and men like me.
The evening unfolds in small pieces. Quiet chaos. Bottles clinking. Whispers. A house learning its new rhythm.
I keep busy in the shadows, simply hanging around in case they need a run to the store for some forgotten item or if Raff wants me to fire up the grill to make some food. We all basically signed up to take different shifts being nearby so Raff doesn’t actually have to leave his woman for a bit.
When Raff takes Justice outside, I stay inside. When Josie finally heads to bed, I drift toward the kitchen under the excuse of grabbing water. Danae is already there, wiping down the counter like she’s been doing it her whole life.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say before I can stop myself.
She glances at me sideways. “I know.”
But she keeps wiping. I lean against the counter across from her, careful not to crowd her space. “You flew in fast.”
She nods. “As soon as I got the call.”
“From Arkansas just hopped on a plane?”
Her jaw tightens just enough for me to notice. “Yes.”
There’s something in that. Distance. Effort. Commitment.
“Josie’s lucky,” I say.
“She is,” Danae agrees. “And so is the baby.”
Silence stretches. Not comfortable. Not hostile either. Just heavy with unsaid words.
“So,” I say quietly. “Small world.”
She lets out a breath that sounds like a laugh without humor. “You have no idea.”
I want to ask a hundred questions. What are you doing here? How long are you staying? Did you think about me when you came? Did you know this is where I’m from? She saw my cut. That’s why she calls me Miles, my road-name. Did she recognize the Hellions insignia and come here for that? She has a nickname for Josie. Are they friends? The more I think the more questions come to mind.
I ask none of them. Because she didn’t ask for this either.
Raff and Justice come back inside, breaking the tension clean in half. Danae moves immediately, back into her role, back into usefulness. I watch her do it, admiring it more than I should. Eventually, I make my excuses and head out. The night air hits me like a reset button, but it doesn’t clear her from my head.
It makes her louder. I sit in my truck for a long minute before starting it, hands gripping the steering wheel like it’s the only thing keeping me anchored.
She’s here. In my town. In my circle. And I don’t know what the hell that means.
Going home feels wrong because I am putting distance between me and her. It’s necessary, but it damn sure doesn’t feel right. I don’t sleep much. Every time I close my eyes, I see her standing in Raff’s living room, suitcase by the wall like she planned to stay. Like she planned to exist in the same air as me again.