The room fades into a dull hum. The ticking clock. The soft shuffle of bodies. None of it matters. All I can see is him. The tiny crease between his brows. The way his jaw tightens like he’s holding something back. The softness in his eyes that undoes me more than anger ever did.
My chest tightens.
This feels . . . intimate. Too intimate. Like something sacred we’re not meant to touch yet.
I swallow, resisting the urge to look away.
His expression shifts then, barely perceptible but it hits me hard. Regret. Longing. Something raw and unguarded that makes my throat ache.
It feels like we’re standing on the edge of something. One step closer and we fall straight back into each other. One step away and we lose whatever this fragile, careful thing is we’ve built.
My breath catches.
And still, he doesn’t look away.
When we finally step outside, my body is buzzing, alive in a way it hasn’t been for months. Every nerve ending feels switched on, humming with want and need for something I’ve not craved in a long time. I can only blame hormones . . . right?
“I have a surprise,” he says casually, like he hasn’t just knocked my entire equilibrium sideways. “When you asked me out for lunch—”
“Erm,” I interrupt, arching a brow. “Why are you making it sound official?” I tease. “It’s not like it was a date or anything.”
He smirks, slow and familiar. “Relax, Queenie. It’s okay if you wanna date me.”
I snort, laughing despite myself, and for a second, it feels easy.Normal.
Then his gaze shifts over my shoulder. “Diesel’s here.”
I follow his line of sight and spot the bike in the car park.
He nods. “And I thought it’d be nice if you saw Fern.”
I don’t even think, I just move. My arms go around him, my cheek pressing into his chest as relief floods me. “Thank you,”I say, breathless. Then reality kicks in and I quickly step back, suddenly very aware of how close we are.
His hand lingers at the back of my neck, warm and grounding. “I figured you’d like that.”
The second we step inside the bar, I hear her squeal.
Fern barrels towards me, all joy and momentum, and instinctively Kade steps in, his arm coming around me protectively, stopping her just short of my stomach. She freezes, eyes dropping and then widening.
“Oh my god,” she breathes, hands bracketing my bump with reverence. “Look at you. You’re glowing.”
“And you look amazing,” I tell her honestly, taking in her relaxed smile, her easy confidence. I miss my old body for a fleeting second, but not enough to dull this moment.
Kade pulls her into his arms next, kissing the top of her head. “Country life suits you, Pres,” she murmurs, and there’s something soft—almost sad—in her voice.
He smiles down at her. “I ain’t the Pres anymore. That’s your old man’s job.” His gaze shifts to Diesel. “Brother.”
They shake hands then Diesel pulls him into a hug, eyes closing briefly like he’s grounding himself. “It’s good to see you, Kade.”
Then Diesel turns to me, holding me at arm’s length, his grin genuine. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful pregnant woman. Absolutely stunning.”
I feel my cheeks warm. “It’s good to see you, Diesel.”
Something loosens in my chest then. I hadn’t realised how much I’d been carrying—the quiet fear that the club blamed me, that they resented me for taking Kade away. But there’s no judgement in his eyes. Just warmth.
“Come on,” Fern says, looping her arm through mine. “Let’s leave these two to catch up.”
I glance back at Kade once as we walk away. He’s watching me.
