“My officer position with the Hellions.” The words hang between us, heavy and real.
“That’s, that’s huge,” she whispers.
“I know.”
“Why?” Her voice wobbles. “Miles, that’s your family. Your history.”
“And they’ll still be that,” I remind gently. “I’m not leaving the club. I’m changing how I stand in it. I’ve given them everything I had for a long time. Now I’m choosing something else.”
Her eyes fill again, fast and bright.
“You’d give all that up for me?” she asks, barely audible.
I shake my head. “I’m not giving it up. I’m choosing. And that choice is you.”
The tears spill over then, silent and unrestrained. She presses her face into my chest like she’s afraid the emotion will drown her.
“I don’t know how to hold that,” she cries softly. “That someone would do that for me. I don’t deserve this kind of devotion and love.”
I wrap my arms around her, pulling her close, my chin resting on her hair. “You don’t have to earn it,” I say. “You already did. Just by being you.”
She pulls back enough to look at me, eyes red, shining.
“You’re really staying?” she asks.
“I’m moving here,” I reply simply. “Arkansas. With you. We’ll figure out the rest as it comes.”
Her breath hitches, and she laughs through her tears, overwhelmed and disbelieving all at once.
“I don’t even know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” I reply. “Just let me stay.”
She nods, then leans in and kisses me—slow, sure, full of promise. When we finally settle back into the bed, tangled together, the room is quiet again. Safe.
Her breathing evens out against my chest, her fingers curled into my shirt like she’s anchoring herself to something solid.
I stare at the ceiling, heart full and steady in a way I’ve never known.
For the first time in my life, the open road isn’t calling me away.
It’s leading me home.
Twenty
Danae
Danae –
The next morning feels like it shouldn’t exist.
Like the sun should’ve hesitated before rising over this house after what happened yesterday.
But it does anyway.
Light filters in through the kitchen window in soft gold bands, dust floating lazily in it like the world doesn’t know it almost broke. Papa is upright in the bed, the same blue blanket across his lap. The television hums low, muted. Josie stands at the stove making eggs like this is any other Saturday.
And Miles—Miles is in my shower. The steady rush of water through the bathroom wall is the strangest comfort I’ve ever known. It means he’s here. It means he didn’t disappear overnight like some fever dream.
