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.
By morning, my thoughts are a mess. I tell myself it doesn’t matter. She’s here for Josie. She’ll leave. This doesn’t touch me unless I let it. But by the time I hear through the grapevine that she’s staying at the house, helping out, settling in like she’s part of the damn furniture, I know I’m lying to myself. Because I want to see her again.
Not in the way I usually want things. Not physical. Not reckless. More than anything, the scariest thing of all … knowing she’s here makes me want to stay put.
When I stop by later that afternoon under the pretense of dropping off groceries Raff asked for, I don’t pretend it’s coincidence. Danae answers the door. She looks tired. Real tired. Hair pulled back, no makeup, sleeves rolled up like she’s been working nonstop.
And she still knocks the breath out of me. “Hey,” I greet casually.
“Hey,” she replies.
We stand there a beat too long.
She steps aside. “Come in.”
The house smells like clean laundry and something warm baking. Home. It makes something ache in my chest that I don’t have a name for.
“She’s asleep,” Danae says, nodding toward the bedroom. “Both of them.”
“Justice?”
“At school. Raff went to pick him up.”
Of course he did. She’s already slotted herself into the rhythm. I set the groceries on the counter and begin shuffling around the kitchen to put the stuff away.
“You didn’t have to do all this.”
She looks at me then. Really looks, actually studying me so I tell the truth. “I wanted to.”
Silence again. But this one’s different. Less sharp. More fragile. “I didn’t expect to see you,” she says finally.
“I didn’t expect to see you either,” I answer with the same respect of the truth she gave to me.
Her lips press together. “Funny how that works.”
I hesitate, then take the risk. “That night?—”
She lifts a hand. Not angry. Just firm. “Don’t.”
I stop immediately.
“I’m not pretending it didn’t happen,” she adds, quieter now. “I just can’t unpack it right now.”
I swallow. “Okay.”
“But,” she continues, meeting my eyes, “we’re going to keep running into each other. So we should at least agree not to make this weird.”
