I don’t answer right away. Because the answer is sitting right there between us, loud as hell. Danae.
He follows my silence like a breadcrumb trail. “Oh,” he says slowly. “There are two women in my house and one is off limits as fuck because she is mine. As for the other one, Miles, she’s family.”
I shoot him a look. “Don’t.”
He lifts his hands. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re about to,” I mutter.
Raff leans against the workbench, studying me like I’m a problem he’s trying to solve. “You gonna tell me why you suddenly want to be at my house all the time? Just admit it.”
I grind my teeth. “I don’t want to be at your house.”
He arches a brow. “You want to be around someone at my house.”
That’s it. That’s the line that cracks something open in me. I step back from the engine, dragging a hand through my hair. “This isn’t what you think.”
“Then tell me what it is,” Raff shares, not unkindly, but pressing for more.
I stare at the concrete floor, at the oil stains and scuff marks, anything but his face. “I didn’t plan this.”
Raff’s quiet for a moment. “Did you plan to stop wanting to ride?” That makes my head snap up. “Because,” he goes on, voice steady, “I’ve known you a long time, brother. And I’ve never seen you like this.”
“Like what?” I snap.
“Rooted,” he states simply. “Finally without a reason to run, but you aren’t at ease with it like you should be. What’s got you all knotted up, brother?”
The word hits me square in the chest. Rooted. I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. Because the truth is sitting there, undeniable and uncomfortable. Having Danae in Salemburg makes me want to be in Salemburg. Not out of obligation. Not because I’m stuck. But because for the first time, staying doesn’t feel like giving something up. The urge to ride—the constant hum that’s always lived in my bones—is muted. Not gone. Just calm. Like it’s waiting instead of clawing. I’ve never felt this before.
Raff watches it dawn on me in real time, and something like satisfaction flickers in his eyes. “There it is.”
“Shut up,” I mutter, but there’s no heat behind it.
He smiles. “You care about her. But I don’t know why.”
I scoff. “You don’t know anything about any of this.”
“I know enough,” he states calmly calculated almost. “You don’t hover unless it matters. And you don’t stay unless something’s anchoring you.”
That word again. Anchor. I swallow hard. “I don’t know what this is to even begin to explain it but yes, something is different inside me. There I said it. You happy now, Papa Bear?”
Raff shrugs. “You don’t have to admit to shit. Just don’t pretend it’s nothing.”
I nod once, sharp and reluctant. “I’m not pretending.”
“Good,” he says. “Because whatever this is, it’s the first thing I’ve ever seen slow you down.”
He claps me on the shoulder and turns back to the engine, conversation clearly over in his mind. I stand there a moment longer, heart pounding, the truth settling into me like a weight and a relief all at once. I don’t want to leave town.
Not yet. Not while Danae is here, moving through my life without meaning to, quieting something in me I never knew how to still.
The road will call again. I know that. It always does. But for the first time, I’m not itching for it to come back and I’m in no hurry to answer it right away.
And that scares me.
And it feels like coming home.
Eight
