Ivy had become woven into the rhythm of the compound, into his days, into him.Mornings with coffee she insisted on making herself.Nights tangled together, slow and careful at first, then hungry and sure.Laughter echoing in his room, paint-stained fingers tracing scars she never asked him to explain.
They’d made it through something brutal together.Something that could’ve broken them if they’d let it.Instead, it stripped him bare and forced him to rebuild with her watching, choosing him anyway.
He no longer carried doubt about what he felt.No guilt gnawing at him for wanting something good after loss.Libby would always be part of him, a scar that never faded, but Ivy hadn’t replaced her.She’d made space for herself, bright and stubborn and alive.
Still, one question twisted his gut.What if Ivy wasn’t ready for what he was about to ask?
He touched the object inside the pocket of his jacket as he crossed the yard.The metal key there felt heavier than it should’ve, like it carried the weight of every risk he’d ever taken.
An apartment off the main road, quiet but close enough to town for her work.It had big windows, plenty of light for Ivy to paint.A place that could be theirs without ghosts lingering in every corner.
If she said no...
He exhaled slowly and kept walking.He found her near the far wall, exactly where he knew she’d be.Ivy stood with her hands on her hips, coveralls splattered with paint in every color imaginable, dark hair pulled into a messy knot that always made something hot and protective curl low in his gut.
She was studying the mural, head tilted slightly, sunlight catching in the fine dust of pigment still clinging to her skin.
It was stunning.The bikes, the motion, the strength woven through the piece.The way she’d captured the soul of the club without softening it or glorifying it.Devil’s Crown, raw and grounded and alive.
Havoc approached quietly, boots soft on gravel.He slipped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her back into him.She startled for half a second before melting against his chest with a laugh.
“You’re back,” she said, warmth blooming in her voice.
“Mm,” he murmured into her hair.“Couldn’t stay away.”
He pressed a kiss to the side of her neck, then another, lingering just enough to make her inhale sharply.She leaned back into him, paint-smudged hands resting over his forearms.
“It’s beautiful,” he said, his voice low and sincere.“All of it.”
She turned in his arms, paint on her cheek, eyes bright.
“You really think so?”Ivy asked.
Havoc didn’t hesitate.He dipped his head and kissed her, slowly at first, then deeper when she responded with equal heat, fingers curling into his shirt.The world narrowed to her mouth and the familiar rush of want that still surprised him with its intensity.
When they parted, he rested his forehead against hers.
“It’s perfect,” he said.“Like you.”
She laughed, soft and genuine, the sound cutting straight through him.“You’re being strangely cheesy, Road Captain.”
“Careful,” he said, smirking.“I’ll prove I still know how to be an asshole.”
She studied him then, that perceptive gaze of hers sharpening.“What’s wrong?”
He stiffened just a fraction.“Why do you think something’s wrong?”
“Because I know you,” Ivy said simply.“And you’ve been acting nervous since you got here.”
He huffed out a breath, the truth of it impossible to deny.Slowly, reluctantly, he loosened his hold and took a step back.His throat felt dry.This was harder than any ride into hostile territory.Harder than pulling a trigger.
“Hold out your hand,” he said.
Her brow furrowed, but she did it, palm open between them.
Havoc reached into his jacket and placed the key there.
Ivy stared at it, then up at him.“What’s this?”
