My breath catches before I can stop it.
The sound grows louder for a moment, then fades as the bike passes down the road.Probably not him.Freedom Falls has plenty of motorcycles.Why should I think he would come check on me?This was a random one-time thing.
Still, my heart takes a second longer than it should to settle.I drop the curtain and head toward the couch.Sleep doesn’t come easy.Instead my brain keeps replaying the night.
My ex’s voice on the phone.The way he set me up.He knows I don’t like bars, but that is where he sent me.Clint likes to keep me uneasy and on edge.
The smell of whiskey.
The feeling of being trapped.
Then the sudden shift when Tucker stepped in.Danger meeting danger.And somehow that second kind felt safer.I curl up on the couch with a blanket and stare at the ceiling.
Maybe Marlaina is right.Maybe Tucker Bostic is one of the better ones.Or maybe I’m just so used to bad men that a slightly less bad one looks like a hero.
The thought makes me laugh softly.That’s probably closer to the truth.The bar isn’t really set very high given my track record in picking men.
When I finally drift toward sleep, one image lingers in my mind.A tall man under a bar light.Blue eyes steady.Voice calm.
Get home safe.
And for the first time in a long time, I actually felt safe going home.
FOUR
MELLOW
Morning at the clubhouse starts the same way most mornings do.
Too early.
Too loud.
I’m halfway through a cup of the sludge Fresh calls coffee when Dodge walks into the kitchen and tosses a newspaper onto the table like it personally offended him.
“You break a table at Crystal’s last night?”he asks even though he knows the damn answer.Crystal is his old lady so I am sure that was part of the pillow talk last night.
I take another sip.“Already paid for it.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“Then yes.”
Saged snorts and pulls a chair out across from me.“Guy must’ve been stupid.”
“Drunk.”
“Same thing.”Dodge reaches for the coffee pot, pours himself a cup, and grimaces after the first sip.“Christ.Fresh make this?”
“Yeah before he went on his morning run.”
Saged shakes his head.“That man should be banned from kitchens and coffee pots.”
From the other room, Fresh yells, “I heard that!Mushroom coffee is better for the gut.”
Saged grins into his cup.“You didn’t say he was back already.”
The clubhouse kitchen is small but functional—scarred wooden table, mismatched chairs, cabinets that have been slammed shut more times than anyone could count.Sunlight creeps through the dusty window over the sink, cutting across the floor in pale stripes.
