“Thanks, you too.”
Hayden halts mid-step, blocking the doorway. His brows pull together. “Results?” There’s a weird expression on his face, and the colour drains from his cheeks.
I shrug. “I get my A-level results tomorrow. No big deal. I’ll get the bus or something to school.”
His jaw clenches. “Like hell you will. I’m not having you get your results alone. I’ll take you.”
“I’ve put you out enough. It’s?—”
He lifts a hand. “I don’t want to hear another word about it. I’m taking you and that’s the end of it.”
Outside, the air is cool and quiet, a soft breeze brushing against my legs.
Hayden walks me to his bike in silence, his hand resting protectively on the small of my back, his shoulders tense like he’s still chewing something over.
I lean against his bike before climbing on. “What did that guy mean when he said mark me?”
“Make you my old lady. Mark you with the club branding so everyone knows you’re off limits.”
“He didn’t know who I was, did he?”
“No. He’s from another chapter. He didn’t know your old man or your brother. He doesn’t understand, but next time, I’ll gladly explain with my boot in his mouth.” Hayden smiles at me, his hard edges softening under the moonlight.
I smile to myself. “You were jealous.”
He doesn’t deny it. Just looks at me with those storm-grey eyes and says, “Damn right I was.”
My heart stutters. “Why?”
He steps closer, eyes locked on mine. “Because you deserve better than that. And because of the way you sang up there… you were magic, Faith. Mine or not, I didn’t want anyone undeserving reaching for that.”
My heart skips a beat. With Hayden, I don’t feel like someone’s possession. I feel cherished. Heard and finally seen.
8
HAYDEN
The wind cuts sharp as we ride through town, but her arms wrapped tight around my middle take the chill off, warming my bones.
My back’s in bits after sleeping on the sofa again. I’d choose the floor, but there’s no floor space. Not for a man my size anyway, unless I want to be wedged between the bed and the dresser. But there’s no way in hell I can share a bed with Faith. There’s only so much temptation a man can handle before he snaps.
Faith leans into me like she belongs there, like she’s always belonged there. Every curve presses against my back, her fingers gripping my cut—not too tight, but trusting.
She’s nervous. I can tell. Hasn’t said much since I told her I’d take her to the school.
It’s not exactly my scene—cruising up to some sixth form college on a thundering Triumph Rocket 3, with a growling exhaust, parking beside a line of proud-parent Volvos—but I’ll be damned if I let her go alone.
I pull up outside the gates and kill the engine. The bike ticks beneath us as it cools, the silence somehow louder now.
“Go on,” I say, glancing back at her. “I’ll wait right here.”
“You sure?” She climbs off, smoothing down the borrowed hoodie and tugging at the hem of another one of my t-shirts underneath. There’s that awkward pause—like she wants me to say something reassuring. Something her brother would’ve said if he were here.
But I’m not her brother. And he should be here, not me.
I swallow down the guilt clawing up my throat and watch her walk through the gates and into the building. Around me, the car park’s filling fast—mums in heels balancing Costa cups, dads with their arms slung around their kids’ shoulders, phones ready for those cheesy certificate photos.
And here I am.
