CHAPTER TWENTY
Caymen
It was a perfect day.
Food, sun, sex, no distractions—just a chance to be alone without a threat hanging over our heads.
It seemed like we could finally relax fully.
And, fuck, a relaxed Noa was the most stunning thing imaginable.
She was constantly smiling and quick to laugh. She teased and felt comfortable enough to be silly.
We’d already shared so much about our pasts, but we talked almost endlessly, sharing things big and small.
Apparently, she’d gone through a phase as a teen where she was obsessed with the idea of making her own clothes. Only to spend thousands of dollars of her father’s money to end up with an uneven hem.
When she first moved into her Florida apartment, she decided she wanted to be a plant mom. Then proceeded to slaughter hundreds of dollars’ worth of plants.
Though we did learn, through that story, that there’d already been a little invisible string tying us together because the plantshop she’d spent all that money in was the one that belonged to Kylo’s girl, Rue.
I told her shit I hadn’t even realized I remembered.
And everything just felt right.
So right that I suddenly understood how the guys in the club went from single as could be one moment to locked down tight the next.
When it was right, it was right.
Suddenly, it didn’t seem possible to look into the future and not see Noa. What’s more, I didn’t want to.
Some part of me was laying out a five-year-plan. One that involved moving out of the clubhouse, finding a nice place for us to live, to set down roots. It would have a big TV for family movie nights and built-ins for Noa’s DVD collection.
Maybe one day, we’d raise a family there.
And it would be a home full of this shit I’d never known: comfort, safety, affection, and love. No one there would know hunger or fear.
The more I thought about it, the more I wanted it.
And, yeah, we totally needed a fucking boat. Hell, I was half-tempted to buy this exact one off of Zayn. Just for the memories.
Of course, those were all thoughts I had before going to sleep that night.
“What?” Noa grumbled when I sat up in bed, taking her with me since she’d fallen asleep on my chest.
“Dunno,” I admitted. But my heart was racing, like the unconscious part of me heard something.
“It was probably just a dream,” Noa said, dropping down on the pillow with a sigh.
There was no good reason for me not to agree with her and go back to sleep. Aside form the strange churning sensation in my gut. And the way my heart was slamming against my ribcage.
Something felt wrong.
Maybe that was paranoia. Just evidence of a traumatic childhood that forced me to be hyperaware and then an adult career that did the same.
But I couldn’t shake the skittering sensation of my pulse, the cold dread snaking up my spine.
“Babe, get up.”
