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Except maybe it isn’t anymore.

I look down at her.

Hair spread across my pillow.

Eyes bright.

No regret.

No fear.

Mine.

The word comes fast.

Instinctive.

And for once, I don’t fight it.

Clara touches my face. “What are you thinking?”

“That twenty grand was a fucking bargain.”

She laughs and pulls me down to kiss her.

Tomorrow, Devil’s Peak will still talk.

My father’s still dead.

Cole’s still gone.

Eighteen years doesn’t disappear because Clara Bennett climbed into my bed.

But for the first time, I’m not thinking about leaving.

I’m thinking about tomorrow morning.

Coffee.

Clara barefoot in my kitchen.

Her helmet beside mine.

And what it’ll take to convince her to stay another night.

Then another.

Then maybe every fucking night after that.

I kiss her again.

She smiles against my mouth.

And for the first time in eighteen years, staying doesn’t feel like something that happens when you don’t have the guts to leave.

It feels like a choice.

Mine.