Chapter 2 #3
I set down my cards and did something that surprised us both.
I reached across the table and covered his trembling hand with mine.
His skin was warm, calloused from guitar strings.
His fingers twitched under my touch but didn't pull away.
When he looked at me, the mask was gone entirely.
Just a boy with ghosts in his eyes, desperate to be seen and terrified of what someone might find.
"That song was real." I kept my voice gentle, which wasn't something I did often, letting the words settle between us like an offering. "That was you, under all the bullshit. I liked that version better." I squeezed his hand once, firm and grounding.
He stared at me for a long moment, speechless.
I watched emotions flicker across his face—surprise, vulnerability, something that might have been hope.
His breath hitched, his eyes glistening.
Then his gaze dropped to our joined hands, and when he looked up again, some of the swagger had crept back in.
It was different now. Softer. Like he was choosing to show me the performance instead of hiding behind it.
"You're something else, chere." His thumb brushed across my knuckles, feather-light, tracing the lines of my hand like he was memorizing them. His voice had gone husky, warm. "You know that?" He managed a crooked smile, still shaky but real.
"I've been told." I pulled my hand back, but slowly. Deliberately. Letting him feel the loss of contact, watching his fingers curl into a fist on the empty space where my hand had been. "Usually not as a compliment." I began gathering my cards, tucking them into their silk bag.
"Oh, it's a compliment." His smile returned, crooked now, more genuine, crinkling the corners of his eyes in a way the fake smile never had. "Trust me." He leaned back in his chair, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.
I gathered the rest of my supplies, tucking them back into my bag. The bachelorette party was winding down, women in pink sashes stumbling toward the door, and I'd done my job for the night.
"I should go." I stood, slinging my bag over my shoulder and straightening my sundress. "Early morning." I smoothed down the bourbon-colored fabric, not quite meeting his eyes.
"Can I see you again?" Remy stood too, quickly, nearly knocking over his chair in his haste, his hand reaching out like he wanted to grab mine. "Take you to dinner, maybe, or—" His voice was eager, almost desperate, all pretense stripped away.
"No." I cut him off, but not unkindly, watching his face carefully for his reaction. His face fell, those amber eyes going dim with disappointment, his shoulders slumping like I'd physically struck him.
"If you want to show me more of the real you instead of the performance.
.." I stepped closer, close enough to see the gold flecks in his amber eyes, to feel the heat radiating off his body, to smell that honey-cinnamon scent wrapping around me.
"You can follow the rumors and gossip to find me.
" I held his gaze for one long moment, letting the words sink in.
I didn't wait for his response. Just turned and walked out of The Rusty Hook, feeling his gaze burning into my back the whole way, hot and heavy and wanting.
The night air hit me like a wall—thick, humid, alive with the sound of frogs and insects.
I climbed into my truck and sat there for a moment, hands on the steering wheel, heart beating faster than it had any right to.
Two Alphas in a week. One who smelled like moonshine and watched me like I was a revelation. One who smelled like honey and cinnamon and hid his broken heart behind a beautiful smile.
"This is going to be trouble." I told the empty cab, my voice barely above a whisper.
I was smiling when I said it, my reflection grinning back at me in the rearview mirror.
I was still smiling when I got home and found Gumbo waiting for me on the porch, his tail swishing impatiently like he'd been worried.
"I met another one." I told him, crouching down to scratch his favorite spot, feeling his scales warm and rough under my fingers. "Pretty boy with a guitar and sad eyes. He's got ghosts, Gumbo. Just like me." I scratched along his jaw, watching his eyes half-close in pleasure.
Gumbo made a low rumbling sound that might have been judgment, his amber eyes fixed on me with that knowing reptilian stare.
"I know." I sighed, standing up and dusting off my knees, brushing bits of dock debris from my sundress. "I know. There's something about them, though, these broken Alphas. Something that feels like..." I trailed off, staring out at the dark water of the bayou.
Like home, my instincts whispered.
I went inside without saying it out loud. Some things were too big to speak into existence just yet. I dreamed about honey-colored curls and sad songs and hands that trembled when someone finally saw the truth.
In the morning, I woke up knowing something had shifted. Some door had cracked open that I wouldn't be able to close again. I wasn't sure if that terrified me or thrilled me.
Maybe both.