Chapter Thirteen
~ Bodean ~
I woke with Jo’s arm heavy around my waist, the skin-to-skin pressure so unfamiliar it might as well have been a foreign object stapled to my side.
My childhood bed at the farm wasn’t much—bare mattress with a scratchy wool blanket, air that smelled like sun-baked dust and the lavender sachet Ma hid in every closet—but I felt safer than I had in years.
Outside, the morning was trying to burn through a thin sheet of fog. It leaked in around the edges of the threadbare curtains, casting the room in a bluish haze that made everything look underwater.
Jo’s hand was splayed open across my stomach, his thumb grazing the top of my waistband like it had business there.
I didn’t move. Didn’t even dare to breathe hard. I wanted the moment to stretch, to freeze, to stay longer than it had a right to. The ache in my ribs was still there, low and familiar, but the fear that used to run on top of it was gone.
I’d forgotten what it felt like to wake up and not have the first thought be: Can I make it to the door before someone notices?
Jo’s breath tickled the back of my neck.
He shifted, rolling his hips forward, his morning wood insistent against my ass.
He mumbled something—words blurred by sleep, but I caught the “baby boy” buried in the rumble.
It landed like a thrown knife, sharp and certain, and I had to clamp my lips shut to keep from grinning like a fucking idiot.
He pressed a slow kiss to my shoulder, then nuzzled in, voice lower now and almost shy. “You awake?”
“Have been,” I whispered, not wanting to wake the world if I didn’t have to.
His hand slid up, palm flat on my chest, fingers finding my heartbeat. I shivered, not from cold, but from the way the touch said: I know what you’re hiding, and it’s mine now.
He must’ve felt it, the way the collar sat tight against my throat. I’d worn it all night, never taking it off even when I showered, the leather already molding to the shape of me. He ran a fingertip along the inside, gentle as tracing a bruise, and then turned me to face him.
We were so close our noses almost touched.
Jo looked at me, really looked, his eyes warm and unguarded. He smiled slow, like the sunrise outside, and brushed my hair back from my face.
“How you feeling?” he asked, voice rough from disuse.
I swallowed, throat thick. “Like somebody ran me over, then left the truck parked on top.”
He snorted, the sound vibrating through my chest. “That’s about right.” He touched my jaw, thumb grazing the edge of the collar. “And after last night?”
I didn’t answer at first. Instead, I watched the way his eyes tracked over every inch of my face, searching for something that maybe only he could see.
“Exposed,” I admitted, after a long minute. “But lighter. Like I finally set down something I’d been hauling since forever.”
Jo nodded, not asking for more. He didn’t need the play-by-play of how I’d spilled everything at the fire—the closet, the friends, the broken parts of myself that I’d always hidden even from the people who swore they’d love me no matter what.
I’d watched their faces go from shock to something darker, then finally to that cold, McKenzie-family resolve. We’ll end this, Knox had said, and nobody had argued.
I rolled onto my back, arm over my eyes, but Jo pulled it away. He wanted to see me, all of me, even the pieces that hurt to look at.
He pressed his forehead to mine. “Proud of you.”
The words made something ugly and small inside me start to dissolve. I didn’t know what to do with them, so I just let them hover between us, a thing I might reach for if I got desperate enough.
Jo’s expression shifted. The softness stayed, but there was a new edge to it, the kind of tension that meant he was already building the next five moves in his head.
“You know Knox and the others are up already, right?” he said. “They’re planning something. Probably half the town’s awake by now.”
I stiffened. “It’s not going to be enough. You know that, right? Harley’s not like the assholes they’re used to dealing with. He’s—” I stopped, because the words felt stupid, but Jo waited, so I finished. “He’s connected. He has people. Real people.”
Jo ran his thumb along my jaw, then down the line of my throat, pressing just hard enough to remind me that the collar was there for a reason. “So do the McKenzies,” he said, not a hint of doubt in the words. “But we’re not walking into it blind. Knox wants a plan that keeps everyone safe.”
I flinched, thinking of what “safe” had meant in my life. “That’s not possible.”
He snorted, then rolled onto his back, arm behind his head. The muscles in his forearm bunched, the veins standing up like rivers under the skin. “No plan survives contact with the enemy, Bo, but I trust them to have my back.”
He didn’t say: I trust you, too. But it was there, unspoken, a promise that made my chest hurt in a different way.
I lay there, staring at the ceiling, watching the faint water stain that looked like a map of the world.
Jo got up, moving with an efficiency that would’ve been funny if it wasn’t so hot. He pulled on his jeans, the fabric hugging his thighs, then bent to gather our clothes from the heap on the floor.
“Come on,” he said, tossing me my shirt. “Ma’s probably got coffee on, and Knox will blow a gasket if we’re late to the war council.”
I pulled my shirt on, then sat at the edge of the bed, watching Jo move around the room. Every motion was deliberate, no wasted effort. He folded the blankets, fluffed the pillow, picked up the glass of water on the nightstand and drank it down.
He didn’t ask what I needed; he just did what had to be done, trusting I’d fall in line behind him.
And I did.
I liked it, the way he took charge. The way he didn’t ask for permission, or act like I was breakable. It made me feel less like a problem to be solved, and more like a person worth protecting.
As he finished, he looked over at me. His face softened, just a little, and he held out his hand. I took it, and he pulled me in, arm slung around my shoulder.
“You ready for this?” he asked.
I didn’t answer, because I wasn’t. But with him holding me up, I could fake it.
He led me out of the room, down the hall, and into the day that was waiting for us.
The kitchen was already awake before we got there—voices low, plates clinking, the kind of background noise that made it sound like a regular morning, except I knew it wasn’t.
I’d barely made it three steps before Ma appeared in the hall, balancing two mugs of coffee and wearing her best “I’ve already seen everything so don’t even bother lying” expression.
She handed one mug straight to Jo, her fingers lingering on his for a half-second too long, like she was making sure he wouldn’t drop it.
Then she offered the other to me, the heat bleeding into my fingers and grounding me in the moment.
I noticed she’d left room for cream, just the way I liked, and the gesture made my throat go tight.
Her gaze did a quick tour of me, then settled on the collar. I felt my cheeks start to heat up, but I didn’t duck my head or reach to cover it. Instead, I stood a little taller, letting her look as long as she wanted.
Behind me, Jo’s hand landed gentle on my hip, thumb rubbing circles through the shirt fabric. I glanced up at him, and he gave me that slow nod of approval, the one that said: Go ahead, kid. Show ‘em what you’re made of.
Ma arched an eyebrow, but there was no real judgment in her face. Just a long, searching look, then a smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. “You boys sleep okay?” she asked, voice even and soft.
“Yeah, Ma,” I said, meeting her gaze. “Best night I’ve had in a while.”
She set her hand against my cheek, the way she used to do when I was little and feverish, and patted it once.
“Glad to hear it.” She stepped back, but before she could head down the hall, she turned to Jo.
“Knox wants to see both of you in the shop before you leave. Don’t make him wait or he’ll set the whole place on fire. ”
Jo grinned, the smile splitting his face in two. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Ma.”
She snorted and disappeared, the sound of her slippers scuffing on the old hardwood fading as she turned the corner.
We took our coffee out the back door, the screen rattling shut behind us.
The air was cold enough to sting, the ground slick with dew and last night’s frost. The yard looked different in the morning light—softer, less like a battlefield and more like the kind of place I might have actually called home if I’d ever learned how.
Jo’s hand found the small of my back, guiding me down the porch steps and across the dirt to the outbuildings. The muscle memory kicked in, and I timed my steps so his palm stayed right at the spot where it felt best, a little bit protective and a lot possessive.
The wind carried the smell of burnt logs and damp earth.
Somewhere in the distance, I heard a chainsaw start up, then die off quick.
My boots crunched on the gravel path, the sound echoing off the side of the barn.
Jo walked steady beside me, his own steps heavy and deliberate, like he was daring anyone to challenge us on the way.
I could see the light on in the workshop, the shapes of my brothers moving inside—shadows bent over a table, heads close, voices overlapping in a low hum. My chest started to squeeze in the old, familiar way, but every time I tried to slow down or hang back, Jo’s hand pressed me forward.
“Still nervous?” he asked, voice barely more than a whisper.
I shrugged, not trusting myself to talk.
He squeezed my side. “It’s just them, Bo. You already did the hard part.”