Chapter 11 #2
“Alright,” Darren says slowly, like he’s deciding if he should say more. But he doesn’t. “Have a good night.”
“You too.”
Then I pull the phone away from my ear and hang up before he can say he loves me.
I already know it’s true. I just can’t hear it right now.
Not as I sit here, slowly getting fucked up just to make it through the day, while he’s left circling around my silence, trying not to spook it.
I don’t deserve unwavering love and support, or the space he keeps making for me to land in when I don’t even know how to show up.
With a deep sigh, I close my eyes and squeeze them shut, focusing on the pressure building behind my eyelids, the pull of tight muscles, and the sharp edge of tension I wish would tip into something real. I squeeze harder, willing it to hurt, like the pain might crack something open.
But nothing happens.
Another slow, empty breath leaves me before I open my eyes and drain what’s left in my glass.
Then I reach forward and pour another.
Guess I’ll be hungover tomorrow after all.
But before I can even take the first sip, there’s a knock at the door.
Fuck’s sake…
If this is my crazy fucking neighbour again, bitching about that useless bush on the property line, I swear to fucking god, I’m going to lose it.
I take a long drink, set the glass down with a hard clink, and head for the door, ready to rip this asshole a new one. It’s a fucking bush. Trim it. Rip it out. Set it on fire for all I care.
But when I whip the door open, it’s not my neighbour.
It’s Alder.
He tilts his head slightly, curiosity flickering across his face as he takes in whatever expression I’m wearing—a mix of anger, confusion, and something else I don’t have a name for.
But he just nods and glances down the street. “Nice neighbourhood.”
Then he steps inside, slipping past me like he’s been here a hundred times before.
I close the door slowly and watch him cross the living room, his gaze moving casually over the space as he takes everything in. He stops in front of the coffee table as his eyes land on the whiskey bottle and my glass, then looks up at me and cocks an eyebrow.
But I just stare back at him.
I should be wondering how he found out where I live and why he’s here… but I don’t even care. However, I will care if he has anything to say about me drinking on a late fucking Saturday afternoon in my own home that he waltzed into unannounced.
“Going to offer me one?” he asks simply.
My gaze stays locked on his for a moment longer, almost like I don’t have a choice. There’s a quiet but charged spark behind his eyes, and his presence in my home is somehow both settling and disruptive.
I don’t know how or why he keeps slipping past the mechanisms I’ve built to keep people out… but I do know I’m not stopping him.
So I head into the kitchen and grab another glass. He watches me the whole way, quiet intensity radiating off him as I hold it out for him.
He takes it with a dark smile and doesn’t look away from me as he pours himself a drink. I raise my glass and take a long pull while he does the same.
And he doesn’t say a word. He just watches me… waiting for me to ask the question we both know is sitting between us.
Why are you here?
“Didn’t hear you come in,” I say instead.
He nods casually. “Parked down the street. Didn’t want to spook you.”
I narrow my eyes. “You think you scare me?”
He huffs a laugh and lifts his glass to his lips. “No, baby. I know I don’t.”
He continues to watch me with that easy calm, looking like he could wait all day if I needed him to. But I sense the hunger underneath it… The kind of energy that says the second I give him permission, he’ll tear right through me.
And I’m surprised I want him to.
Still, I lift my glass and drink, letting the moment hang.
And all he does is smile.
But the longer we stand here in silence, each of us waiting for the other to move, the more something stirs inside me. Something restless and electric, brushing against the edges of my nerves like static looking for somewhere to land.
And before I even realize what I’m doing, the words are coming out of my mouth. “What are you doing here?”
His smile grows darker, and something absolutely feral enters his gaze.
He lifts his glass to his lips, draining the last of it in one slow swallow, his cut parting just enough to show a flash of the gun strapped to his side.
The low hum under my skin grows louder, demanding something from me and pressing harder with every second I keep still.
“I told you we’re going to spend more time together,” he says, stepping forward as he sets the empty glass on the coffee table. “And I need to open you up.”
My eyes stay locked on his, the sunlight catching in them and revealing flecks of gold in all that dark. He has the kind of gaze that shouldn’t feel warm, but somehow… it does.
Like danger waiting for permission.
“You need to step out of that cage you keep building for yourself,” he says, his hand lifting to run up my chest, his fingers dragging slowly over the fabric of my T-shirt. “And find out what it’s like to actually live.”
My eyes drop to the ink on his neck, taking in the trees and wildflowers tangled down one side, and a dagger and a crow inked onto the other.
Life and death.
Roots and ruin.
His hand slides up my chest until his fingers curl around my throat, and I involuntarily pull in a sharp breath. My heart thumps, and the static that’s been building finally lands, crackling over my skin.
“I’m working tonight,” he says, leaning in close enough so I can smell the whiskey on his breath. “And you’re coming with me.”