Chapter Seventeen
I’D BARELY STEPPED out of the kitchen with Lucy and Zeynep when the noise of the clubhouse faded behind us, swallowed by the long hallway and the soft morning light pooling across the floor.
Lucy was still talking, something about fundraisers and outreach programs and a meeting she wanted us all at, but my mind drifted somewhere else entirely.
Maybe because breakfast had felt… strange. Warm. Dangerous in a way I didn’t have the language for.
I tried not to think about Chain watching me from across the room. I tried even harder not to think about how it made something flutter deep in my stomach when our eyes met.
We were halfway down the hall when boots sounded behind us, unshakable, familiar, the rhythm my body had already learned to recognize.
“Lark.”
His voice was soft, too close, and my feet stopped as if they had a mind of their own. Lucy and Zeynep kept going, talking over each other about going to see Oliver. I told myself I should follow them.
I didn’t.
Chain slowed to a stop beside me, one hand hooked in the pocket of his jeans, looking like he hadn’t slept enough and still somehow still looked sexier than any man I’d ever seen.
His hair was still a little damp from his shower, and his cut hung open over a fitted tee that didn’t need to be that fitted.
He didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at me.
There was something gleaming in his eyes, something that always made me want to look away and never look away at the same time.
“You got a minute?” he asked.
My heart did a strange little drop. “Sure.”
He nodded once, like he’d expected me to say yes. “Good. Walk with me.”
I followed him toward the back door, nerves sparking under my skin.
The morning air hit warm against my face as we stepped outside, sunlight catching on the chrome of the bikes lined up in the lot.
Chain stopped beside a big truck at the end of the row—black, older model, clean but used the way a man used something he trusted.
He rested a hand on the hood, turning to face me again.
“So,” he said, looking at me closely, “I’ve been thinkin’.”
Chain thinking was almost always dangerous I’d come to learn. “About what?”
“You.” Then, with a tiny lift of his chin— “Driving.”
I blinked at him, confused for half a breath before the pieces fell together. Chain watched my face like he could see the moment it clicked.
“You ever learn?” he asked.
“No.” The word came out softer than I meant it to. “I was never allowed.”
His jaw flexed once, quiet anger, the kind he kept on a short leash. “Figured.”
I swallowed, fingers curling against my hips. “Why are you asking?”
“Freedom,” he said simply. “You need it. More than most. And bein’ able to drive—” his gaze held mine with something warm and certain “—that’ll give you a piece of it back.”
I didn’t breathe for a moment.
I’d never been inside a truck before, not one that wasn’t driven by a Shepherd, not one that didn’t mean fear or punishment or being carried somewhere I didn’t choose. Driving had always been something other people did. Something I watched through windows.
Something impossible.
But the idea of sitting in a driver’s seat—my hands on the wheel, my foot on the gas, my choice where to go—something inside me cracked open. Light and loud and terrifying and hopeful all at once.
“You want to teach me?” I asked quietly.
Chain’s mouth curved, not quite a smile, just enough to heat something in my chest. “Yeah, Lark. I do. If you want it.”
If I want it.
I looked at the truck. At Chain. At the stretch of open road beyond the gates. And the answer was already beating hard beneath my ribs. “Yes.” It came out on a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. “I… I want that.”
His eyes softened, and a look of relief crossed his features. “Good. We’ll start today.”
“Today?” The excitement hit fast, bright, almost dizzying. “Really?”
“Really,” he said. “No reason to wait.”
I hadn’t realized I was smiling until I felt it. Not a small smile. Not a careful one. A real one—wide enough that Chain’s expression changed, a flicker of something warm and stunned crossing his face like he hadn’t expected to pull that from me.
“Thank you,” I whispered, and it wasn’t enough for what the moment felt like.
Chain’s voice roughened, just slightly. “Don’t be thankin’ me yet. You ain’t seen me teach.”
“Are you a bad teacher?” I asked, the teasing tone surprising even me.
“Oh, I’m patient,” he said. “But drivin’ a truck this size? You’ll be earnin’ that freedom.”
My chest tightened with a kind of excitement I’d never felt before, a want so new and electric I didn’t know how to hold it.
“Where do we start?” I asked.
Chain pointed to the driver’s door, meeting my eyes over the top of it, something warm and dangerous simmering behind his steady gaze. “It starts by openin’ that door.”
And for the first time in my life, the world truly felt like it might finally open up.
***
CHAIN OPENED THE truck door like it was the most normal thing in the world, like putting me behind the wheel wasn’t a monumental shift in the gravity of my entire life. The cab was big and clean, smelling faintly of leather and pine, sunlight warming the dashboard until it glowed.
“Go on,” he said, nodding toward the driver’s seat. “Hop in.”
Hop in. Like it was easy. Like it didn’t feel like crossing a line I’d never been allowed anywhere near.
My hand trembled when I reached for the handle, but I told myself he wouldn’t notice.
The metal was warm from the sun, grounding, and when I climbed into the seat, the world shifted with me—higher, wider, different.
The steering wheel sat in front of me like a dream I never thought I’d touch while awake.
Chain rounded the front of the truck and climbed into the passenger side. The cab dipped under his weight, and my whole body reacted—tightening, loosening, buzzing in ways that made me squirm in the seat.
He shut his door, and the sound echoed close. Intimate.
He settled in, stretching one arm across the back of the bench seat, the movement slow, unbothered, dangerously confident. The shift made his body angle toward me, heat brushing the edges of my awareness even though he wasn’t touching me.
“First thing,” he said, voice low, even, too close, “seat needs adjustin’. You got legs shorter than mine.”
A laugh slipped out before I could help it, and he shot me a quick look, one that warmed me clear down to my toes.
“Go on,” he coaxed. “Slide it up. You wanna reach the pedals, darlin’.”
I swallowed, pulled the lever, and eased the seat forward. The movement brought me closer to the wheel, closer to the windshield, closer to the idea of freedom staring back at me. My toes brushed the pedals—light, tentative.
Chain watched my hands like every tiny motion mattered. “There you go.”
His voice did something to me. Made my breath catch. Made the space between us feel smaller than the truck allowed.
“What now?” I asked, barely above a whisper.
“Now put your hands on the wheel.”
His tone carried a weight I felt all the way to the center of my chest. I lifted my hands slowly, almost reverently, setting them at the top like I’d seen drivers do a thousand times through barred windows and open fields.
Chain’s gaze dipped to where my fingers touched the leather. Something shifted in his expression—quiet, intense, like he was seeing something bigger than the moment itself.
“How’s it feel?” he murmured.
I exhaled shakily. “Big.”
“Yeah,” he said softly. “It is. But you can handle it.”
Words said with such confidence.
My eyes stung.
I blinked fast.
“Alright,” he said, leaning in just enough that I could feel the heat off his body. “Press the brake. The left pedal.”
I did. The truck sank a little under the pressure, the whole machine responding to my touch. My breath rushed out of me, sudden and sharp.
Chain noticed. I could tell. But he didn’t call attention to it. He didn’t tease. He didn’t push. He just guided me.
“Good. Now turn the key.”
My fingers shook. Not from fear, at least not the kind I grew up with. This was different. New. Thrilling. Terrifying in a good way.
Chain’s hand came up, slow, firm, brushing under mine just long enough to show me which direction the key turned. His fingers didn’t linger, but my body reacted like they had—heat sparking across my skin, breath catching in my throat.
He said nothing about it. Just waited.
I turned the key.
The engine rumbled to life beneath my feet, the whole truck vibrating, the sound deep and alive. It felt like holding a heartbeat that didn’t belong to me but suddenly obeyed me anyway.
My chest tightened with wonder. “Oh.”
Chain’s lips tugged into the smallest smile. “Yeah. That’s the part everyone remembers.”
I looked at him, unable to hide the awe from my voice. “I’m really doing this.”
“You are,” he said. And then, softer, “And I’m proud of you.”
The words hit harder than the ignition had—clean, warm, sinking deep before I could brace for the feeling of them.
He nodded toward the empty stretch of gravel ahead. “Ready for your first roll?”
“Yes.” It came out on a breath. A promise. A beginning.
I pressed the gas—barely—and the truck crawled forward, slow and uncertain but undeniably moving.
Moving because of me. Because I chose it.
A shocked laugh bubbled out of my chest. “I’m—oh my God—I’m actually doing it.”
“You are,” Chain said, his voice low, warm. “Nice and easy. Keep it steady.”
But steady was hard when my hands felt too light, my breath too quick, and the entire truck responded to the smallest twitch of my foot. Excitement rushed through me—bright, dizzy—and my pulse beat hard against my ribs.
The gravel crunched under the tires. The truck rolled… rolled…
Then I pressed the gas just a little too fast.
Not much. Just enough.
The engine sputtered. Jerked.
Then the truck lurched forward, shuddered, and died in one abrupt motion.
I gasped, the sudden silence loud as a slammed door. “Oh.” My heart stumbled. “I—I didn’t mean to—”
Chain’s hand was already on the wheel, steadying it, steadying me, his fingers brushing over mine in a way that sent heat shooting up my arm. He leaned in close, his body crowding the space between us without pressing, just close enough that I felt the warmth of him everywhere, all at once.
“Easy,” he murmured, and the word sank deep into my bones. “It happens. Everybody stalls their first time.”
His breath touched my cheek—warm, slow, too aware. I forced myself to look at the dashboard instead of him, but that only made me more conscious of how near he was, how his arm was curved around me, how his thigh brushed mine when he shifted.
“I thought I was doing okay,” I whispered.
“You were,” he said, giving me a big smile. “You just got excited.”
Embarrassment flushed hot through me. “I didn’t mean to mess it up.”
“You didn’t mess nothin’ up.” He kept his hand on the wheel a moment longer, fingers loosely covering mine, not pushing, not directing—just a warm, solid presence. “You feel how the truck reacts? That’s all part of learnin’. She’ll tell you what she needs.”
“She?” I asked, a small, breathless laugh escaping.
Chain chuckled, a sound deep enough that it rolled through me. “Yeah. Trucks are ‘she.’ Don’t ask me why. They just are.”
His voice softened even more. “Turn the key again.”
I did. His hand stayed over mine as the engine rumbled back to life, the vibration humming through my palm and straight into the center of my chest.
“Good,” he said, his thumb brushing lightly against my knuckles before he pulled his hand away. The touch was nothing—and somehow everything. “Now try again. Slow this time.”
I nodded, breath catching as I pressed the gas with more care. This time the truck rolled forward smoothly, the motion fluid, confident, controlled.
Chain leaned back finally, giving me space, but the echo of his warmth stayed pressed against my skin like a memory I wasn’t ready to let go of.
“There you go,” he said, pride threading through every word. “Knew you could.”
Freedom unfurled inside me—bright, startling, wild.
And in the passenger seat, Chain watched me like he felt it too.