Chapter Thirty
MORNING LIGHT CAME early, a merciless blade slipping through the thin curtains and cutting across the room as if determined to expose every hour I hadn’t slept.
It spilled over the bed, warmed the tangled blanket, traced the pillow I’d buried my face in sometime around dawn, and still managed to feel too loud for the quiet ache thrumming in my chest. I rolled over, dragging the blanket with me, but the light wasn’t what made me wince. The fault belonged to last night.
Every time I’d shut my eyes, Chain appeared behind my eyelids, standing in that crowded room with shadows and smoke curling around him as though even the air knew where its center of gravity was.
He’d watched me with eyes that didn’t waver, that held a warmth and hunger I wasn’t prepared for, not when my ribs already felt cracked from the way he’d touched me.
The weight of his hand on my waist still burned along my skin.
The rasp of his voice at my ear—You got a dangerous kind of maybe—still pressed heat into places I didn’t know how to unlock.
And the look on his face when I whispered slow…
that look was the one that had followed me into the dark.
I’d stopped things before they crossed a line I wasn’t ready to name. I’d walked away. I’d done the sensible, safe, sure thing. But my body hadn’t believed a word of it.
I scrubbed my hands over my face, chasing clarity that kept slipping between my fingers.
“Get a grip,” I muttered, though the truth pulsed low and steady inside me.
Last night felt like stepping over a boundary I didn’t know how to rebuild.
I’d wanted him to see me, truly see me, and he had, with a focus so fierce it stripped the noise from my head.
And the power twisted inside that moment, the wanting and being wanted, scared me far more than his hands ever could.
Not because I didn’t want him. Because I did. With a longing that felt reckless.
For so much of my life, touch had been a cage, punishment, control, a reminder that I belonged to anyone but myself.
But with Chain, touch carried a different meaning.
Choice lived in it. Heat. Freedom. The stunning, terrifying possibility that someone could reach for me without taking something from me.
A knock broke the quiet, hard enough to jolt my heart into my throat.
“You up?” Chain’s voice seeped through the door, deep and warm and rough around the edges like he’d only been awake a few minutes. My stomach flipped. Of course he was here. We had a driving lesson this morning. He’d promised to teach me, constant and patient.
I sat up too fast, the blanket pooling at my waist as I forced my breath into something almost normal. “Yeah,” I called, voice thin. “I’m up.”
“This mornin’ you’re gonna taste the best damn biscuits of your life,” he said, a grin audible even through the wood. “So hurry, they’ll go fast.”
A reluctant smile tugged toward my mouth, blooming despite the storm inside me. “I’m coming.”
For a moment, his footsteps didn’t move. The quiet on the other side of the door stretched and hummed, leaving me with the ridiculous feeling he was waiting—maybe hoping—for me to open it, to step into whatever waited between us instead of pretending I didn’t feel it.
For one breathless second, I almost did.
Then his boots shifted, slow and solid, each step sounding like restraint, like he didn’t trust himself to linger or look back.
I exhaled, my pulse stumbling through the space he left behind.
Part of me wanted to call him back, wanted to watch his face soften in that way it did only for me, wanted to stop gripping every boundary like it was the last guardrail keeping me upright.
But the other part—the one that still twitched at shadows, still carried smoke in its lungs from the compound—told me to keep the door closed.
So I dressed instead, pulling on jeans and a tank top, my hands trembling as I dragged my fingers through my hair. When I finally glanced at the mirror, the sight startled me enough to make me still.
There was color in my cheeks. A faint lift at the edges of my mouth. A light in my eyes that hadn’t existed yesterday. Maybe this was freedom. Or maybe it was danger in its most seductive form: feeling something worth risking myself for.
Falling for Chain was dangerous. Falling toward him felt like stepping into flame with the wild hope it wouldn’t burn.
But as I stepped into the hallway and the sound of the clubhouse swept over me—voices low, dishes clattering, laughter drifting from somewhere near the kitchen, his laugh rumbling deep as a storm—I realized something that loosened the last cold threads inside me.
For the first time since the fire. Since the compound. Since Jasper.
I didn’t feel haunted.
I truly felt alive.
And I wasn’t folding myself back into the corner ever again.
***
THE DAY STARTED clear, bright in the kind of way that made everything feel a little more possible.
Sunlight slid over chrome, over gravel, over the clubhouse in a warm gold wash.
Chain tossed me the truck keys with a grin that said he was half impressed, half convinced he was making a terrible decision.
“Don’t kill us,” he teased.
“I make no promises.”
He chuckled, climbing into the passenger seat. “Fair enough.”
I adjusted the mirrors, fingers steady. Or steady enough. When I started the engine, it purred awake—no sputter, no stall—and pride bloomed sharp and unexpected in my chest.
Chain gave a slow nod. “Look at you,” he said. “All professional.”
“I told you—I’m a fast learner.”
“Never doubted it.”
His voice held that warm Southern rumble again, the one that wrapped itself under my skin too easily.
“Where to?” I asked.
“Thought we’d take a little drive,” he said. “Out to my folks’ place.”
I went still. “Your parents?”
“Yeah. Earl and Maria Riggs.” His grin widened. “Figured you’ve been dealin’ with me, might as well see what raised me.”
A knot twisted low in my stomach. “You sure they don’t mind?”
“Ma’s been wantin’ to meet you,” he said simply. “She’s got a radar for people I talk about.”
“You talk about me?”
He smirked. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
It was already going.
The drive stretched easy—rolling fields, the wind drifting through the cracked window, Chain’s occasional touch on the wheel guiding me back when I drifted. Each soft correction came with a quiet, “Good job, darlin’,” that warmed me in a way that made me want pull the truck over and climb him.
By the time we turned onto a narrow gravel road, I felt more settled. More grounded.
The gravel crunched beneath the truck tires as we pulled into the drive, sunlight spilling across the farmhouse like it belonged there more than anywhere else.
A wide porch wrapped around the front, wind chimes swaying lazily in the warm breeze.
The whole place looked like a postcard of a life I’d never had—constant, rooted, safe.
My hands tightened on the steering wheel as I put the truck in park. Chain leaned back in his seat, arm draped casually across the backrest like he’d grown up exactly this relaxed.
“Home sweet home,” he said.
My stomach fluttered. Meeting his parents was one thing. But meeting anyone who shaped the man Chain had become? That felt… bigger.
Before we even stepped onto the porch, the screen door creaked open.
Maria Riggs stepped out, wiping her hands on her apron with a smile bright enough to light the whole yard. “Calder said he was bringin’ company and pretty one at that.”
Chain groaned under his breath. “Ma…”
But he hugged her anyway, strong arms wrapping around her like he’d done it his whole life. Watching them made something warm ache quietly beneath my ribs.
Chain stepped back and motioned to me. “Ma, this is Lark.”
Maria’s attention shifted, and I braced myself for polite curiosity, the kind people had when they didn’t know what to make of someone. For her eyes to go to the scar on my face, and for her to see the burns on my hands. But that wasn’t what I saw.
Her eyes were soft. Kind. Knowledgeable in a way she shouldn’t be unless Chain had told her about me.
“Come in, honey,” she said, voice warm as a quilt. “Breakfast is still hot.”
The breath I hadn’t realized I was holding eased out.
Inside, the kitchen smelled like cinnamon and butter, fresh biscuits cooling on the counter. The walls were lined with framed photos—Chain as a boy, two girls with his same smile, and dark braids down their backs.
I was staring at that last picture when footsteps padded down the hallway.
A young woman rounded the corner, barefoot, ponytail swinging. She was pretty in the effortless way some women just are, confidence in every line of her body. She stopped when she saw me.
“Ma, who—” Her gaze flicked between me and Chain, and her mouth curved into a knowing grin. “Oh. This must be Lark.”
Chain sighed. “Here we go.”
The woman walked straight up to me and stuck out her hand. “I’m Briar. Chain’s younger sister. Also the one stuck hearin’ every thought he thinks he’s keepin’ private.”
“I don’t—” Chain started, but Briar waved him off.
“He does. Don’t be fooled.”
I laughed despite myself. “It’s nice to meet you.”
She squeezed my hand warmly. “It really is. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Chain groaned again. “Jesus. Can everyone stop announcin’ that?”
“No,” Briar and Maria said at the same time.
Briar smirked. “Chain talks. We listen.”
Chain groaned into his palm. “Jesus Christ…”
Maria swatted his arm lightly. “Language.”
Earl Riggs looked up from the table then—broad shoulders, gray threaded through dark hair, eyes lit with humor. “So this the one you been teachin’ to drive?”
Chain muttered, “You make it sound like I’m raisin’ her.”
Earl grinned. “From what I hear, she’s got more patience than you ever did.”
I smiled at that—really smiled—and took a seat where Maria gestured. The warmth of the room settled over me like a blanket I didn’t know I needed.
The room shifted into motion, plates passed, chairs pulled, laughter floating between them. I felt like I’d stepped into the middle of something alive, something that had been here long before me and didn’t mind making space for one more.
Maria placed a plate in front of me, biscuits steaming, honey drizzled on top. “Eat, sweetheart. You could use somethin’ warm.”
Her voice hit something tender inside me. A small, hollow place I’d grown used to ignoring.
Chain sat beside me, his knee brushing mine under the table in a quiet, grounding way.
Briar perched across from me, chin in her hand. “So, how’s the drivin’? He teaching you right or scarin’ you half to death?”
“He’s been… good,” I said, glancing at Chain. “Better than I expected.”
Maria beamed. “He’s got a soft spot. Doesn’t show it to many.”
Chain grumbled into his coffee. “Can we not—”
But the teasing was gentle, curved around affection. The kind families had when they weren’t afraid of one another.
It made something ache inside me—something I didn’t expect.
I lifted my tea, staring into the amber surface as I said quietly, “I didn’t grow up with this.”
Why I felt I needed to say those words I’ll never know.
Silence fell—not stiff, not startled. Just still.
Maria’s hands paused where she was setting out more plates. Earl lowered his paper. Briar’s playful expression softened, her eyes sharpening with quiet understanding. Chain didn’t look away from me.
I exhaled slowly. “My mom died when I was little. Too little to remember more than the sound of her voice. My father… he didn’t know what to do with me.” Didn’t want to, I almost added. “He let the women in the community raise me.” I picked at the edge of a napkin. “Not lovingly. Not… like this.”
Maria’s expression warmed even more. Not pity. Not discomfort.
Just… compassion.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured, “I’m so sorry.”
Her voice wrapped around the ache but didn’t press on it. Earl nodded once, weight behind the gesture, and Briar’s eyes glowed with something protective.
They knew. I felt it. Chain had told them enough to prepare them. And instead of looking at me like I was fragile, they just made room.
Maria came around the table then, setting a warm hand on my shoulder. “Well,” she said firmly, “I don’t know a thing about how you grew up, sweetheart… but you’re sitting at my table now. And anyone at my table is family.”
Tears stung my eyes before I could stop them. I blinked fast, clearing my throat. “Thank you.”
Under the table, Chain’s hand found my knee again—warm, firm, just enough pressure to remind me I wasn’t alone.
Briar grinned suddenly, trying to lighten the moment. “You staying for pie? Ma made her peach one.”
“That’s not fair,” Chain muttered. “You’re bribin’ her.”
Maria shrugged. “It works.”
It did, but the pie wasn’t what made me want to stay.I liked it here, surrounded by this loving family. I looked around the table, at Maria’s bright smile, Earl’s easy humor, Briar’s teasing warmth, Chain’s quiet, protective presence, and something eased deep inside my chest.
“I’d like that,” I said softly. “I’d like to stay.”
Chain looked at me then—really looked—and his eyes softened in a way that made my breath catch.
Briar raised her tea. “Welcome to the family table, Lark.”
Chain leaned close again, voice a whisper meant only for me. “Told you they’d like you.”
I looked at him, heart thudding slow and sure in a way that felt unfamiliar. “They’re easy to like.”
His eyes softened. “So are you.”
The words scattered warmth through me like sunlight breaking through after too many years of night.
Maybe this was what family felt like. Maybe this was what life felt like, full and warm and terrifying in all the best ways.
And sitting there, surrounded by laughter and cinnamon and a man whose voice still lingered on my skin, I realized something quietly, irrevocably true: For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel alone at someone else’s table.