Chapter 22
I don’t look at him right away.
That’s new.
Last night, every time he moved, every time he spoke, every time the air shifted around him, my attention snapped to him like I didn’t have control over it. Like something in me needed to track him, needed to understand him before I could settle. Now, I choose not to look. At least at first.
I sit on the far end of the couch, angled toward Kya while she talks about something that has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the way life keeps moving here no matter what’s happening underneath it.
Remy is half climbing over her, half trying to steal something from Knox, and Mason is loudly insisting that whatever he’s holding is the most important object in the room.
I nod in the right places. I smile when it makes sense.
But I’m not really listening. I’m watching.
Not him. The space. The way the room moves around him.
Because he’s still there. I can feel it.
Not close. Not touching. But present in a way that doesn’t fade into the background like everyone else eventually does. I glance up finally.
He’s exactly where I expected him to be.
Edge of the room. Leaning slightly back against the wall.
Arms loose at his sides, not crossed, not rigid.
Relaxed. Except he’s not. His eyes are on me.
Not drifting. Not checking in and out. Locked.
Focused. Like I’m the only thing in the room worth paying attention to.
My stomach flips slightly. I don’t react. I don’t give it away. I just hold his gaze for a second longer than necessary, then turn back to Kya like it didn’t matter. Like I didn’t feel it. Like I didn’t notice. But I did. And more than that. I’m starting to understand it.
That distance?
It’s not detachment. It’s control. He’s not staying back because he doesn’t care. He’s staying back because he does. Because if he steps in, he takes over. And he doesn’t want to disrupt this. Me being here. With them. That changes something. Not everything. But enough.
Kya bumps my shoulder lightly when I miss something she says. “Still with me?” she asks, amused.
“Yeah,” I say, smiling. “Sorry. I’m still… adjusting.”
She snorts. “That’s a polite way of putting it.”
“Give her a break,” Mac calls from the other side of the room. “You threw her into the deep end.”
“I didn’t throw her,” Kya shoots back. “She walked in.”
“That’s worse,” Mac says.
I laugh softly, and it comes easier this time. Less forced. More real.
Dom drops into the empty space beside me like it’s nothing. No hesitation. No hesitation from me either. That’s deliberate.
I let him.
He leans his elbows on his knees, glancing at the phone in my hand. “Should be good to go,” he says.
I blink at him. “Already?”
He grins, quick and easy. “You’d be surprised what I can do in five minutes.”
“Terrifying,” I mutter.
“Efficient,” he corrects.
I tilt the phone slightly, scrolling. It’s set up. Completely. Apps. Contacts. Everything. My throat tightens slightly. “You didn’t have to—”
“Yeah, I did,” he cuts in lightly. “Cobra would’ve ripped my head off if I didn’t.”
That lands.
I glance up before I can stop myself.
Cobra hasn’t moved. But something shifts. Small. Sharp. Like a reaction he didn’t mean to show. I file that away. Then I look back at the phone. My contacts are already loaded And one name stands out.
Cobra.
I stare at it for a second. Then, before I can overthink it, I tap it.
Message opens. My fingers hover.
What do you even say to someone like him?
Thank you feels too small. Anything more feels like too much.
I type anyway.
Thank you for the phone.
I stare at it. Delete it. Rewrite.
You didn’t have to do that. But I’m glad you did.
I hesitate.
Then add…
Guess I owe you now.
That feels like a push. Small. But intentional.
I hit send before I can stop myself. My chest tightens immediately after.
I don’t look up. I don’t need to. I feel it.
The shift. The way his attention sharpens even more.
The way the room seems to narrow just slightly around that one interaction.
I tuck the phone into my lap like it didn’t matter.
Like I didn’t just test something. But I did. And I felt it land.
That’s enough for now.
I scroll again, this time pulling up Tessa’s name. My fingers slow. This part is harder. Real life. Real consequences. I type.
Hey. I’m okay. Had a bug hit me hard. I’ll call later.
I stare at it. It looks wrong. Too simple. Too empty. I delete it. Rewrite.
Hey. I’m okay. Got sick out of nowhere. I’ll call you later.
Still wrong. I close my eyes for a second, inhale slowly, then open them again. Send. My chest tightens immediately after. Then my mom. Shorter. Safer.
I’m okay. Got sick. I’ll call later.
It feels like lying. Even if it isn’t fully. Even if it’s necessary. I don’t like it. But I don’t stop. Because I understand normal isn’t an option right now. I look up again.
He’s still watching me. That hasn’t changed.
What has changed is how I feel about it.
Yesterday, it felt overwhelming. Now, it feels intentional.
Measured. Like he’s letting me move where I want, but he’s tracking every step.
That should bother me more than it does.
It doesn’t. Which is something I’m not ready to unpack yet.
I stand up walking over to him, needing to talk to him. “I work tomorrow.”
The room quiets slightly. Not completely. But enough. Because everyone hears it.
Cobra doesn’t move. Doesn’t hesitate. “No.”
I blink. “I wasn’t asking.”
“You’re not going.”
My jaw tightens. “That’s not your call.”
His eyes meet mine. Cold. Steady. “It is right now.”
Frustration sparks immediately. Sharp. Immediate. “I can’t just disappear from my life.”
“You already did.” That hits harder than anything else he’s said. Because he’s not wrong. And I hate that.
I step closer to him slowly. Testing. “If I want to go, I’ll go.”
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t step forward. Doesn’t step back. “Then I’m there.”
I exhale, shaking my head slightly. “You’re not my bodyguard.”
“Right now I am.” The words land differently this time. Not controlling. Not possessive in the way I expected. Protective. Structured.
I study him for a second. Then I smile. Slow. Deliberate. Playful. “I guess you could use a trim.” And I wink. It’s subtle. But intentional.
His entire body stills. Not tense. Not aggressive.
Just… still.
Like something in him locked into place for a second. There. That’s the reaction. I see it. Store it. Understand it. That’s a boundary. Or at least, something close to one.
I turn away first. Back toward the couch. Back toward the women. But I’m smiling now. Because I get it. Not all of it. Not even close. But enough. Enough to know how he works. Enough to know how to move around it.
And maybe…
How to move him.
Just a little.