Chapter 11 Kya
KYA
Ivacuum the same patch of carpet for the third time before accepting that it’s already spotless. The cottage is cleaned to within an inch of its life—baseboards scrubbed, windows gleaming, even the inside of the microwave sparkles. The scent of lemon cleaner hangs in the air, tickling my nose.
Everything is spotless except my bedroom.
My bed looks like a clothing store exploded.
Five different outfits lie crumpled across the comforter—too casual, too dressy, too obvious, too frumpy, too much cleavage.
I’m currently wearing dark leggings and a soft gray sweater that hits me mid-thigh, but I’ve changed my mind about it at least twice in the last ten minutes.
This isn’t a date, technically. Lee is just coming over to talk. To figure out what the hell happened last night and what it means going forward.
The rational part of my brain is screaming that this is a terrible idea. That getting involved with Lee Armstrong is asking for complications I don’t need. It’s telling me to stick to my plan—six months, sort out the bar, figure out my life, move on.
But the rest of me? The part that’s been dormant for years until he kissed me against that paint-splattered wall? That part is practically vibrating with anticipation.
My phone buzzes on the kitchen counter.
Lee
Outside.
My heart does that annoying flip-flopping thing it’s been doing all day.
In a slight panic, I scoop up the discarded outfits and throw them into the closet, stuffing them out of sight.
Then I take a breath, smooth down my sweater with sweaty palms, check my reflection in the mirror one last time, and walk to the front door.
When I open it, Lee is leaning against the doorframe, helmet tucked under one arm, dark hair slightly mussed from the ride. He’s wearing his cut over a simple black long-sleeved T-shirt and worn jeans. He looks like trouble.
“Hey,” he says, voice low and warm, eyes searching my face.
“Hey,” I echo awkwardly, stepping aside to let him in.
He enters slowly, taking in the small space with its cozy living room and second-hand furniture, the kitchen table that’s seen better days, the stack of house-flipping magazines on the coffee table. For a rental, it’s nothing fancy. But then up until this point I’ve assumed I’m leaving.
“Nice place,” he says, and I can tell he means it.
“Thanks. It’s a rental, but it works.” The word temporary hovers between us, unsaid. Everything in my life is temporary lately.
We stand there in the quiet hum of the cottage’s heater, neither of us sure how to begin. The easy banter from last night feels a million miles away.
“Do you want a drink?” I finally ask, because my hands need something to do and my throat is suddenly dry.
“Sure.”
I pour two glasses of the good whiskey from the bottle I’ve been saving for a special occasion. Though I’m not sure if this occasion qualifies as such. I hand him a glass, our fingers brushing in the exchange, and that simple contact sends heat shooting up my arm.
We don’t toast. Just drink.
The whiskey burns, but it’s a good burn.
“So,” I start, perching on the edge of my couch.
“So,” he echoes, settling beside me but leaving space between us. Not much space, but enough that I’m acutely aware of it.
Lee sets down his glass, turning to face me fully. The careful distance he’s been maintaining disappears as he shifts closer.
“Last night…” he starts, then stops, running a hand through his hair. “Fuck. I’ve been thinking about it all day.”
“Yeah?”
He looks at me—really looks at me—with an intensity that makes my breath catch. “Let me correct that. I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
My heart and stomach do simultaneous flips.
“What’s going on between us isn’t just heat-of-the-moment stuff for me, Kya. I mean, it started like that, but it was also…” He pauses, searching for words. “I think maybe I never really saw you before.”
“Lee—”
“No, let me say this.” His voice is rough, honest. “I’ve been fighting this since the day I knew you were back in town. But I can’t anymore. I don’t want to.”
Relief floods through me at his admission, but it’s quickly followed by fear. “But it scares me,” I whisper.
“Why?” His hand reaches out, fingers barely grazing mine on the couch between us.
I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Where do I start? You’re Emma’s brother. You’re a biker. I’m only supposed to be here for six months. We have history that’s… complicated. And I have a track record of making spectacularly bad decisions when it comes to men.”
He turns to face me fully. “What kind of bad decisions?”
Heat rises in my cheeks. “The kind where I fall for guys who are emotionally unavailable, or controlling, or just plain wrong for me. I’m so screwed up I ignore every red flag because I think I can fix them.”
“You think I need fixing?”
“No,” I say quickly. “That’s not… God, this is coming out all wrong.” I tap my fingers on my knee, frustrated. “I just mean that my judgment when it comes to relationships is questionable at best. And this—whatever this is—it feels big.”
Not to mention I’ve had a crush on the guy since I was a tween. If this goes sideways, I’m not sure I’ll recover.
Lee is quiet for a long moment, studying me. “What if we don’t screw it up?”
“What if we do?”
“Then we deal with it.” He reaches over, taking my hand in his. His fingers are warm, callused from work and riding. “Kya, I’m not some kid with commitment issues. I know what I want.”
“And that is?”
His thumb traces over my knuckles. “You. I’m not saying we’ll be together forever, it’s too early for us to know that. But I want a relationship with you. I wanna see where this might lead.”
“I want that too,” I admit. “But I’m terrified.”
“Of what?”
“Of staying. Of leaving. Of caring too much and getting hurt.” I look down at our joined hands. “Of being happy and having it ripped away.”
Understanding flickers in his eyes. “Like with your mom.”
I nod, throat tight. “She was the only family I had. And even though our relationship was complicated and painful, losing her… it reminded me how alone I am.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Kya.”
“You say that now—”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he repeats, firmer this time. “This is my town. My family. My life.”
I set my glass down, suddenly restless. “This feels too easy. I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
“What other shoe?”
I gesture between us. “This. You being here, saying everything I’ve ever wanted to hear. It feels too good to be real.”
Lee reaches for my hands, his touch grounding me. “Can’t real be good?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I’ve spent so long protecting myself, building walls. I don’t know how to just… be happy.”
“Maybe we figure it out together.”
Something in his voice makes me look up, really look at him. There’s vulnerability there I’ve never seen before.
“What are you most afraid of?” I ask.
He’s quiet for a long moment, his thumbs tracing over my knuckles. “Becoming my father. Caring so much about someone that losing them breaks something in me that may never heal.”
I wince. “Your mother?”
He shakes his head. “Emma. He loves us more than he ever loved her. Whatever was between them soured long before she and Emma went to New York.”
I hesitate. “I’m afraid of turning into my mother. I’m terrified of needing someone—or something—so much that I lose myself completely.”
“The alcohol?”
I nod. “I think being behind the bar gives me a sense of control. I definitely need a therapist.”
We both smile at my half-assed joke.
“Come here.” He pulls me gently into his side. My head finds his shoulder and his arm wraps around me, steady and warm. His fingers drift up to my hair, tangling lightly in the strands and combing them back in soft, absent strokes.
“I’m not going to lie, Kya. I’ve spent my whole adult life avoiding relationships,” he says quietly.
“I watched my dad fall apart. Watched him try to hold the family and club together while dealing with his own pain. And I swore I’d never put myself in that position.
Never care about someone so much that losing them could destroy me. ”
“But you do care,” I say softly. “About the club and your family.”
He looks at me with an expression so raw it makes my chest ache. “Yeah. Turns out I’m pretty shit at keeping promises.”
I smile. “That I can’t believe.”
His fingers tangle in my hair, gently gliding through the strands.
“If we do this, what do you see our life like?” I ask, curious.
He’s quiet for a beat, then murmurs against my temple, “Morning coffee together talking about our days. Your feet in my lap while you scroll on your phone and pretend not to watch the game in the evenings.”
I smile. He continues, voice low and rough now.
“Fights about whose turn it is to do dishes… and then making up on the kitchen counter.”
I laugh softly, and he leans in, his nose brushing mine.
“Coming home to you covered in paint or sawdust or whatever mess you’ve decided to fix that day, and knowing you’re mine. Waking up tangled around you, every damn morning. Falling asleep the same way every night.”
His hands frame my face, thumbs brushing over my cheekbones. “I want a partner who’ll listen to the hard shit, and stand with me. I want you to fall in love with the club, knowing you’ll have a place with them as much as you do with me.”
He leans in. “And yeah,” he finishes, lips brushing my cheek, “hot sex. Lots of it. But that’s the bonus, not the reason.”
I’m not sure if it’s the words or the way he says them, but a lump lodges in my throat. Some deep ache of hope I didn’t realize I was still carrying.
“You really think we could have that?” I whisper.
“Yeah, baby.”
“Even though we’re both terrified?”
“Especially because we’re both terrified.” His mouth curves in a small smile. “Means it matters.”
When he kisses me, it’s soft at first. A question more than a demand. I answer by melting into him, my hands sliding up his chest to wrap around his neck.