Chapter 11 #2
This is years of wanting, years of careful distance and polite conversation and pretending we didn't feel the electricity every time we were in the same room. She tastes like coffee and something sweeter. Something that makes me want to forget every reason we shouldn’t do this.
For a few minutes, I let myself believe it’s possible—her, me, this life.
Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer, and I back her against the kitchen counter, my body covering hers.
"God, Angel," I groan against her mouth. "I've wanted this for so fucking long."
"Me too," she gasps, and the admission makes something primal and possessive roar to life in my chest.
My fingers tangle in her hair, angling her head so I can deepen the kiss. She meets me stroke for stroke, her tongue dancing with mine in a rhythm that makes my blood burn. When I press my hips against hers, she arches into me, and I can feel how much she wants this, how much she wants me.
The soft moan she makes when I trail kisses down her neck nearly undoes me. She's responsive and eager and everything I've ever dreamed about, and the knowledge that she wants this too, that she's been thinking about me the way I've been thinking about her, makes me reckless.
My hands slide down to her waist, pulling her harder against me, so she can feel how much I want her and exactly what she does to me.
That's when reality crashes back in.
She goes rigid in my arms, her breathing harsh and panicked. "Stop. We have to stop."
"Angel..."
"No." She pushes against my chest, and I immediately step back, giving her space. "We can't do this. I can't do this."
"Why?"
"Because..." She's shaking, her lips swollen from my kisses, her hair mussed from my hands. "Because this can't happen. The children..."
"Are at a sleepover."
"That's not what I mean and you know it."
I do know it. She's thinking about stability, about what's best for them long-term, about all the reasons this is complicated.
But right now, with the taste of her still on my lips and the memory of how she felt in my arms burning through my veins, I don't give a damn about complicated.
"They love you," I say. "They trust you. You really think they'd be upset if you were happy?"
"I think they've had enough upheaval for one lifetime."
"And I think you're using them as an excuse because you're scared."
The accusation hits home. I can see it in the way her face flushes, the way she can't quite meet my eyes.
"Maybe I am scared," she admits. "Maybe I'm terrified of wanting something this much. Of caring about someone who could break my heart."
"I would never—"
"You don't know that. Nobody knows that." She wraps her arms around herself, suddenly looking fragile and young. "What if this doesn't work? What if we try and it falls apart? Those kids have already lost so much. I can't risk them losing you too."
"So what's your plan? We pretend this didn't happen? Go back to being polite and distant while we both know exactly how good this could be?"
"I don't know." Her voice breaks on the words. "I don't know what to do."
The pain in her voice makes me want to pull her back into my arms and promise her everything will be okay. But I can see the walls going back up; see her retreating into the safety of duty and sacrifice.
"Think about it," I say instead. "Think about what you want, not what you think you should want. Because life's too short to spend it settling for less than you deserve."
"And what if what I deserve isn't what's best for them?"
"Then we figure it out. Together."
She stares at me for a long moment, and I can see her wavering; see the woman who wants to take the risk warring with the mother who needs to protect her children.
Finally, she shakes her head. "I need time. I need to think."
"Take all the time you need. I'm not going anywhere."
"Promise me," she says suddenly. "Promise me that no matter what happens between us, you won't abandon them. They've already lost too much."
"I promise. They're my family, Angel. Nothing's going to change that."
She nods, relief flickering across her face. Then she walks to the kitchen door, pausing with her hand on the frame.
"Hades?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For tonight, for everything. I don't know what I would have done without you."
Then she's gone, leaving me alone in the kitchen with the taste of her on my lips and the knowledge that everything between us has changed.
I'm still standing there, trying to process what just happened, when my phone buzzes with a text from Tempest.
Tempest: Scanned the security tapes, saw Ethan’s car was parked out front. Again. Everything okay over there?
I stare at the message, knowing exactly what he's really asking. Tempest's been watching this situation develop for weeks. He probably saw this coming before I did.
Me: Everything's fine.
Tempest: That why you look like you've been hit by a truck?
I glance around, realizing he must be outside somewhere. Of course he is. He’s probably been keeping an eye on the house since he saw Ethan's car on the security tapes.
Me: You know where I am if you want to talk.
Five minutes later, he's sitting at the kitchen island, taking in my disheveled appearance and the lingering tension in the air.
"So," he says casually. "That happen?"
"What?"
"The thing you've been dancing around for years."
There's no point in denying it. Tempest knows me too well.
"Yeah. It happened."
"And?"
"And she's scared. Thinks it's too risky with the kids involved."
"Is she wrong?"
The question stops me cold. Because the truth is, I don't know. I don't know if this thing between us is strong enough to survive the complications, the pressure, the responsibility of five grieving children.
But I know I want to find out.
"Maybe," I admit. "But some things are worth the risk."
"Even if it means potentially losing them all?"
"Even then."
Tempest nods, like that's the answer he expected. "Then you’d better make damn sure you don't fuck this up, brother. Because if you break her heart, if you hurt those kids, the club won't be the only thing you have to worry about."
The warning is delivered calmly, matter-of-factly, but I hear the steel underneath it. Tempest cares about Evangeline and those kids too. They've become part of our extended family, and we protect family.
"I won't hurt them."
"Intentionally, no. But good intentions don't always translate to good outcomes."
He's right, and we both know it. This thing between Evangeline and me is a gamble, a leap of faith that could either give us everything we've ever wanted or destroy the fragile stability we've built.
But as I think about the way she felt in my arms, the way she looked at me like I was something worth wanting, I know I'm willing to take that risk.
Because if I have to burn the whole world down to keep her safe, so be it.