Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Sunlight blazed through the window, casting golden streaks across the rumpled bed.
Texas lay still, his head propped on a stack of pillows, one arm draped loosely around Sunday.
At some point after she'd stopped talking last night, she'd fallen asleep on his chest. Now she’d shifted in her sleep, curled tightly against his side, her breath warm against his ribs.
He didn’t want to wake her.
But he had to get up.
Carefully he eased the covers back, inch by inch, moving slowly so he wouldn't disturb her. His body protested the motion, stiff from staying still too long, but he didn’t stop.
With a final glance at the peaceful rise and fall of her breath, Texas slid out of the bed, his movements quiet and precise like a man trying not to break something fragile
“I’m awake,” Sunday mumbled, shifting just enough to give him room to get up.
Texas had barely planted one foot on the floor when he heard her voice. He glanced back over his shoulder. “Morning, Doll,” he said softly.
The sight of her bathed in morning light stopped him. Her hair was a mess, her cheeks still puffy from the night before, but something about her looked more at ease—like sleep had taken the edge off her pain. He watched her for a beat, her eyes still closed, lashes resting against her skin.
“You feeling better?” he asked, voice low, careful.
“I’ll be okay,” Sunday murmured, keeping her eyes shut. It had been easier in the dark to speak the truth, to cry into his shirt and not worry about what he saw when he looked at her. But now, in the daylight, with everything out in the open, she wasn’t sure how she’d manage to meet his gaze.
“I’m gonna grab a shower,” Texas said, running a hand through his hair as he stood.
Sunday pushed the covers back, already shifting to sit up. She wasn’t about to slow them down. “I’ll get up and dressed.”
But his response stopped her. “We’re not in a hurry.”
She opened her eyes, her brow drawing slightly as she looked at him. That wasn’t what they’d said last night. “I thought we were trying to get to Montreal today?”
Texas glanced over his shoulder, one corner of his mouth tugging into something soft—not quite a smile, but close. “Just figured there’s no point rushing you out of bed when you barely slept.”
That caught her off guard. She didn’t know what to say to that, to the way his voice dipped gently around the edges or how he made it sound like her comfort mattered more than the miles ahead.
He’d lain awake most of the night, staring at the ceiling while her quiet breathing kept him grounded. Somewhere between midnight and sunrise, he made up his mind—he couldn’t leave her in Montreal alone. If her own sister wasn’t willing to stay, that didn’t mean he’d abandon her, too.
The only plan that made sense—the only one he could live with—was to take her with him. Back to the farm. When Monday came back in four to six weeks, he’d bring Sunday back. Until then, she wouldn’t be alone.
Texas gave her a wink as he stood. “We’re still trying to get there today.”
As he crossed the room, he paused, needing to say it out loud. “Sunday... what would you think about coming home with me?”
She sat up straighter, brushing a hand through her hair. “To the farm?”
“Yes.”
She hesitated. “Would your family mind?”
“I don’t live with my family,” he said, glancing back at her. “But my mom and Aunt Helen? They’d love having another woman around to fuss over. You’d be spoiled rotten before the week’s out.”
Texas didn’t want her getting the wrong idea.
This wasn’t about them suddenly becoming something they weren’t.
He wasn’t asking her to move in, to play house, or pretend anything had changed.
This was him dealing with the mess of what had happened the night before, and making sure she wasn’t left to face it alone.
“When Monday gets back to Montreal,” he said carefully, “I’ll bring you back.”
Sunday’s heart pounded so hard she was sure he could hear it. Part of her wanted to throw her arms around him, bury her face in his chest again, but she didn’t move. She kept it together, pushing herself upright and smoothing back her hair like it wasn’t trembling fingers doing it.
“I’d like to go with you,” she said, steady and sure.
And she meant it.
“Good. Let’s get dressed so we can hit the road, I’m starving,” Texas said, flashing her a quick grin before disappearing into the bathroom.
Sunday stayed where she was, sitting in the center of the bed with the blanket pooled around her legs, staring at the closed door he’d just gone through.
Reality settled over her like a second skin.
Of course he’d asked her to come with him. Not because he needed her there, but because of last night. Because she’d fallen apart. Because he was kind.
Her fingers twisted in the sheets, clutching the fabric like it could hold her steady. Maybe she should’ve been embarrassed. Maybe she was. But under it all, something warm stirred. She was grateful, even if it wasn’t forever.
Still debating whether she should back out of going to the farm, Sunday climbed out of bed and moved with quiet urgency. There was no point in hesitating, she didn’t want Texas to see her second-guessing.
She dumped out her backpack onto the bed, rifling through the wrinkled pile of clothes she’d shoved in there days ago. After a moment, she pulled out a cream-colored distressed sweater and a pair of faded jeans, setting them aside.
The sweater went on over the t-shirt she’d slept in, its oversized sleeves hanging past her wrists. She paused, wishing she had underwear and a bra. Wishing she had anything that felt like hers.
Sliding into the jeans, she didn’t have to bother with the button or zipper. They hung on her hips, loose and unfamiliar. In the three months Dalton had kept her captive, her body had changed. She’d dropped weight she couldn’t afford to lose.
Grabbing her toiletry bag, she crossed to the sink.
She washed her face, scrubbing harder than necessary, then brushed her teeth until her gums stung.
Staring at her reflection, she hated what she saw.
The hollowed cheeks, the bruised-looking shadows under her eyes made her look like a ghost of herself.
“I appreciate you thinking it’s fine,” Texas said, struggling not to laugh as he bent to retrieve the towel. He wrapped it securely back around his waist, this time gripping it with one hand as he crossed the room toward his clothes.
Sunday stayed rooted in place, still facing the wall, her cheeks burning. “Can I get in the bathroom?”
“Yeah,” he said easily, already rummaging through his duffel. “I’ll get dressed while you’re in there.”
She nodded, still not looking at him, and hurried toward the bathroom with a muttered, “Thanks.”
As the door clicked shut behind her, Texas shook his head, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. It wasn’t the way he’d planned to start the day, but it sure as hell wasn’t the worst.
Sunday kept her gaze firmly averted as she entered the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.
She leaned against it, hand covering her mouth, shoulders shaking as she fought back a laugh. A second later, the laugh slipped out anyway—quiet, breathy, and real.
God, it felt good to laugh.
She hadn't done that in… she couldn't even remember when.
Dropping her hand, Sunday exhaled and pressed her head back against the door, trying to get it together. She just hoped Texas wasn’t the sensitive type—because if he heard her laughing, he might think she was laughing at him. Or worse—at that.
And she definitely wasn’t.
From what little she’d seen, there was nothing to laugh at. Not even a little.
Texas was pulling on a pair of jeans when he caught the sound of Sunday laughing through the closed bathroom door. He shook his head, a grin tugging at his lips. After trying so hard to be a gentleman, all it took was a runaway towel to turn him into a dirty old man.
Chuckling to himself, he yanked a shirt from his bag and slipped it over his head. Dropping onto the bed, he bent down to pull on his socks and boots, the sound of Sunday’s laughter still echoing faintly in his ears.
Digging through his duffel, Texas pulled out a small black bag. Unzipping it, he lifted out a thin silver chain holding a cross and his St. Joseph’s medal, along with a small brass key. He slid the chain over his head, letting it rest heavy against his shirt.
Next, he pulled out his watch and leather bracelet, slipping them on one after the other. At the bottom of the bag lay four rings: a chunky Harley ring, two simple silver bands and his gold wedding band, tarnished and worn from years of neglect.
He picked up the wedding band, turning it slowly in his hand. His thoughts drifted to how long he’d been alone, how long it had been since that ring had fit comfortably—or meant something.
For a moment, the weight of it settled on him heavier than any chain or medal.
“You could wear it on the chain,” Sunday said softly.
Texas glanced sideways, surprised to find her standing just beside him. Her eyes held a teasing glint.
“If you’re gonna start sneaking around,” he said with a smirk, “I’m gonna have to get you a bell.” He let out a low chuckle, the weight on his hand suddenly feeling a little lighter.
Sunday moved back to the edge of the bed where she could gather her things. “Texas, put the ring on the chain,” she said quietly, rolling up her clothes with deliberate care. “You should keep it close to you.”
Glancing casually over her shoulder, she caught him sliding the ring onto the chain. It felt like the right thing to do. She could tell it meant more to him than words could say.
If she was lucky enough to one day find someone to love her, she’d hold on to that love just as fiercely.
Zipping up her backpack, Sunday carried it over to the large waterproof piece of bike luggage. Noticing Texas hadn’t stashed his duffel inside yet, she set hers down nearby, silently inviting him to pack his things.