Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
camryn
Waking up in Storm's arms feels more natural than it should.
His arm is heavy around my waist, his chest warm against my back, his breath steady and deep against my neck. For a moment, I simply lie there, savoring the unfamiliar comfort of being held and not waking alone.
It's been so long since I've allowed myself this kind of intimacy.
Not just the physical closeness but the vulnerability that comes with letting someone past my carefully constructed walls.
Since Eric, since what happened when I was sixteen, I've kept men at a distance; dated casually, never letting them get too close, certainly never introducing them to Emily.
Yet here I am, with a biker called Storm asleep in my bed, after a night where he carried my exhausted daughter home from a party, faced down loan sharks on our behalf, and then held me through the night without asking for anything more.
Nothing about this makes sense. Nothing about us makes sense. And yet it feels right in a way I can't explain.
Carefully, trying not to wake him, I turn in his arms to face him. In sleep, his features are softer, the hard lines of his face relaxed, the perpetual vigilance eased from his brow. His dark hair is mussed, falling across his forehead in a way that makes him look younger, almost boyish.
I resist the urge to touch his face, to trace the line of his jaw, the curve of his lips. Instead, I simply watch him, trying to reconcile this man with the enforcer who threatened Cantlay's men last night, who confronted Eric with violence I can only imagine.
How can someone be both? How can hands capable of such destruction also hold my daughter with such gentleness and touch me with such care?
"You're staring," he murmurs, eyes still closed.
Heat rises to my cheeks at being caught. "Sorry," I whisper. "Just thinking."
His eyes open then, blue and clear and immediately alert. "About what?"
"You," I admit. "Us. How unexpected all of this is."
A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Good unexpected or bad unexpected?"
I consider the question seriously. "Just... unexpected. I never saw myself with someone like you."
"Someone like me," he repeats, his expression thoughtful. "You mean a biker? An enforcer? A man with blood on his hands?"
"Yes," I say honestly. "All of that. But also, someone who sees me, really sees me. Who doesn't treat Emily like an inconvenience or a complication, but like a person who matters? Someone who makes me feel..." I trail off, not sure how to articulate the complex swirl of emotions he evokes in me.
"Feel what?" he prompts, his voice low and intimate in the morning quiet.
"Safe," I finally say. "You make me feel safe. Which is ironic considering your lifestyle."
He nods, understanding the contradiction I'm pointing out. "Sometimes the most dangerous man in the room is the safest one to be with," he says. "As long as you're on his side."
The statement should alarm me, should remind me of all the reasons I should keep my distance. Instead, it settles something in me, an acknowledgement of a truth I've been circling: Storm is dangerous, yes, but his danger is a shield for those he cares about, not a threat.
And despite all logic and reason, he cares about me. About Emily.
"What happens now?" I ask, the weight of everything we've said, everything that's unfolded between us, hanging in the air.
He brushes a strand of hair from my face, his touch gentle. "That depends on you. On what you want."
"I told you what I want last night," I remind him. "I want you in our lives. But I'm not naive, Storm. I know it's complicated. Your club, your responsibilities, the danger that comes with all of it..."
"Nothing about that changes," he acknowledges. "The club is my family, my life. But you and Emily... you've become important to me. More important than I expected."
"So where does that leave us?"
He considers the question, his eyes never leaving mine. "It leaves us figuring it out," he says simply. "Day by day. If you're willing."
Before I can respond, a small voice calls from the hallway, "Mommy? Are you awake?"
Reality intrudes in the form of my sleepy-eyed daughter, standing in the doorway in her butterfly pajamas, hair sticking up in all directions. She blinks in surprise at the sight of Storm in my bed, but there's no shock or distress in her expression, just curiosity.
"Storm stayed for a sleepover?" she asks, padding into the room.
I sit up, pulling the covers around me though I'm fully clothed. "Yes, honey. He wanted to make sure we were safe after the party."
Emily considers this explanation then nods in acceptance. "Can we have pancakes? I'm starving!"
Storm chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Pancakes sound great, butterfly. Why don't you go brush your teeth while your mom and I get up?"
She beams at him, apparently delighted by his presence at breakfast, and scampers off to the bathroom. Once she's gone, I turn to Storm, half-expecting awkwardness, but he just smiles.
"She's taking this well," he observes.
"She likes you," I say, still marveling at how easily Emily has accepted Storm's presence in our lives. "She's never really had a male figure around consistently. Just my brother occasionally, but..."
"No one like me," he finishes for me.
"No one like you," I agree.
He reaches for my hand, squeezing it gently. "I meant what I said last night, Camryn. I want to be in your lives, both of you. If you'll have me."
The sincerity in his eyes and the warmth in his voice sends a flutter through my chest. "I want that too," I admit. "But I think we should take it slow. For Emily's sake."
He nods, accepting this without argument. "Slow it is. Starting with pancakes."
In the kitchen, Emily chatters excitedly about the Halloween party, reliving her favorite moments while helping Storm mix pancake batter.
I watch them together, struck by how natural they look; Storm showing her how to test the griddle with a drop of water, Emily standing on a chair beside him, absorbing his instructions with serious concentration.
It's a domestic scene I never imagined for us, yet it fits somehow, like a puzzle piece I didn't know was missing until now.
"Mom, watch!" Emily calls, drawing my attention as Storm helps her flip a pancake in the air. It lands back on the griddle with a satisfying sizzle, and she jumps in delight. "Did you see that?"
"Very impressive," I say, smiling at her enthusiasm. "You're a natural chef."
"Storm says I am," she agrees excitedly. "He says I have good tech... techn..."
"Technique," Storm supplies, ruffling her hair affectionately.
"Yeah, that!"
The three of us eat breakfast together, passing syrup and butter across the table, Emily dominating the conversation with questions about motorcycles and the clubhouse and when she can see Sera and Ruby again.
Storm answers each inquiry patiently, occasionally catching my eye with a warm glance that makes my heart skip.
It's all so terribly domestic, so achingly normal, that I could almost forget the circumstances that brought us here: Eric's threats, Cantlay's men, the violence hovering at the edges of our temporary sanctuary.
Almost, but not quite.
"I need to head to the garage for a bit," Storm says once breakfast is finished, dishes stacked in the sink. "Club business to take care of."
The reminder of his other life, his responsibilities outside our little bubble, brings reality crashing back. "Cantlay?" I ask quietly, mindful of Emily playing nearby.
He nods, expression turning serious. "Among other things. We're working on a more permanent solution to the problem."
"Do I want to know the details?"
"Probably not," he admits. "But I promise I'll keep you in the loop as much as I can. No keeping you in the dark about things that affect you and Emily."
I appreciate his honesty and his respect for my agency in this situation. "Thank you."
"I shouldn't be gone long," he continues. "A couple of hours at most. Will you be okay here?"
"We'll be fine," I assure him. "Emily has some schoolwork to catch up on and I need to make some calls about my job. They've been incredibly understanding about my 'family emergency' but I can't stay away forever."
A shadow crosses his face at the mention of my eventual return to normal life. "Right," he says. "Of course. Work, school, all that."
"It's still there, Storm," I remind him gently. "The world outside this clubhouse. My life, Emily's life... It doesn't just stop because of what's happening."
"I know," he sighs. "And I want you to have that life back, safe and secure. I just..." He trails off, looking uncharacteristically uncertain.
"You just what?"
He shakes his head. "We'll talk about it later, okay? When I get back."
I want to press, but Emily calls for me from the living room, asking for help with her spelling words. "Okay. Later."
Storm kisses me briefly, a casual gesture that feels both new and familiar, then crouches to say goodbye to Emily. "Be good for your mom, butterfly. I'll see you in a bit."
"Bye, Storm!" she says cheerfully, giving him a quick hug that seems to catch him off guard. He returns it awkwardly, glancing at me with a look of pleased surprise, which makes my heart melt a little.
Once he's gone, Emily and I settle into our temporary routine: schoolwork at the kitchen table, breaks for drawing and reading. I'm helping Emily with her math problems when a knock sounds at the door. Expecting Storm or perhaps Effie or Eda, I open it without hesitation.
Blaze stands in the hallway, looking unusually formal in clean jeans and a button-up shirt instead of his usual t-shirt and prospect cut. "Hey, sis," he says, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. "Got a minute?"
"Of course," I say, stepping back to let him in. "Emily, look who's here. Uncle Blaze!"
Emily runs to greet her uncle, who scoops her up in a bear hug. "Hey, squirt! You’re getting bigger every time I see you."