CHAPTER 20
ZANE
“I can’t believe you actually married the girl,” Charlie says, a smug grin tugging at her lips.
I roll my eyes. “I swear, Charlie—”
“I mean, I noticed you’ve been giving her the fuck-me looks ever since she almost killed you in that hospital, but married? That’s kind of new.”
I huff. “Are you going to be useful anytime soon, or—?”
“Are you going to divorce her?” she interrupts, eyes gleaming with amusement.
“No,” I admit, and she chuckles, clearly entertained.
“Well, good for you, I guess. Anyway, I ran some tests this morning based on what you reported about Mia, and the results are in.”
I straighten a little. “And?”
Charlie leans against her desk, arms crossed. “Physically, she sleeps anywhere and feels exhausted all the time because she has narcolepsy. It’s a neurological disorder that causes sudden sleep attacks and muscle weakness. That explains why she collapses randomly.”
I exhale sharply, the pieces clicking together in a way that makes my stomach twist. That… actually makes sense.
Every time Mia suddenly went limp, every time she slumped against me mid-sentence, every time she dozed off in the most chaotic situations—it wasn’t just her being reckless or exhausted. It was this.
I’ve been noticing it, but I never connected the dots. And now that I do, I feel like an idiot for not seeing it sooner.
I rake a hand through my hair, my chest tightening. “What can I do to help her?” The words come out before I even process them, but I mean them. If this is something Mia’s been dealing with alone, I don’t want that to be the case anymore.
Charlie watches me, her sharp eyes calculating. “Well, for starters, she needs structure. Routine. Stability.” She smirks. “Which is hilarious, considering you two are the least stable people I know.”
I scowl at her, but she’s not wrong. My life has never exactly been a beacon of order, and Mia? Mia is chaos incarnate. “So what? I’m supposed to turn into some kind of personal schedule planner?”
Charlie shrugs. “It wouldn’t hurt. Keeping track of when she’s most prone to sleep attacks, helping her set alarms, making sure she gets proper rest—little things like that could make a difference. Oh, and make sure she’s not in dangerous situations when she’s alone.”
I tense at that. “She’s always in dangerous situations.”
“Exactly.” Charlie levels me with a look. “Narcolepsy isn’t just about randomly dozing off. Imagine she’s driving, crossing a street, holding a knife—”
“She does that a lot,” I mutter, thinking of how casually Mia handles blades.
“Yeah, not exactly ideal. And the cataplexy part? That’s the muscle weakness. She might collapse if she gets too emotional—laughing, crying, anything.”
I replay the moments in my mind. The way her legs gave out when we argued. The way she slumped into me when she laughed too hard. I thought she was just being dramatic, but no—her own body was betraying her.
Charlie leans forward, her expression unreadable now. “I know you don’t want her to feel like she’s being babysat, but you should at least be aware of what sets her off. She’s reckless, Zane. And you—” she tilts her head—“you’ve already got it bad for her.”
I open my mouth to argue, but the words die before they reach my lips. Because she’s right. The thought of her collapsing somewhere, alone and vulnerable, sends a cold, sick feeling through me.
Charlie smirks, like she sees right through me. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.” She turns back to her desk, pulling out a file. “I’ll send over some research and recommendations. In the meantime, try not to let her get herself killed.”
“Easier said than done,” I mutter, already thinking about how the hell I’m supposed to handle this without Mia feeling like I’m controlling her.
Because if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that Mia doesn’t take well to being controlled.
Charlie continues, “Now, psychologically, that’s a bit more complicated. She reports psychosis, but also cognitive impairment that affects her reasoning and perception of reality. I need to evaluate her further before slapping a concrete label on it. But one thing’s for sure—Mia doesn’t need a legal guardian.”
A weight lifts off my chest. “Good.”
“But,” she adds, lifting a finger, “I’ll appoint you as one just in case. If she ever ends up in a situation where she’s vulnerable, this could help.”
I frown. “I don’t want her to feel trapped.”
Charlie exhales sharply, like she already knew I’d say that. “Yeah, well, neither do I. That’s why I talked to her first—before even bringing it up to you.” She lifts a shoulder in a careless shrug. “She’s on board. She wants you in her life. Your relationship is… unconventional, but if it works for you, who am I to judge?”
I stay quiet at that.
Charlie studies me for a second. “What is it?”
I let out a slow breath, rubbing my face. “It’s just… she talks to people that aren’t there. And she gives them names—Pinocchio, Bubbles. It’s not just random muttering either. She has full conversations with them, like they’re real.”
Charlie nods, her expression unreadable. “Yeah, I put that in her reports. Hallucinations aren’t uncommon for people with her condition. The real question is whether she knows they aren’t real or if she genuinely believes in them. Either way, I’ll factor that into her evaluation.”
I shift uncomfortably. “And then there’s the fact that she collapses all the time. Like, everywhere. I always thought she was just careless or exhausted, but now it actually makes sense.” I let out a frustrated sigh. “I should’ve noticed sooner.”
Charlie shrugs. “You’re noticing now. That counts for something.”
I nod, but something in her tone makes me pause. She’s holding something back.
“What?” I ask.
Charlie smirks, but there’s something sharper underneath it. “I did a little research on Mia.” She leans forward, elbows on her desk. “Tell me, have you ever paid attention to her necklace?”
“The one that was taken from her the night of the accident?”
Charlie nods toward her desk, a subtle gesture, before she pulls open a drawer. With practiced ease, she retrieves a small evidence bag and tosses it to me. Inside is the familiar silver chain, simple yet sturdy, with a small padlock pendant. The lock is tarnished with age, its surface worn smooth from years of being touched, the keyhole slightly faded but still visible.
“The doctors took it off her during surgery and stuck it with her personal effects. I pulled some strings to get it back,” she says, watching my reaction. “Recognize it?”
I turn the bag over in my hands. The necklace is a little duller now, but there’s no mistaking it.
“My idiot ex-boyfriend mentioned it once,” Charlie continues, eyes sharp with intrigue. “Said it was a family heirloom. And considering where she came from, that might mean more than you think.”
I glance up. “What are you saying?”
Charlie smirks. “I’m saying that if this necklace is what I think it is, Mia wasn’t just someone in the cartel’s orbit. She was inner circle. And now, congrats, Zane. You might just be married into the mafia.”
I groan, rubbing a hand down my face. “Great. Just great.”
I think about the things Mia told me, but I don’t mention Charlie. It’s not my secret to tell. She studies me closely, her gaze weighing every inch of my expression. But before she can say anything, her phone chimes, breaking the silence.
Charlie glanced at her phone, a smile tugging at her lips. "I promise I'll look into it more later," she said, her voice light, her eyes shifting toward the door. "But for now, you’ve got a visitor."
I narrow my eyes. “Who?”
She stands, stretching dramatically before shooting me a mischievous smile. “I think you’ll like them.” Then she walks out of the room without another word.
I exhale, already regretting my existence. “You look tense,” Charlie calls over her shoulder. “Relax. You’ll love it.”
“I highly doubt that,” I mutter.
Time passes slowly, and I take the opportunity to organize my thoughts.
The bonfire night suddenly clicks into place—the way she dozed off in the pet shop, the countless times I found myself wondering how a person could sleep so much.
Also, I don’t know if I even want to talk about our marriage with anyone.
Because to Mia, I might just be a fleeting image, a projection that shifts and warps depending on the moment.
She looks at the world like it’s slipping through her fingers, like nothing is real.
But to me… she is too real. And that terrifies me.
The door opens again. But it’s not Charlie.
It’s him.
My stomach twists at the sight of Kyle standing in the doorway. My older brother, with his usual unreadable expression, stares at me with that sharp, assessing gaze he’s always had.
“Zane.” His voice is as blunt as I remember. “You stopped responding to my texts.”
I keep my posture relaxed. “I was busy.”
Kyle doesn’t call me out on the lie, but I see it in the way his jaw tenses. He knows I was avoiding him—and more importantly, avoiding Austin. Avoiding her.
“Good to know you’re still alive,” he says after a moment, his voice dry. He’s never been the sentimental type, and I appreciate that. Our conversations have always been more… technical.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, changing the subject.
“I came for the Boa Festival,” he says casually.
I raise an eyebrow. “You? At a festival? With people?”
Kyle rolls his eyes. “I didn’t come for the people. I’m here with someone.”
My frown deepens. “Someone?”
He smirks—just a little, but enough for me to know he’s enjoying this. “Abigail. She wanted to have fun.”
Ah. Now it makes sense.
I cross my arms. “You entrusted Abigail to Charlie?”
Kyle exhales like he’s actively trying not to think about it. “She’d be a pain in the ass if I got involved.”
I smirk. “So she’s got you wrapped around her little finger, huh?”
Kyle doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he just gives me that calculating look again. “Taylor misses you. You should come home.”
I force a casual shrug. “She ignores me.”
“You tend to ignore everyone.”
I exhale, rubbing the back of my neck. “Fair enough.”
Kyle studies me for a second longer before saying, “She doesn’t actually hate you, you know. It’s just complicated with her.”
I hesitate before asking, “Is she still seeing Mom?”
Kyle’s expression hardens slightly. “She likes to pretend she’s doing a good job of hiding it, but yeah. She still visits Mom.”
My fists clench involuntarily. Of course she does.
Kyle steps forward, placing a firm hand on my shoulder. It’s awkward, like he’s trying to be reassuring but isn’t sure how. My brother was never taught how to express emotions. Our mother made sure of that.
“You should visit more,” he says, voice a little stiff.
I force a smile. “Maybe someday.” Then, because I know he’ll never say it outright, I pull him into a quick hug. “Missed you too, bro.”
Kyle doesn’t push me away, but he doesn’t return the hug either. I can feel him tolerating it, though, which is probably the closest thing to affection I’ll get.
I smirk. “You’re dying inside, aren’t you?”
“What?”
“Not running after Abigail.”
Kyle exhales sharply. “A little.”
I chuckle. “Alright, let’s go find her. You can use me as an excuse—say I wanted to say hi.”
Kyle doesn’t hesitate before nodding. I can feel the slight relief rolling off him. But for me, it’s not a lie—I do want to see Abigail. She was the closest thing I had to a best friend before I left Austin.
And maybe, for just a moment, it’ll feel like old times again.
I walked through the TSOC tents, still trailing Abigail. There was a growing tension in the air, but it wasn’t just because of the somber atmosphere and chaos of the festival. It was because we hadn’t spoken to each other like we used to in years. And now here we were, searching for Abby together, something that probably would have been unthinkable months ago.
“Kyle, we will find her soon,” I muttered, trying to calm the storm raging inside him. I knew he was angry. Kyle huffed, visibly frustrated, but continued walking ahead of me, shoving past people with his usual impatience.
I forced myself to focus. There were so many things to deal with at that moment. And among them was Mia. She had this way of popping into my mind when I least expected it. The truth was, from the moment we met, my life had been turned upside down. It wasn’t that I didn’t like her—that wasn’t it.
I never put much thought into dealing with someone like Mia.
Chaos isn’t something I chase—it’s something I avoid, something I shut out. But with her, it’s different. It’s not just noise. It’s alive, pulling me in before I can think better of it.
And maybe I don’t want to think better of it.
Finally, we spotted Abigail.
"Zane!" Abby runs over and jumps into my lap, her excitement nearly knocking the breath out of me. I haven’t seen her in years—since I disappeared from Austin.
"You were supposed to come back, you asshole," she says, giving me a playful slap before pulling me into a tight hug.
"I intended to a few years ago, but things got a little complicated," I reply, my voice softening with a mix of regret and amusement. I don’t want to get into it, not right now. Not with her, not with any of them.
In my defense, I had every intention of visiting that day—right up until I ran Mia over. And after everything that happened with her, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was some kind of sign. Like fate was stepping in, telling me to turn around, to stay away.
"Complicated how?" she asks, clearly curious, but before I can elaborate, something shifts behind me. A chill runs down my spine. My reflexes kick in faster than my brain.
Kyle’s already grabbed Mia’s wrist just as she tries to stab Abby.
“Mia!” I shout, my voice a mix of shock and panic. Fuck, I think, I forgot the part where Mia hates when strangers touch me.
I should’ve talked to her about this, should’ve prepared her for the possibility of something like this happening while we were here. I mean, I didn’t expect to find my brother here—hell, I didn’t even want to come back to Texas—but it was necessary. At least I don’t have to go to Evermore Biker Club; I don’t know if I could handle that right now.
“Stop,” I hear myself shout, though my heart is hammering in my chest. Shit, this is a mess. Mia—my Mia—holding a knife, and not just any knife, but one she’s aiming at Green, the sweetest soul on the planet.
It’s like a bad joke, the kind that’s so ridiculous you just can’t believe it’s happening.
I know Kyle’s going to be pissed. Hell, I’m pissed. I can practically hear him in my head, all growly and pissed-off like a bear with a thorn in its paw. I can already see the annoyed face he’ll make. It’s not just the face—it’s his I'm about to knock someone out face.
“You look like my little angel, so I'm going to give you thirty seconds to let me go before I rip your hand off.”
Fuck this is bad.
“Kyle, let her go.”
“She was trying to kill Abby.”
“It was nothing personal,” I say, right now, I can’t think about that.
“Little Angel,” Mia says looking at me puzzled and the way her soft voice sounds makes my protective instincts fire off like a damn firecracker show, and I’m trying really hard not to make things worse.
I can feel my brain scrambling, trying to calculate how to grab Mia’s wrist without doing a full-on wrestling move on her, while also keeping Abby from getting stabbed.
I’m doing some weird mental gymnastics, dodging and weaving, trying to be the calm in this insane storm.
It’s like I’m in a cartoon, except it’s not funny. It’s definitely not funny.
Mia, please don’t make me do this.
Mia’s eyes flicker, wide with the intensity of her own emotions.
She didn’t mean it. I know she didn’t.
They just don’t understand her.
"Let her go, Kyle," Abby says, her voice steady despite the chaos around us. Kyle hesitates, his grip still firm, but there's something in Abby’s tone that makes him pause.
Only because of that, he listens, releasing Mia’s wrist slowly. His gaze flicks to me, uncertain, but he knows better than to argue when Abby speaks with that kind of calm assurance.
I’m still on edge, the tension in my chest like a coiled spring, but I don’t take my eyes off Mia. I don’t care if Mia’s in the wrong right now. If Kyle lays a hand on her again, I’ll make him regret it. No one touches her like that.
No one.
I can feel my pulse in my throat, but I’m not backing down.
Whatever else is happening, she’s mine to protect.
Even if she’s the one causing the mess.
“Mia,” I murmur, a soft plea, as I step toward her. "It’s okay."
She doesn’t respond, still too lost in whatever dark place she was pulled into.
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you now?" Kyle demands, his voice thick with frustration.
Mia’s gaze flickers to him, but there’s no malice in her eyes. Her expression is almost too calm for the situation, like she’s detached from everything around her. The coolness in her demeanor hits me harder than if she’d lashed out. She’s not showing vulnerability—not in the way she used to. No, this is the face of someone who’s been hardened by everything life has thrown at her.
I meet her eyes, silently telling her I’m getting her out of here—away from all of this. Away from the chaos. I can almost see the gears turning in her head as she processes the offer, but she doesn’t budge.
She doesn’t even flinch.
“You look like my little angel, but you’re grumpy,” she says softly, but I know better. She can kill him easily.
“Zane,” Kyle growled, rubbing his temple like this entire situation physically pained him. “Explain. Now.”
I looked from him to Abby, then back to Mia. How was I supposed to explain this? Even I didn’t fully understand her yet. She was chaos wrapped in human form, and for some godforsaken reason, she was mine.
“Okay guys, just calm down. This isn’t how I planned things, but here we are. This is my wife, Mia.”
“Wife?” Kyle’s mouth fell open. “You disappear for years and come back with a wife?”
“Crazy, right?” I replied, feigning nonchalance even as I braced for the storm that would come later.
Mia, ever unexpected, held out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Mia Hill. I tried to kill him when we first met. It was love at first sight.”
Kyle let out the longest sigh of his life, and I knew explaining this wouldn’t be easy.