Chapter 3 Brayden #3
Domino follows me without question, the others falling in line behind him. That's the thing about brotherhood—they might give me hell, but they've got my back when it counts.
I'm halfway to the door when she catches up to me.
“Brayden, wait.” Her hand lands on my arm, and I stop despite every instinct telling me to keep walking. “Please.”
I turn, and the look on her face makes something twist in my chest. There's genuine distress there, mixed with anger that doesn't seem directed at me.
“You don't have to explain,” I say, glancing back at her father who is still standing there like a disapproving statue. “I get it.”
“No, you don't.” She steps closer, lowering her voice. “My dad is just having a bad day between the dick in the manger and the Kincaids pulling their donation. He’s under a lot of pressure.”
“You married Ethan Kincaid?” His name scrapes out of my throat like gravel.
That golden-boy prick who spent high school doing whatever the hell he wanted and never paid for a damn thing.
Teachers drooled over him, coaches worshipped him, and every time he screwed up, Daddy’s money swept it clean like it never happened.
I remember him walking those halls like a crowned prince—chin up, smug grin, whole damn place bending around him.
I watch her face carefully, seeing the pain flash across it before she schools her expression back to neutral. It's the kind of practiced move you perfect when you don't want the world to know you're bleeding.
“Yeah,” she says simply, redirecting the conversation away from Ethan. “Look, I know my father doesn’t seem grateful for what you and your club’s done, but I am. How can I thank you?”
“Can you get us some holy water?” Domino calls out from behind us. “Got some demons that need banishing back at the clubhouse.”
“Not even holy water can help you, asshole.”
Cece actually snorts at that, covering her mouth with her hand like she's trying to contain the laughter. The sound makes something warm unfurl in my chest, even as her father's disapproval practically radiates across the room.
“I'll see what I can do,” she tells Domino, then turns back to me. “Seriously though, how can I repay this?”
“You can tell me what else you need,” I hear myself saying, even though every rational part of my brain is screaming at me to walk away. “This can't be everything. Toys are just part of it, right? What about food? Clothes?”
Her expression shifts, surprise flickering across her features like she hadn’t considered the bigger picture. “I...we usually get food donations from the grocery stores, but this year...” She trails off, glancing toward her father.
“This year the Kincaids made sure those dried up too,” I finish for her.
She nods, looking miserable.
I hold out my hand. “Give me your phone.”
“My phone?” Her brows draw together, confusion etched across her face.
“Yeah, your phone.”
She hesitates, one hand instinctively moving to her pocket like I’ve asked for her kidney instead of her cell. “Why do you need my phone?”
“Because I’m not leaving you high and dry with half a charity drive.”
Behind me, I can feel Domino’s stare burning into my back.
This wasn’t part of the plan—get in, drop the toys, get out.
No lingering, no complications, no getting tangled in small-town drama.
But something about the defeated slump of her shoulders, the dark circles shadowing her face, has me ignoring all my better judgment.
“Cece,” her father warns from across the room, his voice carrying that paternal edge that probably worked great when she was sixteen.
She shoots him a look I can't quite decipher before pulling her phone from her pocket. “Here,” she says, unlocking it before handing it over.
Our fingers brush as she passes it to me, and I ignore the little jolt that runs up my arm. Her phone case is cracked at the corner, and the screen protector is bubbled along one edge. I open her contacts, aware of her watching me intently.
“I'm putting my number in,” I explain, typing quickly. I hand her phone back, careful not to let our fingers touch again. “Text me the list of what you need.”
Her father clears his throat loudly behind us.
“We should go,” I tell her, taking a step back. “Before someone puts boobs on the Virgin Mary and tries to blame us for it.”
She laughs. “That's not actually a bad idea. It might distract everyone from penis baby Jesus.”
“If you're looking for more ways to scandalize the town, I've got plenty of suggestions.” I back toward the door, my brothers already filing out ahead of me.
“I bet you do.” Her smile is different now—softer around the edges.
I give her a nod, not trusting myself to say anything else. If I linger too long, I might do something stupid like offer to help her with the whole damn toy drive distribution. Or worse, ask her out for coffee and watch her try to let me down gently.
“Thank you,” she calls after me. “Really.”
I raise my hand in acknowledgment without looking back. Some things are better left in the rearview mirror, and the look on her face when she smiles is definitely one of them.
Outside, the December air hits me like a wake-up call. My brothers are already mounting up, engines rumbling to life one by one. I swing my leg over my own bike, feeling the familiar vibration as I turn the key.
“We good to go?” Domino asks, pulling up alongside me.
“Yeah,” I say, adjusting my gloves. “We're done here.”
“You sure about that?”
The hell if I know.