Chapter 3 Faith
FAITH
The door closes behind me with a soft click. I’m not sure if it’s relief or nerves that make my knees weak.
Hayden moves past me and flicks on a small lamp near the window. The light is soft, casting shadows across the room, but with Hayden here, I’m not afraid of shadows or ghosts.
The room’s not much—bare walls, old leather armchair, scuffed floors, the scent of motor oil clinging to everything—but it feels safe.
More than anywhere I’ve been in a long time.
He shrugs off his cut and tosses it over the back of a chair. Then he turns to me. “Have you eaten?”
The question catches me off guard. “No,” I whisper. “Not since this morning.”
He nods once and heads to the tiny kitchenette tucked in the corner of the flat.
I watch him open the fridge, pull out leftovers and a half loaf of bread.
He’s not as big as I remember, like all things seem much bigger when you’re a child.
But he’s still hard muscle and quiet power.
His black t-shirt stretches across his chest, sleeves hugging thick biceps inked in dark lines.
His jaw’s rough with stubble, and his black hair is shorter than it used to be, but still messy, reaching his eyes.
His beautiful storm-grey eyes haven’t changed at all. Only now they make my stomach flutter.
He studies me for a moment. Not in the way Nigel does—the kind of look that makes my skin crawl. Hayden’s gaze is different. Quietly assessing and protective.
I don’t remember the last time someone took care of me—probably my brother before he got sent down.
Hayden sets a plate of food in front of me at the small table. “It’s just leftover spaghetti, but it’ll fill you up.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, sliding into the seat.
He nods again but doesn’t sit with me. Just leans against the counter like he’s carved from the wall, arms folded, watching with quiet intensity as I take the first bite.
I try not to shovel it down, but it’s hard. I didn’t realise how hungry I was until now.
After a few minutes, I glance up. “I didn’t mean to show up so late.”
“You came when you could.” His voice is low, gravelled. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you came. You did good finding your way to me. You’re safe now, Sunshine. ”
I blink at the praise. I’m not used to it.
He clears his throat and glances away, like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re not as scary as I remember.”
One brow lifts. “That so?”
I nod, a small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “When I was little, you were like this grumpy mountain in black leather. Oak used to tell me not to bother you or you'd growl.”
He smirks faintly. “I did growl. Still do.”
“You didn’t really talk to me back then.”
“I didn’t talk to anyone back then. Still don’t. Besides, what would I say to a nine-year-old?”
I laugh—an actual laugh. It bubbles up unexpectedly, unfamiliar in my throat.
He shakes his head, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s trying not to smile. “I remember you used to sing in the garage when you thought no one was listening.”
My face heats. “Oh, how embarrassing?”
“Not embarrassing. Your voice was better than any skylark. It always lifted everyone’s mood.” He turns towards the sink, washing the few pots there, but I catch the ghost of a smile still clinging to his lips. “Do you still sing?”
I look down with a sigh and an emptiness in my chest as I pull the sleeves of my hoodie over my hands. “There’s nothing to sing about now.”
He glances over at an old dressing table near his bed, with a small photo frame—slightly dusty, half tucked behind an empty bottle of liquor. “I know the feeling.”
A younger girl. Blonde. Soft smile. Same eyes as Hayden.
“Who’s that?” I ask quietly, nodding towards it.
His shoulders stiffen just a little. He walks over, picks up the frame, brushes the glass with his thumb.
“My sister. Jodie.”
“She’s beautiful.”
“She was.”
I sit a little straighter. “Was?”
He sets the frame back down, carefully. Like it might break if he lets go too fast.
“OD’d. Heroin.”
“Oh, Hayden…” My chest caves. “I’m so sorry.”
His shoulders curl inwards as if he’s still carrying the weight of his grief. “I like to remember her like this before she got hooked on the drugs.”
His eyes cloud over as if he knew his sister’s fate for years and couldn’t stop it. Just like I can’t help Mum.
Maybe that's what turns a man into wrath.
He clears his throat. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to dump that on you.”
“No,” I breathe out a soft sigh. “Thank you for telling me.”
A beat passes between us, quiet and full of unspoken words.
“Is that why you agreed to help me?” I ask.
He nods once. “It’s why Oak has kept you away from the club. He said you had a talent and that he had hopes of you making it out of this small town.”
My chest floods with warmth. “You always looked out for us, didn’t you?”
His jaw flexes. “Still am.”
I scrape the last swirl of spaghetti onto my fork and swallow it down, already feeling a little more human.
Hayden watches me the whole time. He doesn’t talk. Doesn’t need to. His presence alone feels like a shield.
I glance at the empty plate, then back up at him. “I’ll get this washed up and clean any other pots you have.”
His brow lifts. “You don’t need to.”
“I don’t mind,” I blurt. “I need to repay you for the food.”
He shakes his head, pushing off the counter. “You’re not here to work. You’re here to rest. I’ve got it.”
“But—”
“Faith.” His voice is soft, but firm. “You don’t need to earn a place here.”
The words hit harder than I expect. No one’s ever said that to me before.
I nod, unsure how to respond, and let him take the plate from in front of me. He rinses it in the sink without another word, like it’s no big deal.
But to me, it’s everything.
“You can take the bed,” he says, pointing to the other side of the flat.
“But… where will you sleep?”
He gestures to the battered two-seater couch near the window.
“That?” I raise a brow. “You’ll fit on that?”
He shrugs like it doesn’t matter. “I’ve slept in worse places.”
I don’t doubt it, but the thought of him crammed on that tiny couch while I stretch out in his bed makes my stomach twist “We could share…”
He stills. “Faith,” he says, voice low and calm, “you don’t have to say that.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I rush out, cheeks flaming. “I just meant… I don’t want to kick you out of your own bed.”
He studies me again, head tilted slightly, like he’s trying to read between the lines.
Then his voice softens. “How old are you now?”
I meet his gaze. “Eighteen.”
“Just turned?”
I nod. “Last week.”
Something flickers across his face—regret, maybe. Or a warning. He doesn’t look at me like a girl. He looks at me like fire and if he touches me, he’ll burn.
I know what he’s thinking. I’m too young. Too innocent. Too broken.
He’s probably right.
But I also know when Nigel looked at me, I felt sick and small. Like I was prey.
When Hayden looks at me… I feel like me again. Protected and something else that makes heat curl low in my belly and spreads like a secret.
A strange tingling awareness. A pull I don’t understand. My body reacts before my mind can catch up, leaning ever so slightly in his direction.
I’ve never felt anything like this before. Not ever.
He must see something in my eyes because he shifts, pulling a blanket off the back of the chair and tossing it onto the couch.
“Go get some sleep,” he says gruffly. “I’ll be right here.”
“Okay.” I rise from the chair, unsure of what to do with my hands. “Thank you again. For letting me stay. For… everything.”
“You’re safe now,” he says simply.
Hope blooms in my chest, and I want to believe it.