Chapter 13 Keeley #2
I risk a side-long glance at Nic and—of course—the universe has the worst timing, because our eyes lock.
Shit. He gives me that look, the silent “are you still breathing okay?” scan.
Look away, Keeley. Just look away.
I don’t.
I can’t.
I know I should, but my brain and eyeballs are not cooperating with each other.
And I wish they would because suddenly I’m seeing things I have no business noticing. The intensity behind his stare has all new meaning attached to it and it feels too big to hold.
This isn’t interest. This is a man who wants something neither of us should be chasing. Not when I’m still insurance. Not when his feelings are tangled in guilt and responsibility.
Not when I’m barely holding on as it is.
I can’t deal with any more. Every day feels like it brings some new catastrophe and Nic is the only stable thing I have right now.
So this? It can’t happen.
Because I need him to continue being that.
And because none of this is permanent. I won’t let myself long for something that might not exist when this is over.
His eyes tense slightly. He’s reading every tiny expression on my face like a book, and I wish he wouldn’t. It exposes soft parts of me I want to keep hidden.
Riot says something and finally Nic slowly drags his gaze away like it physically pains him.
My breath sticks under my ribs.
When I force myself to face the table again, the girls are all watching me like they just witnessed a mating ritual in public.
“That was nothing,” I say immediately.
Too fast. Too defensive. Great work, Keeley.
I don’t even know who I’m trying to convince anymore—them or myself.
“Uh-huh.” Dayna drags the sound out. “That man is obsessed with you.”
I freeze. No. No. There’s no way he’s obsessed with me. He’s just… friendly.
Right.
A friendly giant tattooed criminal who fed me Chinese food and sat with me while my entire world was falling apart.
That familiar panicky tremble is simmering in my chest. Deny everything. Deflect until they stop poking the bruise I didn’t even know was there.
“He’s really not,” I protest. “I’ve been through a lot. He’s feels responsible because of that.”
And because he thinks I’m one misplaced breath from falling apart if someone sneezes in my direction. Annoyingly, he’s not wrong about that.
“Mm,” Dayna hums, far too excited. “Girl, we have eyes.”
“You’re in his bed,” Makenna says. “And his clothes. A man doesn’t do that because he feels ‘responsible’.”
My soul straight up leaves my body. I gawp at her. Did I mishear that? I wait for her to clarify or take it back, but she doesn’t. “I’m—sorry, what?”
Maylie glances between the girls like they just leaked classified intel. “You didn’t know?”
I open my mouth. Close it. Then open it again. Absolutely nothing comes out.
I’m staying in his room? I glance down at the hoodie draped over me like a tent.
Yeah, I wondered where the clothes were coming from.
And yeah, I didn’t probe too hard into that because there were other pressing problems. But there’s no part of me that suspected I’ve been wearing Nic’s clothes while sleeping in his bed.
I let out a slow, uneven breath. “No,” I say. “I didn’t.”
Why would he do that? And what does it mean?
Does it mean anything?
They’re saying it like it’s a big deal and I don’t want them to do that because it makes this more than it is. I don’t know how to hold that.
It’s too much, too confusing because I can’t want more.
More isn’t going to happen.
Not with him.
My lungs feel squeezed under my ribs. I can’t stay here while they’re looking at me like that. They think there’s some big romance happening between me and Nic.
It’s not.
It can’t be. I didn’t even consider that could be a thing.
Except now, the idea exists and my brain won’t stop poking at it.
Me and Nic. Nic and me. Orbiting me the way all the men in this room circle their old ladies.
A future I can’t ever hold flashes through my mind and I shut it down immediately.
Absolutely the fuck not. I am not doing this to myself. Hope is far more dangerous than any weapon and I am not fantasising about Nic like this is some kind of biker romance where the girl gets a happy ending.
That’s not me, or my life.
I’m not the girl who gets picked. I’m the girl who gets sold to cover her brother’s debt. I’ll only get hurt if I lean into something that doesn’t exist as a possibility for me.
The room is too small and too busy. Sharp pain spreads under my ribs, the kind that comes with heartache and disappointment.
“I need to use the bathroom,” I lie, and badly. I don’t care. I just need out of this fucking room.
The women exchange glances, but they don’t stop me when I push my chair back.
I walk fast, keeping my head down as I pass Nic. I’m not sure I breathe until I’m in the corridor and my back hits the wall. I don’t know how to open that door in front of me. Because at some point, the danger ends and I leave. He goes back to his life, his club, his world, and I go back to mine.
This—whatever it is—is temporary. It has to be.
He’s just doing his job as president. Cleaning up after my brother. That’s the whole story. Not obsession. Not desire or want.
Nothing permanent.
And it sure as fuck is not obsession.
The door opens, the sounds from the bar loud for a second before it swings shut again. I flinch as Nic fills the narrow hallway like he’s too big for the space he occupies.
The air feels wrong, thick and heavy. My chest too. I press my palms to the wall behind me, like I can disappear into it.
He doesn’t hesitate. His long strides eat the distance between us until he’s in front of me. I tip my head back to look at him, my pulse flying under my sternum.
“What’s goin’ on?” he says in that soft voice I’ve only ever heard him use with me.
My heart thumps.
Don’t even let that thought take shape.
He’s not obsessed, he’s just doing his job.
“Why am I in your room?” That isn’t what I meant to say. I blink, flustered. Then, because my mouth is a traitor, I make it worse. “And why didn’t you say I’m wearing your clothes?”
His head tilts. He does that when he’s thinking. “That’s what you’re upset about?”
I stare at him. “You don’t think I have a reason to be upset about that?”
His brows dip. He looks genuinely baffled, and that makes everything worse.
“No, I don’t.” He leans in, searching my face. “You needed somewhere safe and steady to put your head down. I made sure that happened. That’s all.”
“Where are you sleeping?”
Oh my word, Keeley, please stop talking.
He stills, just for a second. “Couch in my office.”
My breath catches. “You—you gave me your room to sleep on the couch?”
“This ain’t a hotel, Keeley. Every room in this building belongs to someone.”
Right. It was admin. Nothing to read into.
Except, if every room belongs to someone, why did he put me in his? I don’t ask. I can’t. My brain is already trying to fold in on itself.
“Okay,” I whisper, even though nothing about this feels okay.
I need…
I don’t even know what I need.
I try to slip past him, but he doesn’t let me. His arm comes up, braced against the wall to block my escape.
My breath lodges in my throat, and he’s so close I can feel the heat radiating off him.
“Don’t run off before you let me explain.” I peer up at him, waiting. “The first night? Yeah, I put you in there ‘cause you needed somewhere safe, somewhere you’d feel like nothin’ could touch you.” I swallow as his forehead dips until it nearly touches mine.
Say it’s admin. Say it’s just easier. Say anything that keeps this from being able to break me.
“You’re still there ‘cause I sleep easier knowin’ you are.” Shit the bed. “And I like that you’re in my space and my clothes,” he adds, his voice rough.
My chest squeezes.
Hope. Panic. Desire. Disbelief. It all hits me at once.
I don’t know if it means anything. Or everything.
I’m not stupid. We’ve been dancing around each other for weeks now. The looks. The care. The late night chats. But I didn’t think it meant something.
I don’t know if I’m allowed to have this or want it. And shit, I’ve never felt more exposed than I do right now.
“You wanna move rooms, say the word,” he continues. “But don’t do it ‘cause you feel bad I’m on the couch. I’m good. Better when I know you’re somewhere you feel safe in.” His fingers brush over my hand, then the cuff of the hoodie—his hoodie. My skin heats where he touches.
I lean toward him before my mind catches up, before I can stop it. The part of me that still remembers cages and cruel whispers that men don’t want girls like me.
My brother fed me that hate for years. I was only good for a short time, not a long time. I was meant to be used and discarded.
But Nic is talking like I mean something to him.
You matter. He’d said that to me in the past, and I didn’t know what he meant then. I’m not sure I know now. I don’t get to want things like this.
Don’t ask. Don’t want. Don’t ruin this.
“Why?” It slips out before I can stop it and it hangs like a land mine between us.
His mouth is an inch from mine, our breaths tangling together. “‘Cause you’re mine to take care of.”
I stop breathing.