Chapter 15 Keeley
FIFTEEN
KEELEY
I follow him inside like a puppy trailing after a six foot plus tattooed mountain.
My legs are wobbly, and my heart is racing so fast I feel lightheaded.
I’m not sure if it’s possible to die from kissing, but it might need more research.
Especially when there’s still a buzz vibrating under my skin and my lips are tingling ten minutes after Nic left me panting.
It shouldn’t have felt like that. It was—good. Too good. Forget the top ten. That was the best kiss I’ve ever had. It was the kind of kiss a girl never forgets and nothing ever measures up to.
And it wasn’t just how his mouth pressed to mine, though that should have come with a warning of its own.
It was how he held me, gentle yet firm, like he already knew how to touch me in a way that would undo and steady me at the same time.
I want him to do it again.
Multiple times.
And that scares me. I don’t know how to navigate this. I don’t recognise the girl who kissed him back like that. That version of me feels reckless and dangerous because she’s hoping for more.
And that is a one-way ticket to disappointment.
But he kissed me like there was no other option on the table. Like it was always going to happen.
I keep trying to stitch some sense into this, but I can’t. Maybe it was a glitch, a one-off moment of insanity. Adrenaline, easy proximity, guilt, or he just wanted it in that moment—who knows?
How did we go from Nic holding me captive to kissing me senseless in the courtyard?
Weeks of small, seemingly nothing moments stack up and suddenly that glitch looks like a pattern.
My brain is screaming it’s too much, that it’s moving too fast.
Except it’s not.
We’ve been inching toward this for… well, since I got here. We’re caught in a gravitational pull, but nothing good lasts forever, not for me anyway.
At some point, the clock strikes midnight and everything resets.
I go back to a life that doesn’t fit anymore and Nic finds someone who slides into his world better than I ever could.
I’m braced for the ‘that shouldn’t have happened’ speech.
The inevitable backtrack when he comes to his senses and realises the line we’ve crossed.
But Nic is still here.
Over the last two weeks, he’s been there every single time I’ve needed him. Not just with basic stuff. He’s literally a shield between me and whoever I’m collateral for. He’s risking himself and his club for me.
And I’m just waiting for him to realise I’m not worth this much trouble.
That’s what I don’t understand.
He’s risking too much.
I drag my thoughts back into the present before my brain digs in places I don’t want to unearth. No point borrowing trouble when it already exists.
Nic pauses at the door to the kitchen, his hand sliding onto my lower back. I do a stellar job of pretending my heart isn’t doing acrobatics inside my chest.
I’m pretty sure there’s a psychologist somewhere compiling a case study on how I went from kidnap victim to enthusiastically kissing my captor.
The joke lands flat. Even my own brain doesn’t find it funny anymore. Because Nic was never my captor. Not really. Not in the way I keep pretending he was. He locked the doors, but only to stop me from walking right back into something worse.
Everything he did was for my protection. My safety.
I lean a hip against the counter and wince.
Right. Still tender.
I cover my reaction quickly so Nic doesn’t notice and start fussing. Luckily, he’s focused on opening the fridge and rummaging inside it.
It’s pathetic how my body tries to follow him. We kissed once, and already I’m like a clingy barnacle.
And I don’t think there’s a person on this planet who would blame me for that.
He’s just…big, broad, and stupidly good-looking. He’s got that rugged biker thing about him that says he can fix shit and make you come apart with just a look.
I’m aware that I’m not remotely playing in the same league as him. Not even the same game.
And yet he kissed me like he’d been waiting his entire life to do it. It doesn’t make sense. I don’t know what he sees in me or why he’s—making toast?
I watch him fiddle with the buttons on the toaster as if he’s never used one before. It’s… weirdly adorable.
He’s just warming bread, Keeley. Put your tongue back in your mouth.
Without warning, he cuts a glance over his shoulder at me and pins me with a look that wobbles my knees all over again.
“You good?”
“Fabulous,” I breathe.
His lips curve. Oh, he knows exactly what effect he has on me. He’s probably been breaking hearts his entire adult life. “I can order somethin’ later if you’re still hungry. Just thought this’d be a good start.”
“Toast is fine,” I say. Then throw back to our previous conversation days ago about cooking. “But it is easier to burn than water.”
He huffs a laugh, turning to face me. Everything about him is easy, and I kind of hate him for that. He doesn’t look like he’s unravelling and questioning all his life’s choices after one kiss.
“Relax, sunshine. I can handle toast.” His gaze roams over me, a little needy. I almost squirm. “You on the hand? That’s debatable.”
I snort far too loudly and try to pretend I didn’t. “Is that part of your presidential duties?”
Now, why in the hell did I say that?
His brow arches. “The toast or managin’ you?”
“I’m easy to manage.” I say it firmly, as if that will make it true. “Just don’t feed me anything that looks like it did when it was alive. Or after midnight.”
“What happens after midnight?”
I sigh theatrically. “Heartburn, Nic. Raging heartburn.”
“Noted. No snack runs after dark.” His laugh softens into something that could be concern as he studies me. “You doin’ okay? Yesterday was a lot to process.”
My mood slips, and the warmth of the moment drains out of me. It’s replaced with something darker. Shame curls through me, followed by guilt—stupid, useless guilt. Not for Daniel. Never for him. But because the truth is ugly, and I don’t want Nic to see that side of me.
Because honestly, I’m fucking glad my brother’s dead. If he was still here, I’d kill him myself.
I stare down at the counter, my fingers trailing over the edge. “It is what it is.” It’s a lame cop out, but it’s all I have without admitting more than I’m ready to.
“Hey.” Nic moves in front of me like the space there is his to claim. His hand rests on my good hip, and my body reacts to him, just as it always seems to when he’s around. “Talk to me.”
“I’m fine,” I say automatically.
Because I would rather chew glass than admit the truth.
But then he says five little words that undo me more than I thought possible. “Sunshine, don’t shut me out.”
Fuck me. What am I supposed to do with that? He’s asking me to let him in. I keep staring at the counter, tracing the same invisible line with my fingertips. It’s easier than looking at him. Easier than admitting I’m severely broken.
The seconds count down, but he doesn’t push or demand. He just waits patiently for me to find the words or emotions I need to explain whatever I’m feeling.
Somehow that’s worse than if he’d forced answers because my stupid brain wants to fill the silence stretching between us.
It’s too heavy and awkward, but I can feel the words fighting to come out. I want him to understand why I feel this way about Daniel, so he doesn’t think less of me.
“I haven’t cried, Nic.” I let that settle before I add, “I don’t… I don’t feel anything. No, that’s not true. I’m still pissed. Furious, in fact. Not because he’s dead, but because I’ll never be able to confront him about any of what he’s done.”
My mouth is suddenly dry. I don’t risk looking at him. I can’t.
“Yesterday, you told me Daniel’s dead. Today, I’m doing… this.” I wave around the kitchen.
“Makin’ toast?”
“Laughing,” I correct. “Joking. Kissing you.” My throat is too tight and the words feel lodged behind the lump there.
“His death is… confusing. Our entire relationship was built on managing the fallout of whatever mess he was making next. I endured my brother, Nic. He hurt me—physically and emotionally.” He squeezes my hip reflexively, the anger flashing through him that Daniel did that.
“I wished him gone more times than I want to admit and now that he is, there’s nothing.
No fear or dread, just a strange, quiet numbness I don’t know how to handle. ”
And that’s the part that makes me feel wrong.
“The brother you feel so fuckin’ bad you’re not cryin’ over,” he says, “locked you in a cage and handed the key to someone else to hold.”
That has me lifting my gaze to his. He’s not giving me platitudes, or saying what he thinks I need to hear. He’s just holding space and meeting me where I am.
“I guess when you put it like that,” I mutter.
“I meant what I said yesterday. You don’t owe him your grief or tears. You feel what you feel. There’s no right or wrong answer.”
“I feel broken, Nic.”
His lips brush my forehead almost absent-minded.
The kiss outside was hunger and need. The tenderness of this is completely different.
I lean into it without meaning to, closing my eyes as my knees go soft.
My fingers wrap around his arms, holding onto him like he’s the only thing steady beneath my feet right now.
“You’re not a bad person for laughin’. For enjoyin’ your life, Keeley. Not when you’re still livin’ with the consequences of his actions. And you’re not broken.”
I swallow hard. And then I ask the question that’s been on the tip of my tongue for days now.
“Nic? Am I… am I making this worse for you? For the club?” My voice is scraped thin.
I hate how weak I sound and I rush to fill the tension swirling between us.
“You don’t say it, but I know I must be complicating things. ”
The breath Nic draws in is so raw it hurts. “Sunshine, you bein’ here ain’t a problem.” His thumb strokes my cheek, steadying himself, steadying me. “The only problem is the fucker who thinks he can take you from me.”
I blink.