Chapter 8
Eight
Kelly
My instincts know him. My mind doesn’t. Which part of me should I trust?
The morning sun through the hospital blinds feels too bright.
Too sharp. Like the world is trying to convince me everything is normal when nothing in my head feels even remotely close to regular.
The universe is giving me light and life while my head is stuck in a vortex of confusion.
Things feel familiar but I can’t pin point how it all connects.
My body aches everywhere, dull throbs layered over the kind of bone-deep exhaustion I can’t sleep off.
But it’s my mind that feels the most fragile.
A puzzle with half the pieces missing and no picture on the box to guide me.
I remember things, like I know my name, my birthday, the basics.
But it’s like I’ve somehow lost my most recent times.
A nurse finishes disconnecting my IV and gives me a warm smile. “Ready to go home?”
I hesitate.
Home.
What does that even mean anymore? The word doesn’t match anything in my memory.
There’s no place my mind reaches for. No address that sparks comfort.
I remember being a child and growing up in Freedom Falls, Alabama, but I can’t discern where my adulthood took me other than to work at a bakery with Ally.
The thing is I can’t tell if my memory of baking is about what Ally told me or if I really remember.
I swallow. “I guess.” I mean really what else is there to say.
She pats my shoulder. “You’ll feel better once you’re in familiar surroundings.”
But that’s the thing, nothing feels familiar except the man standing by the window. And he feels comforting but I can’t recall why.
Riot hasn’t moved more than ten feet from me since I woke up yesterday.
He stayed overnight in that hard plastic chair, boots planted on the floor, arms crossed over his chest like he is guarding something precious he has no intention of losing.
And now, he’s looking at me with this same unreadable intensity, like he’s waiting for me to fall apart so he can catch the pieces.
When the nurse leaves, the silence between us thickens as we wait for my discharge paperwork.
Riot pushes off the wall and straightens to his full height, which is unfairly tall. His shoulders are unfairly broad. The man is built like a beast in the most attractive ways. My stomach flips in a way that has nothing to do with head trauma, but in attraction.
“You ready?” he asks.
I nod or try to. The movement makes my skull throb. “Yeah.”
He notices instantly. His jaw clenches. “Take it slow.”
I want to snap that I’m fine, but I’m not, and pretending seems pointless at this point. So instead, I accept the steadying hand he offers. The moment our skin touches, something warm shoots up my arm.
A memory I can’t access. An instinct I can’t explain.
His thumb grazes the inside of my wrist, barely there, and it sends a shiver through me.
He feels it too. I can tell by the way his eyes flick to mine, darkening for a split second before he looks away.
He helps me get out of the hospital gown and into some baggy sweatpants and a t-shirt Ally dropped off.
Every touch is tender in a way I can’t describe.
The nurse brings the discharge papers and offers a ride in the wheelchair out.
A ride I decline. If I’m going home, I want it to be on my own two legs.
We move down the hallway, each step a reminder that my legs aren’t quite ready for the world yet. But I’m determined to be stronger than what I’ve lost. Ledger walks beside me, close but not crowding, his hand hovering subtly behind my back like he’s ready to catch me at the slightest wobble.
It should feel invasive. Controlling. Instead, it feels secure. Safe even.
Which is stupid. He’s basically a stranger. We aren’t married or even in a relationship. He’s stranger with a face my body trusts more than my mind does.
At the exit, Ally waits with a jacket draped over her arm and a to-go cup from the bakery in her hand. “Oh thank God,” she breathes, rushing forward to hug me. “I was about to smuggle you out myself.”
Ledger shoots her a look. “No you weren’t.”
“Don’t tell me what I was or wasn’t about to do,” she snaps back, but the worry in her eyes softens the bite.
She wraps the jacket around my shoulders, helping me ease my arms into it. “Cold out there,” she murmurs, adjusting the hood. “And you’re too pale.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, touched by her concern.
Ledger opens the exit door and steps out first, scanning the parking lot like a soldier clearing a battlefield.
Ally leans toward me. “He’s been like this all night,” she whispers. “Every noise in the hallway? Hand on his gun. Every doctor walking by? Death stare. I thought they were going to ban him from the building.”
I glance at Ledger and make out the outline of the firearm under his shirt at the waistband of his jeans. I didn’t notice it before. Granted I’ve had a lot on my mind.
Yeah. I can see it. He’s tense, coiled, dangerous. But not toward me.
Toward the world. Toward whatever or whoever took my memory.
“I don’t think he slept,” Ally adds softly.
“Me either.”
We reach the doors, and the cold air hits my face. Riot steps closer, not touching, but close enough that his body heat brushes the side of my arm.
His voice drops to something low and protective. “We go straight to the truck. Eyes up. Tell me if anything feels off.”
“Off?” I echo.
“Like someone watchin’,” he explains without hesitation. “Like a tail. Like a shadow that ain’t supposed to be there.”
A tremor runs up my spine.
“Riot,” Ally says, crossing her arms, “maybe don’t scare her within the first sixty seconds of discharge?”
Riot, I search my mind trying to understand why Ally calls him that. I feel like I should know and yet, I don’t.
He doesn’t apologize. He doesn’t even look sorry. He’s in guard-dog mode, and no amount of chastising is going to shake him out of it.
The truck he leads us to isn’t his bike, thank God, but a black pickup with a lift and dark-tint windows.
It looks like a well-cared for work truck.
He’s always wearing his leather vest which is why I half expected him to bring his motorcycle.
It’s clear he’s in a club, Kings of Anarchy according to the patches.
I don’t ask what he does for a living.
Ledger opens the passenger door and offers a hand. “Up you go.”
The chivalry of it shouldn’t affect me. But something tightens in my chest, something warm. Something like déjà vu.
“I can get in on my own,” I remark.
He raises one brow. “Sure. Or you can let me help so you don’t bust your ass.”
Ally snickers behind me. I glare weakly at both of them.
But I let him help. His hands bracket my waist lightly, just enough to guide me up without putting pressure on the bruises along my ribs.
The second his hands touch me, the world tilts.
Not in the concussion way. In the this feels natural, almost like home kind of way.
Which makes no sense.
When I’m settled, he closes the door gently, softer than someone his size should be capable of, then walks around the truck, Ally following.
“Where am I going?” I ask through the cracked window.
“Ally’s grabbing some stuff from your house,” he shares casually. “But you’re not staying there tonight.”
My pulse skips. “Where am I staying?”
“With me.”
The words hit me like a soft blow, shocking but not painful.
“With you?”
He nods once. “Safe. Quiet. Cameras all over.”
“And guns, I’m assuming?” I try to joke, though my voice betrays the nerves.
He looks at me like I asked if water was wet. “Yeah.”
I swallow.
He slides into the driver’s seat, body filling the space with heat and tension. His hands wrap around the wheel, big, rough, scarred. But when he glances at me, something softens in his eyes.
“You don’t have to be scared of me,” he explains quietly.
“I’m not,” I whisper, surprising myself.
He nods once like that matters more to him than he’ll ever admit. And then we’re off.
We pull out of the parking lot, Ally trailing behind us in her car. The scenery rolls by, streetlights fading into trees, the morning fog lifting slowly from the road. Riot drives with one hand, the other resting casually on his thigh.
I notice the way the tendons flex in his forearm.
I notice the tattoo peeking beneath his sleeve, beautiful and intricate tribal style design.
I notice the way his chest rises and falls in measured breaths, like he’s forcing himself to stay calm.
My gaze drifts upward, following the line of his jaw.
He catches me looking.
For one heartbeat, neither of us moves.
Then his mouth twitches, not quite a smile, but something dangerously close.
“How’s the head?” he asks, voice low.
“Sore,” I admit. “Foggy.”
“Vision?”
“Blurrier when I move too fast.”
“Chest pain?”
“Manageable.”
“Dizzy?”
“Sometimes.”
He nods, taking that in, adjusting his speed slightly, slower, smoother.
“You check on me like this a lot before my accident?” I ask trying to figure out how we are connected.
He exhales through his nose, eyes fixed on the road. “There was a time.”
Something sparks in the back of my brain, a memory fragment or a phantom feeling. I’m not sure.
“What, what were we, Ledger or Riot?” I ask quietly. “Before today? I notice some people call you Riot and I’m not sure which I’m supposed to use.”
His grip on the wheel tightens. He takes a deep inhale really contemplating his answer. “Riot is my road name with the Kings of Anarchy. If I don’t agree with something, I don’t have a problem being the problem, causing a ruckus or a riot.”
Well, that gives me one explanation. “And us?” The two letter word comes off my tongue in both a bitter and sweet way that feels instinctual.
“We had an agreement,” he explains with a cautious tone. “No strings. Just enjoyed each other’s company.”
Heat blooms across my cheeks.
Oh.
A relationship without labels. Without promises. Without permanence.
It fits. Or it would fit if it didn’t make my stomach twist with disappointment.
“But it wasn’t enough,” he adds quietly.
“For who?” I whisper.
He doesn’t answer. Which is anything but an answer. Did I want more? Did he? Is he disappointed that it couldn’t be? I have more questions now than before.
We turn off the highway onto a long gravel road lined with tall pines. The truck rumbles over the stones, vibrating through the seat and into my spine. Ahead, a cabin comes into view, wide porch, metal roof, tall windows, two motorcycles parked out front.
Ledger slows to a stop and kills the engine. For a second, he just sits there, hands on the wheel, jaw clenched.
“You okay?” I ask.
He nods once. “Just don’t know how this is gonna feel for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“This place was familiar to you before,” he almost whispers. “You were comfortable here. Not sure if it will be now.”
I don’t reply and he doesn’t elaborate. Will this place make the memories flood back?
He opens his door and comes around to mine. When he helps me down, his hands linger at my waist longer than strictly necessary.
A tremor shoots through me. He feels it. His eyes flash to mine.
Dangerous eye contact. Lingering touch. Electric air.
It feels like something I shouldn’t want, but do. And that is the hardest thing because I feel like I’m in a storm I don’t understand, but he’s this safe place to shelter. Except my mind won’t let me recall why he’s my comfort.
I want to remember.
I want to know how it changed between us.
Ally pulls in a moment later, rushing over with a bag of my things.
Before she can reach me, Ledger steps slightly between us, not blocking, just hovering protectively.
“Easy,” he warns.
“I’m not going to tackle her,” Ally snaps. “Unless she scares me again.”
Ledger mutters something that might be a curse or a prayer. I follow them inside slowly. The cabin smells like cedar and smoke and something warm I can’t quite place. Something like comfort.
Ledger leads me to a large bedroom with crisp sheets, a fluffy duvet, more pillows than any man ever cares to have, and blackout curtains from floor to ceiling in a way I can only assume means the windows are that big.
“You’ll stay here,” he says. “I’ll be in the room down the hall. Brothers will rotate outside. You will not be unprotected.”
It should terrify me. Instead, the weight of safety settles over my shoulders like a heavy blanket.
“Ledger?” I whisper.
He turns, hand still on the doorframe.
“Thank you,” I manage barely above a whisper.
He swallows visibly, like the words knock something loose inside him.
Then he steps closer. Not touching. But close enough that warmth radiates off him.
“I meant what I said,” he murmurs. “I won’t leave. Not until you remember. Not until you’re safe. Not until you tell me to.”
My heart flips. “I don’t want you to,” I confess.
His breath hitches. For a moment, a long, quiet moment, we just stand there, staring at each other, the space between us charged and soft and terrifying.
The moment is disturbed by a noise on the other side of the curtains. Outside there is a crunch of gravel.
His entire body goes rigid. He steps in front of me without hesitation, hand already on the gun at his hip.
“Stay here,” he orders. “Don’t move.”
My pulse races as he slips out the door silently, a shadow of lethal intent. Apparently there is a balcony of sorts or something on the other side of this room. I wonder what pushing the curtains back would be like, but don’t dare try.
A second later, I hear voices.
Low. Urgent.
Not angry, but alert.
Then footsteps return.
Ledger steps back inside, shoulders tight, jaw clenched.
“What happened?” I whisper.
He shuts the door with a soft click.
“Someone was watchin’ the cabin from the tree line,” he says, voice dark.
Ice floods my veins. “Who?”
He shakes his head once. “Didn’t see his face. But he ran.”
My breath trembles. Ledger steps closer, eyes fierce with a vow he doesn’t say out loud. “You’re safe,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”
“You’ll be here tonight, right? Don’t leave me.” The last sentence comes out on a whisper.
And for the first time since waking in that hospital bed, I believe this is one truth both from the past and here in the present.