Chapter 12 Kelly
Twelve
Kelly
My Body remembers him even when my mind can’t
By the time we pull up to the cabin again, my nerves are stretched so tight I feel like they might snap.
The ride back wasn’t silent but it wasn’t not silent either. It was full of things unsaid between us. Thick, heavy things that sit between us like heat on a winter morning to defrost a windshield.
Every time Ledger shifted, I felt it. Every time he glanced at me, I felt that too. And every time I closed my eyes, flashes of something half-remembered flickered through my mind.
The gently way he always grips my wrist.
His hand on my waist.
His lips brushing my temple.
Laughter echoing through a kitchen.
Warmth. Heat. Want.
His body heavy over mine in the best ways.
But when I try to hold onto the images, they disappear like fog. Now, inside the cabin again, the walls feel too close. The air too thick. The quiet too loud.
Ledger walks ahead of me, scanning the room automatically, like he expects danger hidden inside the walls. Stunt is somewhere outside. Dodge is too. I know I’m safe.
I know the Kings of Anarchy brothers are all looking out for me.
But my heart hasn’t gotten the message. There is nothing about my emotions that feel safe.
I sit on the couch slowly and try to focus on breathing.
In.
Out.
Just like the therapists taught me after that panic episode in middle school. Why can I remember that but not what I shared with him?
And right now? The air won’t go in deep enough.
Ledger turns back to me, and his whole expression changes instantly.
“Kelly,” he says, voice dropping into something low and steady. “What’s going on?”
I can’t answer. I can barely breathe.
My fingers twist into the hem of my sweater, gripping it tight like it might anchor me. My vision starts to narrow at the edges, colors dimming, the world shrinking to a small, suffocating tunnel.
Ledger moves so fast I don’t even see him cross the room. He crouches in front of me, big hands braced on his thighs, eyes locked on mine. “Hey. Sunshine. Look at me.”
I try, but everything is shaking. My breath comes in sharp, uneven pulls.
He doesn’t hesitate, not even a second. He reaches out and covers my hands under the hem of my sweater with his without touching my skin directly, just letting the warmth of his palms ground me through the fabric.
“You’re safe,” he murmurs. “Right here. Nothing’s gonna touch you.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “I can’t. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“You had a hell of a day,” he explains. “And your brain’s still tryin’ to catch up. Slow it down, Kelly. I’ve got you.”
I take a shaky inhale.
“That’s it,” he encourages. “Again. With me.”
He breathes with me slow, deep, steady. Like he’s syncing himself to pull my body back into rhythm. I cling to the sound of his voice. The feel of his presence. The warmth radiating from him.
Another breath. Another shaky inhale.
Slowly, painfully slowly, my vision expands again. The world stops tilting. The suffocating pressure in my chest loosens by degrees.
I open my eyes.
He’s still there.
Close.
Too close.
Not close enough.
Precisely where I need him. Finally, close enough.
His brows are drawn, worry etched into every line of his face.
“That’s it,” he continues to coax. “You’re okay.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, embarrassment washing over me. “I didn’t mean to.”
He shakes his head hard. “No. Don’t do that. Don’t apologize for this.”
“But—”
“Kelly.” His voice sharpens just enough to make me freeze. “You don’t have to hide your panic from me. You never did.”
I swallow hard. “I used to have them before. I remember that. But never this bad.”
His eyes soften. “You had them with me too.”
A tiny gasp leaves my lips.
He nods. “You’d get overwhelmed. Try to hold it in. I’d tell you the same thing then that I’m tellin’ you now, you don’t have to face anything alone.”
Something inside my chest breaks open.
“Why don’t I remember?” I whisper.
He reaches up slowly giving me time to pull away, but I don’t. He brushes a tear off my cheek with the pad of his thumb. His touch is gentle. Cherishing. Like he’s touching something sacred.
“You will,” he reminds softly. “But until then? You trust your instincts.”
I lean into his hand before I even realize I’m doing it. The eye contact between us snaps tight, a wire pulled so taut I’m afraid it might break. His breathing deepens. His gaze drops to my mouth. And just like that, heat floods my stomach.
He feels it too.
I can tell.
For a long, breathless moment, neither of us moves.
His thumb grazes my cheek again, slow and tender, and I swear the room falls away.
“Ledger,” I whisper.
His jaw tics. “Yeah?”
“I—” I don’t know what I’m about to say.
I want you.
I trust you. I’m terrified.
Why do I feel like I already loved you once?
Before I can figure it out, the moment is shattered by a sharp knock on the door.
Ledger’s entire body goes rigid. He stands in one fluid motion, stepping between me and the door.
“Stay,” he whispers without looking back.
I nod, heart hammering all over again.
He opens the door a crack.
“It’s me,” Shaft’s voice mutters.
Ledger relaxes by half an inch and swings the door open wider. Shaft walks inside, looking grim.
“What’s wrong?” Riot asks.
Shaft glances at me, then lowers his voice. “We caught someone on the cameras.”
Riot’s shoulders snap tight. “Where?”
“Back road. Half a mile from the cabin.”
My breath freezes.
Riot steps forward. “Same guy as before?”
“Maybe. Hard to tell. Hoodie. Could’ve been him.”
“Did he see the cameras?”
“Don’t think so.”
“What was he doing?”
Shaft hesitates.
Riot’s voice turns lethal. “What was he doing?”
“Waiting,” Shaft says. “Just standing at the tree line. Watching the road.”
A violent chill runs through me.
Riot swears under his breath a low, vicious sound I feel in my bones.
He turns to me, anger barely held back. “Pack your things.”
My pulse spikes. “What? Why?”
“We’re movin’.”
“But—”
“This place has eyes on it now that don’t want to go away,” he snarls. “We’re not staying in a target zone.”
Shaft nods. “We’ll bring the truck around.”
Riot turns to me. He holds out a hand. “You trust me to keep you safe?”
Not a command.
Not an ultimatum.
An invitation.
A lifeline.
I take it.
His fingers close around mine, warm and steady, pulling me up gently. He doesn’t let go even once as he leads me to the bedroom to grab my bag. The whole time, he watches the windows, the shadows, every crack and creak of the cabin.
“Riot?” I whisper. “Are we in danger?”
He stops.
Turns.
Looks at me with something raw in his eyes.
“No,” he says. “You’re not. You’re never in danger with me.”
His thumb strokes my knuckles so briefly I could pretend I imagined it.
“I won’t let anything touch you,” he adds. “Not again.”
A shiver runs down my spine.
“What about you?” I whisper.
He gives a small, broken smile. “I stopped worrying about myself a long time ago.”
He squeezes my hand once, then releases me and grabs the bag.
“Stay behind me,” he orders gently. “Don’t talk to anyone. And if I tell you to run, you run.”
My breath stutters. “Is it that serious?”
“Someone hit you with a truck twice,” he growls. “And someone else stood outside this cabin. So yeah it’s that serious.”
Fear curls tight in my stomach.
But something else grows there too fierce, warm, unexplainable.
I trust him. God help me, I trust him completely.
We step outside to loading trucks and armed brothers. The sky is turning gray, storm clouds gathering in thick rolls. Riot moves ahead of me like a shadow, silent, deadly, and keenly aware of everything.
His hand reaches back blindly and brushes my hip, guiding me behind him. Like he’s done it a thousand times. Maybe he has. I wish I could remember.
I lean into the motion, into the safety of it, into him.
By the time we’re in the truck again, my heart hasn’t slowed.
Riot starts the engine, jaw clenched. “Where are we going?” I ask.
He glances at me, eyes softening barely. “Somewhere safer,” he states. “Somewhere you were before.”
That shouldn’t calm me. But it does.
Somewhere inside the fog of my mind, a spark flickers, warm, bright, familiar.
“Will I remember it?” I ask.
He looks at me for a long moment. “I don’t know,” he murmurs. “But I’ll be right there if you do.”
Heat blooms in my chest. And for the first time since the accident, I’m not scared of remembering bits and pieces. But I have a fear. I’m scared of remembering everything.
Especially him.