Chapter 4
Ava
I didn’t think I’d sleep.
Not in his bed.
Not in this place.
Not with everything pressing down on my chest like a weight I can’t shake.
But sometime after midnight, my body gave in.
Now sunlight filters through the cabin windows in soft gold stripes, and I’m awake. Still wrapped in a blanket that smells faintly like soap and cedar… and something darker underneath.
Him.
I stare at the ceiling.
I should get up.
I should figure out what happens next.
Instead, I stay curled on the edge of the bed, soaking in a silence that, for once, doesn’t hurt.
Then a knock breaks through it.
So many knocks lately. After months of silence, it’s strange how knocking’s become part of my daily life.
I sit up fast. Through the curtain, I spot two people on the porch.
One of them makes my stomach clench.
Big. Tattooed. Late thirties, maybe early forties. The kind of man who looks like he doesn’t need to raise his voice to get what he wants.
The other is younger. Mid-twenties. Honey-blonde hair tied back. Curvy. She’s holding something wrapped in foil, arms cradling it like a peace offering, or a warning. Hard to tell.
They don’t knock again.
The man waits, still as stone.
The woman smiles at the door like she’s trying to coax it open with good intentions alone.
I hesitate.
No part of me wants to open the door for him.
But her?
She’s got the kind of energy that melts tension. Like warmth in human form.
I crack the door.
“Hey,” she says, smile growing. “You must be Ava.”
I nod slowly.
“I’m Sage.” She jerks her chin toward the man behind her. “That’s Havoc.”
He doesn’t react. Just stands there like he’s already judged the whole forest, the cabin, and maybe me too.
“We brought cake.”
I blink. “What?”
She lifts the plate slightly. “Havoc baked. I supervised.”
I glance at him. Then her. Then back again. “He baked?”
He grunts. One sound. Enough said.
“I don’t understand what’s happening.”
Sage grins. “You don’t have to. Viper knows we came. We’re here to check on you, bring sugar, and maybe talk a little.”
I shouldn’t open the door any wider. I do anyway.
Sage steps inside like we’re already friends. Havoc follows slower, scanning the cabin as he moves. He plants himself near the fireplace, arms crossed, eyes everywhere.
Sage sets the plate on the counter and peels back the foil. The scent hits fast. Brown sugar. Cinnamon. Something rich and warm that makes the cabin feel a little less temporary. A little more like safety.
She cuts me a slice without asking and hands it over on a paper plate.
I take a bite and almost groan. It’s too good.
Sage smirks. “Yeah. My man can bake. I taught him.”
I glance between them.
There’s something in the air when they’re near each other. Unspoken. Solid.
Like the world pulls quieter around them.
Sage brushes his arm when she passes, barely a touch. Light, familiar.
And Havoc, all rough edges and sharp silence, melts.
Not in some obvious, sentimental way.
But in the way his shoulders drop a fraction.
The way his jaw stops grinding.
The way his eyes follow her like she’s the only thing that makes sense.
It’s the smallest shift. But I see it. And it makes something tighten deep in my chest.
I don’t even know them.
But I know I’ve never had anything like that.
And suddenly, I want to.
I want that.
Something solid.
Something safe that doesn’t feel like a cage.
“You doing okay out here?” Sage asks gently.
I nod. “Better than I thought I would.”
Not a lie.
Not the whole truth either.
But enough for now.
“You just moved to Lovestone Ridge?”
“Yeah. About a month ago,” I murmur. “Was planning to stay.” I hesitate. Then add, “But plans changed.”
Sage doesn’t push. Just waits.
I glance down at the plate in my hands. “Anyway. I didn’t open the coffee truck yesterday. Didn’t call in. I probably lost the job.”
Havoc finally speaks. “You didn’t.”
I look up. “How?”
“You didn’t quit. You had to leave. That’s not the same.”
“I didn’t open the truck—”
“You’re covered,” he says.
I blink. “Someone’s running it?”
Sage bites into her cake, eyes sparkling. “You’ll love this part.”
I narrow my eyes. “Who?”
She lets the moment hang. Then: “Viper.”
My mouth drops open. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope.” Sage grins. “I passed by earlier. Big, grumpy biker in a tiny coffee truck trying to figure out where the oat milk goes.”
I press both hands to my face. “Oh my God.”
“You should’ve seen the glare he gave some poor guy asking for extra whip,” she says. “Looked like he was two seconds from throwing down over it.”
A laugh slips out. Full. Unfiltered.
I forgot what that feels like.
Havoc lifts his chin slightly. “You want to go back to work, we’ll make sure it’s safe. Prospects posted. No one gets close.”
I look at him. “You’d do that for me?”
“If you matter to Viper,” he says simply, “you matter to the club.”
The words land like something more than a promise.
I glance at Sage.
She leans closer. “Or... you could come see for yourself.”
I nod, a smile tugging at my mouth. “Yeah. I’d love to see that.”