Chapter 9
NINE
REV
Sleep doesn’t come easy with Brooke in my arms.
Not because I don’t want her here. Hell, it’s the opposite. Having her curled against my chest, breathing slow and warm, trusting me enough to fall apart and then fall asleep… that part feels right in a way I’m not prepared to deal with.
But my mind won’t shut the hell up.
Every time she shifts, every time she makes one of those soft, broken sounds in her sleep, my body tightens like I’m about to launch out of bed and start swinging.
I keep expecting her to wake up panicked, to jerk away, to realize where she is and freak out.
Every time she doesn’t, it hits me all over again that she chose this.
She chose me.
Not Bella. Not Switch. Not Blade. Me.
She called me when she was scared. Asked me to take her home. Asked me to stay. Now she’s sleeping in my arms like this is where she’s supposed to be, like this is the safest place she could think of when her world cracked open.
And I don’t know what the hell to do with that.
My hand rests on her back, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breathing, while I stare at the wall, replaying tonight on a loop.
Her voice on the phone, shaking and small.
The way she clung to my jacket in the woods.
The look in her eyes when she said, take me home, Rev, like it was the only thing she could reach for in the dark.
My chest tightens at the memory. What does this mean? Does it mean anything?
I’ve wanted this woman longer than I care to admit. Wanted her in that quiet, patient way you carry when you tell yourself it’s never going to happen, so you learn how to live with the ache and keep your mouth shut.
She’s beautiful. Classy. Runs her own business. Wears heels like she was born in them and drives a car that costs more than my first house.
And I’m… me.
A biker with too much blood on his hands and a past that doesn’t play nice with white picket fence dreams. Not exactly the guy you picture growing old with someone.
I’ve always told myself she deserves better than me.
Tonight, some suit with money and polished manners proved that being the “right kind of man” doesn’t mean a damn thing if your soul is rotten.
That thought twists in my chest, sharp and ugly. Because if that’s true… then what excuse do I have left for staying away from her?
Brooke shifts in her sleep, her face pressing into my chest, and my arm tightens around her automatically, like my body’s already decided she’s mine to protect, rules and logic be damned.
I rest my cheek against the top of her head and close my eyes for a second.
She didn’t come to me because she wanted romance. She came because she needed safety. And I’ll never take advantage of that. Not for one second. Not ever. Maybe this doesn’t have to mean anything. Maybe it just means she trusted me when she was breaking, and I was there. Maybe that’s enough.
But damn if the part of me that’s been quietly in love with her for two years isn’t wide awake right now, staring at the ceiling, wondering if this is the start of something I’ve been too afraid to hope for.
I breathe slow and steady, forcing myself not to turn this into pressure she doesn’t need.
Tonight isn’t about what comes next. Tonight is about keeping her safe.
About being the man she needed when everything went sideways.
About staying right here, holding her together until she’s strong enough to do it herself again.
My hand moves gently through her hair, slow and careful, and I whisper so quietly I’m not even sure I make a sound.
“I got you, Princess. Whatever this is… I got you.”
She doesn’t wake up. She just sighs and settles closer, like she heard me anyway.
Sleep still doesn’t come.
But I don’t move.
Not for anything.
Eventually, I do fall asleep. I don’t even remember when it happens. One second I’m listening to her breathing, feeling the warmth of her tucked into my chest, and the next I’m blinking awake to pale morning light and an empty bed.
Empty.
My body is moving before my brain catches up. I’m on my feet in a second, heart slamming into my ribs, scanning the room like something went wrong while I slept, like I failed at the one damn thing I promised myself I wouldn’t.
“Brooke?” I call out, low but sharp.
No answer.
My pulse spikes, and I’m halfway down the hall before I even realize I’m not wearing anything but boxer briefs. I don’t give a damn. I need to see her. I need to know she’s okay.
I round the corner into the living room and stop so hard I almost trip over my own feet.
Because what I find there doesn’t look like panic or fear or the aftermath of a nightmare.
It looks like quiet.
She’s curled up in the big reading chair by the window, legs tucked under her, one bare foot peeking out from the hem of her shorts.
She’s wearing those black-rimmed glasses I’ve seen a handful of times when she’s buried in work, and her hair, usually perfect and straight, is pulled into a messy bun with curls escaping like she didn’t bother fighting them this morning.
There’s a mug in her hands, steam still rising, and a tablet resting in her lap, her eyes moving back and forth as she reads, completely absorbed.
For a second, I just stand there and stare.
This isn’t the Brooke everyone else sees. This is soft and quiet and real, and it hits me straight in the chest.
She looks up when she feels me there, blinking behind the glasses. “Oh. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
My voice sticks for a second. “You okay?”
She nods. “Yeah. I just couldn’t sleep anymore, and I didn’t want to wake you.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and cross the room in a few long steps, crouching in front of her, my hands going to her knees without even thinking about it. “You should’ve woken me,” I say quietly.
She gives me a small smile. “You looked like you needed it.”
That does something to me I’m not ready to deal with. I scan her face, her arms, the way she’s holding herself. “Nothing hurts? You dizzy? Headache?”
She shakes her head. “Just sore. And tired. But okay.”
I nod slowly. “What’re you drinking?”
She lifts the mug. “Coffee. I figured if I was already awake, I might as well commit.”
That gets a quiet huff out of me. “Fair.”
She hesitates. “I can make you a cup if you want.”
Before she can even move, I shake my head. “No. You stay right where you are. I can handle my own damn coffee.”
Her mouth twitches. “You’re very bossy this morning.”
“Yeah, and you just survived a nightmare, so you’re not lifting a finger if I can help it.”
She laughs softly and settles back into the chair. “Okay, fine.”
I grab a mug from the cabinet and pour myself a cup, moving through the kitchen like it’s muscle memory. When I come back, I take a sip.
She studies me. “You okay?”
That almost makes me laugh. “Yeah. I just woke up and you weren’t there.”
Her expression softens. “I didn’t go far.”
“Next time, wake me,” I tell her. “I’d rather be tired than wondering where you went.”
She nods. “Okay.”
There’s a pause, the kind that sits heavy but not bad. Then she says softly, “Thank you for staying.”
“There was nowhere else I was going to be.”
Her eyes dip, emotion flickering there, so I shift the moment before it tips.
“You hungry?” I ask. “I can make eggs. Toast. Something simple.”
She smiles. “Yeah. That sounds nice.”
I grab the blanket off the back of the couch and drape it over her shoulders. “Just in case.”
She pulls it closer. “You’re kind of good at this.”
“At what?”
“Being here.”
I shrug, playing it off even though my chest tightens. “I’ve got a mom and three little sisters. You grow up learning when to give space and when to stay put.”
Her gaze lingers on me, slow and thoughtful, like she’s seeing something new she hadn’t bothered to look for before. Like there’s more she wants to say but isn’t ready to open yet. So she doesn’t. She just nods. “Well… I’m glad you’re here.”
Then she looks back down at her tablet, and I head for the kitchen, heart doing dangerous things over a woman in messy curls and glasses in her own living room.
I’m cracking eggs when I feel her watching me. Not in a creepy way. More like quiet curiosity, like she’s making sure I’m real and not something her brain made up after the worst night of her life.
I glance over my shoulder. “What?”
She shrugs. “You look very serious about breakfast.”
“Eggs deserve respect,” I say solemnly. “It’s a responsibility.”
That gets a tiny smile, and I take it as a win.
I slide the eggs into the pan, grab bread for the toaster, keep it simple. Just food, warmth, normal.
She pads into the kitchen and sits on one of the stools, tablet forgotten, mug still clutched in both hands.
“You don’t have to supervise,” I tell her. “You’re supposed to be resting.”
“I am resting. This is me resting while supervising.”
I snort. “Yeah, okay.”
I plate the food and set it in front of her, then sit across from her with my own plate.
She stares at it like she’s surprised it exists.
“Eat,” I say gently. “Your body’s been through hell. It needs fuel.”
She takes a few careful bites, testing, then relaxes when it stays down.
We eat quietly for a minute.
Then she clears her throat. “You asked earlier why I didn’t wake you. And why I called you last night.”
My chest tightens. “Yeah.”
She twists her mug slowly. “I could’ve called Bella. Or Switch. Or Blade. I knew any of you would’ve come.”
“Yeah,” I say. “We would’ve.”
Her eyes lift to mine. “But I didn’t want any of them.”
That lands heavy.
“I wanted you.”
I don’t trust myself to speak.
“I didn’t even think about it,” she adds. “I just called you.”
“You don’t owe me an explanation, Princess.”
“I know. I just wanted you to understand it wasn’t random.”
Oh, I understand. Way too well. I lean back and exhale slowly. “I’m glad you called me.”
Her eyes soften. “Me too.”
The quiet that follows is heavier now, charged, like we both know we just stepped into deeper water and neither of us is pretending otherwise.
“I don’t really know what I’m supposed to feel yet,” she says finally.
“You don’t have to know,” I tell her. “Not today. Not tomorrow.”
She nods. “Okay.”
“And for the record,” I add lightly, even though my chest is doing complicated things, “if your brain ever tells you not to call me again, it’s wrong.”
That earns a real smile. “Good to know.”
She finishes eating, exhaustion finally catching up with her.
“You look like you’re about to crash,” I say.
“I feel like I could sleep for twelve more hours.”
“Then you should.”
She hesitates. “What about you?”
“I can sit. Or watch bad TV. Or stare at the wall like a normal emotionally stunted biker.”
She laughs quietly. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah. But I’m reliable.”
She studies me, then nods. “Okay. I think I want to lie down again.”
I stand and hold out my hand. “Come on.”
She takes it without hesitation, and that shouldn’t feel as good as it does. I walk her back to the bedroom, help her under the blankets, tuck them around her like she’s something precious.
She catches my wrist before I can step away. “You’re not leaving, right?”
“No,” I say immediately. “I’m right here.”
“Will you stay until I fall asleep?”
“Yeah. Of course.”
I sit on the edge of the bed as she curls toward me, calmer this time, trusting, safe. Her eyes drift shut.
“Rev?”
“Yeah, Princess?”
“Thank you for coming to get me.”
I brush my thumb over her knuckles. “Always.”
Her breathing evens out, slow and steady, and I stay there longer than I probably should, watching the tension finally leave her body.