Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Dalla
I hit send and hold my breath.
The files upload slowly—twelve designs, technical flats, fabric specifications, construction notes.
Everything Greer asked for.
Everything I've been working toward for months, condensed into a single email that will determine whether my career takes off or crashes and burns.
The progress bar inches forward. Seventy percent. Eighty. Ninety.
Complete.
I stare at the screen for a long moment, waiting for the panic to set in.
The second-guessing.
The desperate urge to pull it back and revise just one more time.
It doesn't come.
Instead, I feel... light.
Like I've been carrying a weight I didn't realize was there, and now it's gone.
The collection is done.
Whatever happens next is out of my hands.
I close my laptop and lean back against the couch cushions, letting out a breath I've been holding for days.
The common room is quiet this afternoon, most of the club out on runs or handling business.
Just me and my iPad and the lingering satisfaction of a job well done.
RJ is doing another perimeter check.
He's been doing a lot of those lately—more than usual, more than necessary.
Something's changed since the family dinner, since his meeting with my father.
He's more vigilant. More on edge. More careful about where I go and who I'm with.
I've asked him about it and he deflects every time.
"Don't worry about it."
"I'm handling it."
"Focus on your deadline."
Well, the deadline is done, and I'm tired of being kept in the dark.
"Hey, D."
I look up to find Njal standing at the edge of the seating area, two beers in hand.
He's freshly showered, his hair still damp, wearing jeans and a Raiders of Valhalla t-shirt that stretches across his broad shoulders.
Without his twin beside him, he looks somehow younger.
"Hey." I gesture to the spot beside me. "What's up?"
He settles onto the couch—not as close as he usually sits, I notice.
There's an odd distance between us that wasn't there before.
His knee bounces slightly, nervous energy he's trying and failing to hide.
"Saw you working." He hands me one of the beers. "Figured you could use a break."
"I actually just finished. Submitted everything to Greer about five minutes ago."
"No shit?" His face breaks into a genuine smile, and for a moment he's the same Njal I grew up with—the boy who taught me how to ride a bike, who let me win at video games when I was having a bad day, who once punched a kid twice his size for calling me a name. "That's huge, Dalla. Congratulations."
"Thanks." I take a sip of the beer, letting the cold bitterness wash away some of the lingering tension. "Now I just have to wait and see if she likes it."
"She'll love it. You're talented as fuck."
"Language," I tease, remembering the rule that maybe lasted for a damn week, and he laughs.
"You sound like my mom."
"Your mom is a wise woman."
We sit in silence for a moment, drinking our beers, watching the dust motes drift through the afternoon sunlight.
This is nice.
Normal.
The kind of easy friendship I've missed since moving away.
Njal and Bjorn were constants in my childhood— the partners in crime who always had my back.
But something feels different today.
Njal keeps glancing at me, then looking away.
His knee won't stop bouncing.
He's picking at the label on his beer bottle, shredding it into tiny pieces.
"You okay?" I ask.
"Yeah. Fine." He takes a long pull of his beer. "Actually, no. There's something I wanted to talk to you about."
"Okay..."
He shifts on the couch, turning to face me, and there's something in his expression I've never seen before.
Something serious and a little vulnerable.
Njal is always the joker, always the one with a quip or a smartass comment.
Seeing him like this—earnest and exposed—makes my stomach clench with unease.
"Look, I know you've got this thing with the Brotherhood guy. And I'm not trying to start drama or mess with whatever you two have going on." He pauses, choosing his words carefully. "But when you're done with your bodyguard, there are some people here who would like a shot with you. A real one."
My stomach drops. "Njal..."
"I'm one of them." He says it quickly, like ripping off a bandage.
"I've had feelings for you for a while, Dalla.
Since before you left for Jacksonville. Maybe even longer than that—I don't know, it's hard to pinpoint when exactly it changed from 'she's like my sister' to 'I think about her all the time.
'" He runs a hand through his damp hair, frustrated.
"I never said anything because the timing was never right, and I had that thing with your sister for a bit, and then you were gone, and now you're back but you're with him, and I just—" He exhales.
"I needed you to know. In case things don't work out. "
I don't know what to say, but I don’t think there’s anything I can say.
Njal is one of my oldest friends, and I know he’s bi-polar.
He goes from high-highs to low-lows, and he was with Revna for a bit.
We grew up together, got into trouble together, shared secrets and inside jokes and a thousand childhood memories.
I love him—but not like that. I've never thought of him like that.
"I'm flattered," I say carefully. "Really, I am. But I'm happy with RJ. I care about him. A lot."
"I know." His smile is sad, and it breaks my heart a little. "I can see it when you look at him. The way your whole face changes. That's why I'm not pushing. I just wanted to put it out there. Cards on the table."
"I'm sorry if I ever—"
"You didn't. You've never led me on or anything like that.
This is all me. My feelings, my problem.
" He takes another drink, staring at the floor.
"I just think you should know that he's not going to be around forever.
Once you're safe, once whatever threat is handled, he's leaving.
That's how these things work. Protection details end.
He goes back to Dublin, or wherever the Mackenzies send him next, and you're left here. Without him."
The words hit harder than they should, because he's right.
I've been trying not to think about it—the expiration date hanging over everything RJ and I have built, but it's there.
It's always been there, lurking in the shadows like a monster under the bed.
"I know," I say quietly.
"So when that happens—if that happens—I just want you to know there are people here who aren't going anywhere. People who want to be with you for real, not because it's their job. People who have loved you their whole lives, even if they didn't have the guts to say it until now."
"It's not like that with us. RJ isn't with me because of the job."
"Maybe not. But it started that way. And when the job is done..." He shrugs. "I'm just saying. I'll be here. I've always been here."
I open my mouth to respond, but a voice cuts through the air like a blade.
"She won't need you to be."
RJ is standing in the doorway to the back porch, his expression carved from stone.
I have no idea how long he's been there, how much he heard, but from the look on his face, it was enough.
Njal stands slowly, his posture shifting into something more guarded.
He's not afraid—he's too well-trained for that—but he knows he's stepped into dangerous territory. "This is a private conversation."
"Not anymore." RJ crosses the room in long, deliberate strides, putting himself between me and Njal in a move that's pure instinct.
Pure possession. The air in the room shifts, charged with tension.
"Dalla's not a consolation prize you get to claim when I'm gone.
She's not a backup plan. She's not something you've been waiting in the wings for. She's mine."
"RJ—" I start.
"And I'm not going anywhere." His voice is low, dangerous—the voice of a man who's killed before and would do it again without hesitation.
"Job or no job, threat or no threat. I'm not leaving her.
So whatever fantasy you've been building in your head, whatever future you've been imagining where I disappear and you swoop in to comfort her—let it go. Now."
Njal's jaw tightens.
To his credit, he doesn't back down—doesn't flinch under RJ's murderous gaze. "You don't get to decide that. She does."
"You're right." RJ turns to look at me, and something in his expression softens—just slightly, just for a moment. A crack in the armor. "She does. So ask her."
They both look at me.
Two men I care about, for very different reasons, waiting for me to choose.
Njal, with his sad eyes and his childhood memories and his quiet, patient love.
RJ, with his fierce protectiveness and his dark edges and his refusal to let me go.
It's not even a contest.
"Njal." I stand, moving to RJ's side, feeling his hand immediately find the small of my back. "I meant what I said. I'm happy with him. And whatever happens in the future—whatever threats get resolved, whatever assignments come next—that's for me and RJ to figure out. Together. Not you."
Njal nods slowly.
If he's hurt, he hides it well—but I can see the pain in his eyes, the way his shoulders drop just slightly.
"Fair enough." He looks at RJ, and something passes between them. Not friendship. Not yet. But maybe a grudging understanding. "You better be worth it, Brotherhood. Because if you hurt her, there won't be enough left of you to send back to Dublin."
"I intend to be worth it. And if I ever hurt her, I'll hand you the knife myself."
Njal holds his gaze for a long moment, then nods once and turns to walk away.
His footsteps echo through the common room, then fade as he disappears toward the garage.
The silence he leaves behind is heavy with unspoken things.
"How much did you hear?" I ask.
"Enough." RJ's hand finds the small of my back, warm and possessive. "He's had feelings for you for a while?"
"Apparently. I didn't know."
"Hmm."
I turn to face him. "Are you jealous?"