Chapter 7 #2
"You basically are," I say, grabbing two glasses from the cabinet. "Only difference is, politicians usually come bearing empty promises. You bring juice and bad decisions."
Light chuckles low and easy as he sets the bags down on the counter. "Stick with me, beautiful. I'll keep the juice flowing and the bad decisions interesting."
I shake my head, pretending to be unimpressed. But inside, I can feel my heart doing backflips like a teenage girl at her first dance.
Tyler peeks his head around the corner from the living room, eyeing the bags like a cat eyeing a mouse. "Hey! Did you bring chips?"
Light points a finger at him like they’re co-conspirators. "Got two kinds, little man. BBQ and plain. Because I’m not a total monster."
Tyler throws his arms up in a victorious cheer and dives back into the living room.
I lean my hip against the counter, watching Light as he unloads the loot.
I should ask him why he's here. I should tell him he can't keep doing this, showing up unannounced, bringing chaos and candy into my carefully managed life.
But I don't.
Because for the first time in a long time, with Light in the kitchen and Tyler laughing from the couch, the house feels a little less heavy.
A little less haunted.
And I’m not ready to let that go.
Not yet.
The lightness in the air instantly evaporates when I see Light reaching for a draw. The same draw I hid the letter.
Moving way to fast, I slam my hand against the draw so he can't open it.
"What the hell? Why can't I go in there?" His eyes squint in confusion.
"Oh, there's nothing in there. What do you need? I'll get it?"
Light cocks his head to the side, his eyes dropping to the draw before coming back to rest on mine.
"Now I know there's something in there. What are you hiding? Don't tell me you keep your vibrator in the kitchen. I thought you ladies keep those things in the bedroom." He gives me a half smirk and I fight my desire to laugh at his ridiculousness.
"There's no vibrator in there. I just don't want you going through my things. It's called privacy, maybe you've heard of it?" I snap at him.
"Privacy of a kitchen drawer. No, I've never heard of that.
" He crosses his arms over his wide chest and peers down at me.
He takes a step forward getting way too close.
I want to lean into him. It's been so long since I've been this close to a man who's had my hormones going crazy. I miss it. A lot.
He sighs and all traces of his joking nature is wiped off his face, "Melissa, what's in the drawer?"
My breathing trembles as I look up at him. I could tell him another lie. Keep what I found this morning to myself but I'm smart enough to know I need help.
I don't know much about the biker club down the road but all of the men who were the vests like Light seem to be able to handle themselves. There was even rumors floating around a few weeks ago that one of the members saved his woman from a notorious gang. They are all in one piece.
If they can do that maybe Light can help me with Deke.
I hate asking for help but if it means keeping Tyler safe I'll swallow my pride.
Letting out a deep sigh, I reach down and open the drawer. Slowly I pull the paper out and give it to Light.
He unfolds it and I watch, completely tense, as he reads it. The rage on his face is frightening.
"What the hell is this? When did you get it? How?" His voice is deeper. He's quiet probably to keep Tyler from hearing him.
"It was here this morning."
"Wait, here? As in, in the house, here?"
"Yeah, someone must have slipped in while I was sleeping last night and put it here." I shrug as if it's not that big a deal but even as I feel the shiver race down my spine.
"What the fuck. Did you call the police? Do you know who did it?" His questions are all valid.
"No." I don't tell him that I suspect it's Deke. The last thing I want right now is for him to get it in his mind that he's going to go looking for him. Or even force me to go to the cops. The cops aren't going to be able to do anything about Deke. They never do.
Light looks down at the letter again before he folds it back up and slips it into his pocket. "What are you going to do?"
I'm at a loss. I've been asking myself that same question for hours but I still haven't come up with an answer, "I don't know. Nothing. I mean I don't know what they could possibly want from me. I don't have any money. Nothing of value."
"Shit..." Light curses and props his hands on his hips while he looks down to the floor. "I'm going to stay."
I blink at him a few times. How the hell did we get here. "What? What do you mean you're going to stay?"
"Here for the night. If you're not going to go to the cops. Someone has to be here just in case these assholes decide to come back."
Shaking my head wildly, "No. No way. This isn't your problem. I'll figure this out."
"Melissa, I'm not giving you a choice. Either you let me stay in the house where it's warm or I'm going to stay on my bike outside your door all night in the cold. Either way I'm not leaving."
I open my mouth to argue. To tell him that he's crazy. I mean I barely know him. Yet I can't. Just knowing he's going to be nearby takes a huge weight off my shoulder. He may act like an idiot most times but I can't deny Light makes me feel safe.
"Fine...just fine. You need to figure out something to tell Tyler. I don't want him to know anything about this. He'll worry." I eye Light, doing my best to show him I mean business.
"What do you know, my bike is broken. I can't ride home tonight." Light flips his hand and takes a little bow as if he just came up with the best idea in the world.
I scoff and roll my eyes. "Whatever. I'll set you up on the couch after dinner."
"Sounds like a plan." He nods and goes out into the living room with the juice and the snacks for him and Tyler to share.
***
Dinner was easy and loud. Light cracked jokes like he was auditioning for a stand-up show and Tyler laughed so hard at one point he had to clutch his side and beg for mercy.
It was strange, having someone else at the table. Strange, but not bad.
Light didn’t hover, didn’t act like he needed to insert himself into everything. He just was. Sitting back in the chair too big for him, tossing a grape at Tyler across the table and pretending not to notice when it hit him in the forehead.
I let myself laugh too, and for the first time all day, the heaviness in my chest loosened a little.
After dinner, the routine kicked in without even having to say anything. Tyler knew the drill. So did I.
I guide him through the motions, helping him stretch out the stiffness in his legs, then setting up his nebulizer and chest physiotherapy.
Light sits quietly through the whole thing, watching everything like he’s memorizing it.
At first it makes me nervous, but the longer it goes, the easier it feels to have him there. Another set of eyes. Another set of hands if I need them.
Tyler finishes his treatments and gets ready for bed. His cheeks are pink and flushed from the therapy, but he’s smiling. That’s what matters.
Tyler wiggles under the covers, his body small against the mattress.
"Goodnight, buddy," I said, smoothing his hair back.
"Night, Ma. Night, Light!"
"Night, little man," Light called back, giving a lazy salute.
We leave the door cracked just the way Tyler liked it, a soft strip of light pouring in to chase away the shadows.
I watch him for a few minutes longer before I start setting up the couch for Light to sleep on. I yank the cushions into place, drag out the spare blanket and a clean pillow from the hall closet.
I feel him behind me before I hear him. His heat. His attention.
"You know," Light says, his voice quieter now, "I never asked. What’s wrong with him?"
I pause with the blanket half-folded in my hands.
Turning, I meet his gaze. There’s no pity in his eyes. No judgment. Just a rough kind of curiosity.
"Tyler has PCD," I say softly. "Primary Ciliary Dyskinesia."
Light frowns. "That’s a mouthful. What is it?"
"It’s a genetic disorder," I explain. "The little hair-like structures in his lungs, the cilia, they don’t work like they’re supposed to. Which means he can’t clear mucus out of his lungs. Makes him prone to infections. Breathing issues. That kind of thing."
Light’s brows pinch together. "Is it... is it gonna get better?"
I shake my head. "No. There’s no cure. It’s just... management. Day by day. Treatment by treatment."
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away. He just keeps standing there, absorbing it all.
"He’s tough," Light says finally.
My throat tightens. "He is. Tougher than me most days."
Light steps closer. Not touching me. Not yet. Just close enough that I can smell the leather and soap again. That I can feel the low, humming heat coming off him.
"You're tough too, Melissa," he says. His voice is so rough, so low, that it feels like a caress along my skin. "Most women would've folded already. You’re still standing."
I hate the way my heart jumps in my chest. Hate it because it’s dangerous. Because it’s stupid. Because I know better.
But standing there in the low light of my living room, watching the way Light looks at me like I'm something worth protecting, I can't make myself move away.
I tuck the blanket tightly onto the couch, giving myself something to do. Something to focus on.
"You’re not sleeping outside," I mutter.
Light grins, slow and easy. "Didn’t plan to."
I roll my eyes. "You're lucky I’m too tired to throw you out."
He chuckles, that low, delicious sound that makes my toes curl in my socks.
"You sure you don’t want me to sleep in your bed?" he teases lightly, voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down my spine.
I whip around and toss the pillow at him, hitting him square in the chest.
He catches it, laughing under his breath.
"You’re incorrigible," I grumble, but I can’t stop the smile pulling at my lips.
He watches me, eyes darker now, the joking fading just enough that the air between us thickens.
"Goodnight, Light," I say quickly, before I do something stupid.
"Goodnight, beautiful," he says, voice rough, warm, full of something dangerous I can’t afford to touch.
I rush toward my bedroom without looking back.
If I looked at him for one more second, I knew I would do something stupid.
Like ask him to follow me down the hall.