Chapter Seven
Hope
I woke to sunlight streaming through Faith’s bedroom window, the kind of bright, cheerful morning light that felt like a cruel joke.
The bed beside me was empty. The sheets felt cool to the touch where Faith had been lying.
I sat up slowly, my body aching in places I had never felt before.
A dull throb between my legs, a tenderness in my hips, a soreness in muscles I hadn’t known existed.
The memories came flooding back all at once.
The pond. The moonlight. His hands on my skin. His voice whispering Julie against my neck.
I pressed my palms against my eyes and took a shaky breath, willing myself not to cry again. I cried enough last night. I cried until there was nothing left, until Faith’s shirt was soaked through and my throat was raw.
I couldn’t afford to fall apart again.
A soft blue robe was draped across the foot of the bed. Faith’s doing, no doubt. I pulled it on, tying the sash tight around my waist, and padded barefoot out of the room.
The house was quiet. Too quiet. I could hear the faint hum of the refrigerator, the distant sound of birds outside, but nothing else. No voices. No footsteps. No motorcycle rumble.
I found Faith in the kitchen, sitting at the table with a mug of coffee cradled between her hands. She looked up when I walked in, her expression carefully neutral, and gestured to the pot on the counter.
“Coffee’s fresh,” she said quietly.
I poured myself a cup, the rich, bitter scent grounding me for just a moment, and sat down across from her, wrapping my hands around the warm ceramic.
The taste was strong and slightly bitter on my tongue, comforting in its way.
The silence stretched between us, heavy and expectant, but I didn’t know what to say.
Didn’t know where to start. Faith always knew when silence was needed, but I wished she would say something—anything—to make me feel less alone.
Faith watched me for a moment, then asked softly, “Do you want to talk about it?” Her concern was gentle, never pushing, and for a heartbeat, I almost let myself believe I could.
When I said nothing, Faith took a sip of her coffee and set the mug down gently.
“He left early this morning,” she said, her voice soft. “Before sunrise.”
I nodded slowly, staring down into my cup. Of course he did. Of course he left. What else was there for him to do? Stay and face the woman he fucked while calling her by another woman’s name?
“Okay,” I said quietly.
Faith waited, watching me with her careful, knowing eyes. She was waiting for me to say something. To break down, to ask questions, to feel something. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t let myself feel anything right now, because if I did, I would shatter into a thousand pieces.
I shrugged, the gesture feeling hollow and mechanical. “I have a double shift at the diner today,” I said, my voice flat. “I won’t be back until late.”
Faith’s expression didn’t change, but I saw the flicker of concern in her eyes. “Hope—”
“I’m fine,” I said quickly, cutting her off. I stood up, taking my coffee with me. “I need to get ready for work.”
I didn’t wait for her response. I walked down the hallway to my room, the echo of Faith’s footsteps lingering behind me.
When I closed the door, I leaned against it for a moment, letting out a long, shaky breath that rattled in my chest. If I let myself speak about it, I worried the truth would spill out and swallow me whole.
I couldn’t think about him. Couldn’t think about the way his hands had felt on my skin, the way he whispered promises and love into my body while believing I was someone else.
If I thought about it, I would break. And I couldn’t afford to break.
My breath caught in my throat, the memories threatening to unravel me.
I set my coffee on the dresser and pulled open my closet, grabbing my work uniform. Black jeans, a simple white T-shirt, comfortable shoes. I was halfway through pulling on my jeans when there was a soft knock at the door. The sound was gentle but persistent.
“Hope?” Faith’s voice was soft, tentative.
I closed my eyes and took a breath, steadying myself against another surge of panic. “Come in.”
The door opened, and Faith stepped inside, closing it softly behind her. She leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed, watching me with that same careful expression, her presence quiet and reassuring.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said before she could speak, my voice firmer than I felt. I pulled my shirt over my head and reached for my shoes. “There’s nothing to be done, Faith. It happened. It’s over. I just want to move on.”
Faith was quiet for a long moment, and I could feel her gaze on me, heavy and searching. “Hope.”
“Please,” I whispered, my voice cracking despite my best efforts.
I sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at my hands.
“Please, Faith. I can’t... I can’t talk about it.
Not yet. Maybe not ever. I just need to.
.. I need to keep moving.” The ache in my chest felt like it might never fade, but I clung to the hope that routine would numb it.
She crossed the room and sat down beside me, her hand resting gently on my knee, the warmth grounding me.
Faith didn’t say anything, didn’t push. Her presence felt steady and thoughtful, a silent promise that she would stay as long as I needed.
I listened to the faint sound of her breath, and slowly, mine began to even out.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay, sweetheart. But I’m here when you’re ready.”
I nodded, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall. “I know.”
The diner was a blessing, a sanctuary wrapped in the smell of burned coffee and sizzling bacon.
The lunch rush was in full swing by the time I arrived, and I threw myself into work with a desperate kind of relief.
The familiar chaos welcomed me like an old friend.
Orders to take, scribbled hastily on my notepad as customers rattled off their usual requests.
Tables to clear, stacking plates precariously high as I navigated between cramped booths.
Coffee to refill, the dark liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim as I made my rounds with the pot clutched in my tired hand.
Mundane, repetitive tasks that required just enough focus to keep my mind from wandering to darker places, to questions I wasn’t ready to answer.
Here, surrounded by the clatter of dishes and the hum of overlapping conversations, I could lose myself in the comforting rhythm of simple work.
I didn’t think about the pond. Didn’t think about his hands. Didn’t think about the way he whispered Julie against my skin.
I just worked.
Stacey gave me a curious look when I walked in.
Probably noticed the dark circles under my eyes, the way I moved a little too carefully, like someone who had barely slept and was running on fumes and sheer determination.
But she didn’t ask questions. She was good like that, never prying, never pushing.
She just handed me an apron and a notepad and pointed me toward the tables with a sympathetic nod that told me she understood I needed the distraction more than the paycheck.
I was refilling coffee for a table of truckers when the door chimed, and I glanced up out of habit. It was the kind of automatic response you developed after working in a diner long enough—look up, assess the new customers, calculate how long before they would need service.
My stomach dropped.
Four Diamondback brothers walked in, their cuts gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights, the leather worn and the patches unmistakable.
I recognized them immediately—Trigger, Ashe, Bongo, and Lips.
They were loud and boisterous, their voices carrying across the entire diner as they laughed about something, slapping each other’s backs and making crude jokes.
They made their way to a booth in the corner, the one with the ripped vinyl seat that nobody ever wanted to fix, claiming it like they owned the place.
And right behind them, walking with his shoulders hunched and his eyes fixed on the floor, looking like he wanted to disappear into the cracked linoleum beneath his feet, was Angel.
“Well, well, well,” Trigger said loudly, his voice booming and carrying across the entire diner as he spotted me standing behind the counter. “Look who’s working the afternoon shift today, boys.”
Ashe grinned wickedly, his eyes lighting up with mischief as he elbowed Angel sharply in the ribs. “Ain’t that convenient, Angel? Your girl’s here serving coffee and pie.”
Angel’s face flushed a deep crimson red, the color spreading from his neck all the way up to his ears, and he shot Ashe a withering glare that could’ve melted steel. “Shut up.”
“Aw, don’t be shy, brother,” Bongo teased, sliding into the worn vinyl booth with a shit-eating grin plastered across his face.
“You’ve been chasing this girl for what, six months now?
Maybe longer? About time you made some actual progress instead of just staring at her like a lovesick puppy every time we come in here. ”
I felt my own face heat up, a warm flush spreading across my cheeks as I approached their table with slow, measured steps, notepad clutched in my hand, trying my absolute hardest to keep my expression neutral and professional. “What can I get you guys?”
“Coffee all around,” Lips said, leaning back in his seat and giving me an appraising look that made me want to shrink into the floor. “And maybe an explanation for why you keep turning down our boy here.”
“Jesus Christ,” Angel muttered, rubbing a hand over his face like he wanted to disappear into his palm. “Can you guys not?”
“I mean, look at him,” Trigger interrupted, gesturing at Angel with a playful grin that told me he was enjoying this way too much. “He’s a good-looking guy. Got a steady job. Loyal as hell. Doesn’t even look at other women. What more do you want, sweetheart?”
“Trigger,” Angel started, his voice tight with embarrassment, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
“Maybe she’s waiting for him to grow a pair and actually ask her out properly,” Ashe said, smirking as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Instead of all this pining from a distance bullshit. It’s painful to watch, honestly.”
“Seriously, it’s like watching a puppy dog follow her around,” Lips added, clearly warming to the topic. “Just put the poor bastard out of his misery already.”
I bit the inside of my cheek hard, trying not to laugh despite the mortification burning through me like wildfire.
My cheeks felt like they were on fire, and I could feel every pair of eyes in the diner turning our way.
“I’ll get your coffee,” I murmured, turning to leave before I completely lost my composure.
“Hold up, darlin’,” Bongo said, his grin widening into something that looked almost predatory.
He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his broad chest like he had all the time in the world.
“We’re just trying to help our brother out here.
He’s been real patient with you. Real respectful ’cause you’re Shadow’s sister an’ all.
Poor Angel’s been waiting around like a lovesick puppy for months now.
But a man’s got needs, you know? Can’t expect him to wait forever. ”
“Bongo, I swear to God.” Angel’s voice was low and dangerous now, a warning rumble that would’ve made most people back off. But the other brothers just laughed, slapping the table and elbowing each other like this was the best entertainment they’d had all week.
“What?” Bongo said innocently, spreading his hands wide and putting on an expression of exaggerated confusion.
“I’m just saying, the boy’s been a goddamn saint.
Most guys would’ve moved on by now, found someone who actually wanted them around.
But not Angel. Nope. He’s still here, hanging around, waiting for you to give him a chance. That’s dedication right there.”
Lips leaned forward across the sticky table, his expression turning more serious, almost earnest. The laughter died down around us, and suddenly the entire group was watching me with varying degrees of expectation.
“He’s a good man, Hope. One of the best we got.
Loyal, hardworking, doesn’t cause trouble.
You could do a lot worse than Angel—trust me on that. ”
I looked at Angel, who was staring at the table like he wanted it to swallow him whole.
His jaw was tight, muscles jumping under his skin.
His hands were clenched into fists on the tabletop, knuckles gone pale with the pressure.
He looked absolutely miserable, like he would rather be anywhere else in the world than sitting here while his brothers auctioned off his romantic prospects.
And I felt... nothing.
No flutter in my chest. No warmth spreading through my body. No spark of attraction or excitement, or even basic interest. Just bone-deep exhaustion. The kind that settled into my marrow and made everything feel heavy.
“Fine,” I breathed, the word slipping out before I could stop it, before I could think it through or consider what I was agreeing to.
The weight of their stares, the pressure of their expectations, the sheer tiredness of fighting this battle over and over—it all crashed down on me at once. “I’ll go on a date with you, Angel.”
The table erupted in an explosion of noise and celebration.
“Hell yeah!” Trigger shouted, slapping the table so hard the silverware jumped and clattered against the plates.
“About damn time!” Ashe crowed, pumping his fist in the air like he had just won the lottery.
Bongo grinned wide, showing all his teeth, and clapped Angel on the shoulder hard enough to make him rock forward in his seat. “See? Told you persistence pays off, brother. Knew she’d come around, eventually.”
Angel looked up at me, his dark eyes wide with surprise and something that looked like hope. Genuine, vulnerable hope that made my chest tighten. “Really? You’re serious?”
I nodded, forcing a small smile despite the nervous flutter in my stomach. “Really. Now let me get your coffee before you guys scare off the rest of my customers with all this carrying on.”
I turned and walked away, ignoring the whoops and laughter and celebratory chatter behind me, weaving between tables and heading straight for the coffeepot behind the counter.
My hands were shaking as I poured. The dark liquid wavered slightly as it streamed into the mug. I took a deep breath, steadying myself, trying to calm the anxious hammering of my heart.