Chapter 2
TWO
BELLA CARTER
The hum of the air conditioning is about the only thing keeping me awake as I sit at the nurses’ station, scrolling through patient charts. It’s one of those slow-but-somehow-tiring days at the doctor’s office where everything feels like it’s dragging. I sip on my lukewarm coffee, hoping it’ll kick in soon.
Amelia, my coworker and occasional partner in crime, strolls up with a spring in her step. She drops her Stanley on the counter and slides into the chair next to me.
“So,” she says, leaning her elbows on the desk like she’s about to spill a secret, “did you finish it?”
“Finish what?” I ask without looking up, already suspecting where this is going.
She gasps. “Don’t play dumb. The book! The MC one with the broody guy and the whole ‘I’d burn the world for you’ vibe? You know, the one I sent you a couple of days ago.”
I sigh, finally setting the chart aside. “Okay, fine. Yes, I’ve been reading it. And yes, it’s amazing. It’s completely unrealistic, but somehow, it still makes my heart ache. I hate that I love it.”
Amelia grins. “Right? Tell me you’re obsessed with the Xander. I mean, he’s perfect—protective, a little rough around the edges, but underneath it all? The way he’s willing to do anything for her?” She fans herself dramatically, and I laugh despite myself.
“No spoilers,” I warn, holding up a hand. “I’m not finished yet.”
She smirks. “Fine, but can we at least agree he’s basically dream man material?”
“Oh, totally,” I admit. “Too bad they don’t make them like that in real life.”
Amelia sits up a little straighter, her eyes lighting up like she just remembered something important. “Don’t be so sure about that.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Why do I feel like you’re about to suggest something that’s going to make me regret saying that?”
“Well...” She draws the word out, her grin widening. “I might know someone who would be perfect for you. My cousin, Mike. He’s single. He’s sweet. And he’s...well, he’s got that rugged charm you were just swooning over.”
I groan, letting my head fall into my hands. “Amelia, no.”
“Bella, yes!” she counters. “Come on, it’s been—what—a year? Two? All I know is you’ve been single for way too long, and Mike is a great guy. He’s funny, he’s got a good job, and he’s not a total weirdo. I promise.”
“I’m not saying no because of Mike,” I say, sitting up again. “I’m saying no because blind dates are awkward as hell. And you know I hate awkward.”
Amelia waves me off. “Blind dates don’t have to be awkward. Think of it as meeting a new person who might just surprise you. And worst-case scenario, you have an okay meal and a decent story to tell.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek, thinking it over. It’s been a long time since I put myself out there. After my ex, the thought of dating again felt exhausting. But now...maybe I’m tired of sitting on the sidelines.
“Okay,” I say finally, letting out a sigh. “Fine. I’ll go. But if it’s terrible, you’re buying me the fancy ice cream. None of that generic stuff you usually try to pawn off on me.”
Amelia claps her hands together, looking entirely too pleased with herself. “Deal. I promise you won’t regret this. Mike’s going to blow you away.”
“Uh-huh,” I say, shaking my head. “We’ll see.”
As she starts rattling off ideas for date spots, I glance back at the chart I was working on, trying to focus. But the idea of this blind date keeps creeping in, both exciting and nerve-wracking at the same time. Maybe it’ll be awkward. Maybe it’ll be amazing.
I should’ve known Amelia wouldn’t wait for me to make up my mind. I’m sitting at home in my usual post-work haze, scrolling aimlessly on my phone, when her name pops up on my screen.
Amelia: Hey! Just FYI, I gave Mike your number. He said he’ll text you soon. You’re welcome!
I stare at the message, my heart doing a weird little flip. I shouldn’t be surprised, but still, a heads-up would’ve been nice.
Me: You WHAT?
Amelia: Relax, Bella. He’s great. Just see what happens. No pressure. You’re going to love him!
I groan and drop my phone onto the couch next to me. Great. Now I have to mentally prepare for some random guy to text me, and knowing Amelia, she’s probably already hyped me up to the point where no one could possibly live up to it.
My phone buzzes again, and I pick it up hesitantly. It’s not Amelia this time—it’s an unknown number.
Unknown: Hey, this is Mike. Amelia’s cousin. She said you might be okay with me texting you.
I chew my lip, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Time to rip off the Band-Aid.
Me: Hi, Mike. Yeah, Amelia told me. She…uh, didn’t give me much choice, but it’s nice to meet you. Virtually, I guess.
There’s a pause, and I wonder if I already scared him off. But then another message comes through.
Mike: Haha, that sounds about right. She’s pretty determined once she gets an idea in her head. It’s nice to meet you too.
Me: So, what do I need to know about you? Amelia didn’t give me a whole lot of details except that you’re apparently amazing.
Mike: She said that? Wow. No pressure or anything.
I smile, a small laugh escaping me.
Me: Don’t worry, she’s been hyping you up so much I’m fully expecting you to show up riding a white horse.
Mike: Sorry to disappoint, but no horse. I do have a truck, though. Does that count?
Me: I’ll allow it. For now.
The conversation stalls for a moment, and I wonder if he’s as unsure about this as I am. Blind texting is just as awkward as a blind date.
Mike: So, I was thinking…if you’re free this weekend, would you want to go to the carnival?
I stare at the screen for a second, surprised. The town carnival is always a big deal—lights, food, games, the whole nostalgic vibe. It’s also a place where everyone and their cousin will probably see us.
Me: The carnival? That’s…actually kind of perfect. I haven’t been in years.
Mike: Great! We can keep it casual. Grab some food, and play a game or two. No pressure.
Me: Casual sounds good. Just don’t expect me to be any good at carnival games.
Mike: Good, because I’m terrible at them. At least we’ll be bad together.
Me: Deal. What time?
Mike: How about 6? I’ll pick you up.
Me: Sounds good. I’ll see you then.
As the conversation ends, I sit back, my nerves buzzing with a mix of excitement and anxiety. It’s just one date—a carnival, some small talk, and probably a lot of awkward moments.
Still, there’s something kind of nice about the way he approached it. No games, no pretense. Just…real.
Now I just have to figure out what to wear. And maybe, just maybe, Amelia wasn’t completely wrong about this.
The early spring chill seeps through my apartment windows as I pull my sweater snug around me, glancing at the clock for the tenth time in as many minutes. It’s 5:50, and Mike is supposed to pick me up at 6. My stomach flutters nervously.
I look down at my outfit for the hundredth time, smoothing invisible wrinkles from my jeans and adjusting the cuffs of my gray sweater. It’s warm but fitted enough not to feel frumpy, and my black boots give me just a little extra height. Practical but cute, I hope. I’ve debated this outfit all day, toggling between wanting to impress and not wanting to look like I’m trying too hard.
The sound of tires crunching outside makes me jump. I grab my jacket and purse, nerves jangling.
When I open the door, Mike is standing next to his truck, a relaxed smile on his face. He’s taller than I expected, with dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He looks friendly enough, but there’s something about the way he shifts his weight, like he’s trying too hard to seem casual.
Probably just first-date nerves, I tell myself.
“Hey, Bella,” he says, his voice smooth as he gives me a once-over—not in a way that immediately makes my skin crawl, but enough that I notice.
“Hey,” I reply, forcing a polite smile as I step outside and lock my door.
We climb into his truck, and as he starts the engine, a faint scent lingers in the cab—stale beer, maybe? It’s not overpowering, just… there. I brush it off, trying not to overanalyze.
“You’re even prettier than Amelia said,” Mike says as he pulls onto the road.
I glance over, caught off guard by the compliment. “Oh. Thanks.”
“Most girls would kill for a chance to go out with me,” he adds, shooting me a quick look. It’s lighthearted, almost joking, but there’s something underneath it—an expectation.
I let out a small laugh, unsure how to respond. “Really?”
“Oh, yeah,” he says, nodding like it’s obvious. “I mean, I’ve got a good job, a nice truck, and my family’s got a solid reputation in town. Amelia probably told you all that, though.”
I keep my tone neutral. “She said you’re a nice guy.”
Mike chuckles. “Nice guy.” He shakes his head like it’s amusing. “Yeah, I guess. But don’t let that fool you—I know how to have a good time.”
I force another smile, clutching my purse a little tighter in my lap.
Maybe it’s just nerves.
Or maybe it’s something else.
By the time we pull into the parking lot of the carnival, my excitement has dwindled to cautious apprehension. The colorful lights of the Ferris wheel twinkle in the darkening sky, and the scent of popcorn and fried dough wafts through the air as we step out of the truck.
“This’ll be fun,” Mike says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders before I can stop him. I stiffen under the weight of his touch but don’t say anything as we head toward the entrance.
The carnival is everything I remember from years past—bright, loud, and filled with laughter. For a moment, I forget my discomfort and feel a flicker of hope. Maybe I can salvage the night, but that hope fades fast.
The first thing Mike does is make a beeline for the beer stand. He orders two tall cups, handing one to me.
“Um, thanks,” I say, taking it.
He nods, downing half of his in one gulp.
We wander through the carnival, Mike talking nonstop about himself. He doesn’t ask me any questions, not about my work, my family, or even my favorite color. It’s like he’s auditioning for a one-man show, and I’m the unwilling audience.
By his third beer, his speech is slurring, and he starts getting handsy. His arm over my shoulders, pulling me in close before trailing his hand down my back straight to my ass. I step to the side, putting some space between us.
“Mike, can you not?” I say, trying to keep my voice calm.
“What’s the problem?” he asks, his grin slipping into a frown.
“The problem is I don’t like being touched like that,” I reply, firm but polite.
“Come on, don’t be like that,” he says, stepping closer.
I move away again, my patience thinning. “I said no.”
His expression darkens, and for a moment, I see something in his eyes that makes my pulse spike.
“Don’t tell me no,” he growls, grabbing my wrist.
“Let go of me,” I say, my voice shaking.
Just as I’m about to pull away, someone grabs his arm and yanks him backward.
“Get your hands off her,” a deep voice says.
I look up and see a tall, broad-shouldered man standing between us. He’s wearing a leather vest with patches on it, his expression calm but deadly serious.
Mike stumbles back, glaring. “Who the hell are you?”
“Doesn’t matter,” the man says. “What matters is you don’t lay a hand on her again.”
Before Mike can respond, two more men in leather vests appear, grabbing him by the arms.
“Time to go,” one of them says, dragging him backward.
Mike struggles, cursing and yelling, but the men hold firm, hauling him out of sight.
I stand frozen, my heart still racing as the first man turns back to me.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice softer now.
“I… I think so,” I stammer, wrapping my arms around myself.
He nods, his dark eyes scanning me like he’s making sure I’m really telling the truth. “You sure?”
“Yeah,” I whisper, still trying to catch my breath.
The man takes a step back, giving me some space. “Well, you won’t have to worry about him anymore.”
I swallow hard, my throat tight. “Thank you.”
He tilts his head slightly, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Anytime.”
The chaos of the last few minutes replays in my mind like a bad movie, but he stands there, looking completely unfazed. His broad shoulders are relaxed, but there’s something sharp in his gaze, like he’s still assessing the situation, still on edge in a way that says he’s used to stepping in like this. Like it’s just normal for him to be the guy who handles shit.
“You want me to walk you to your car?” he asks, voice steady and calm.
I freeze. My stomach flips as I realize the small problem with his offer.
“Oh, shit,” I mumble, running a hand through my hair.
He raises an eyebrow. “What?”
I hesitate, feeling my face heat up. “I, uh… I didn’t drive.”
His brows pull together, his easy stance turning rigid in an instant. “You’re telling me that guy was supposed to drive you home?”
I flinch at the sharpness in his tone, but before I can even respond, he’s already shaking his head, his jaw tight.
“Motherfucker,” he mutters. “That asshole was drunk. You could’ve been hurt—or worse.”
“I didn’t know he was going to drink like that,” I say quickly, my voice defensive. “But I wasn’t planning on getting in the truck with him if he was acting like that.”
He doesn’t look convinced, his eyes narrowing as he mutters something under his breath.
I exhale sharply and reach for my phone, needing to call someone to pick me up and get me out of here.
Except when I unlock it, there’s no signal.
“Of course,” I groan, holding the phone up like it’ll magically catch a bar if I wave it around enough.
He watches me, his expression softening slightly. “No service?”
“Nope,” I say, sighing in frustration. “Perfect end to a perfect night.”
He stands there for a moment, hands on his hips as he glances around the carnival. Then he looks back at me. “I’ll give you a ride.”
I blink. “What?”
“I’ll take you home,” he repeats, his tone firm but not unkind. “I’m not leaving you stranded here, and there’s no way in hell I’m letting you try to figure this out on your own.”
I hesitate, my pulse still racing for an entirely different reason now.
“You don’t even know me,” I point out.
A slow smirk tugs at his lips. “Well, let’s fix that, then.” He holds out a hand. “Jax.”
I stare at him for a second before slipping my hand into his, his grip warm and strong.
“Bella.”
His smirk deepens. “Nice to meet you, Bella. Now, let’s get you home.”
I hesitate, glancing at his leather vest and then back at the carnival. This guy had just saved me from Mike, but climbing onto the back of a motorcycle with a stranger isn’t exactly on my list of great ideas.
“You don’t have to,” I start to say, but he cuts me off.
“I know I don’t have to,” he says, meeting my eyes. “I’m offering. You’re not going to stand here all night waiting for your phone to magically work.”
I chew my lip, weighing my options. He has a point, and honestly, I feel safer with Jax than I ever did with Mike.
“Okay,” I say finally, my voice quiet. “Thanks.”
Jax turns to the two guys who hauled Mike away, his voice steady but firm. “I’ll be back in a few.”
They exchange a look before their eyes flick to me, sizing me up in a way that makes my skin prickle. Whatever they’re thinking, they don’t say. Instead, they just give Jax a knowing nod.
Jax doesn’t acknowledge it, just turns back to me like they don’t exist. “Come on, Bella.” His voice is softer now, but there’s no mistaking the edge of authority in it.
We walk to his bike parked near the edge of the carnival lot. I stop in my tracks when I see it—a sleek black motorcycle, polished to a shine, looking like something straight out of an action movie.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say, half-laughing, half-panicking. “You want me to get on that?”
Jax smirks, pulling a helmet off the back. “Relax, Bella. It’s safer than a drunk idiot in a pickup truck, I promise.”
I hesitate, staring at the bike like it’s a wild animal about to bite me.
“You trust me?” Jax asks, holding the helmet out to me.
The question catches me off guard, but when I look up at him, his dark eyes are steady, unflinching. “That’s such a subjective question. Do I trust you not to kill me on the ride home? Sure.” I say shrugging, taking the helmet from him.
“Good,” he smirks. “Then let’s go.”
I climb onto the bike behind him, gripping the sides of the seat like my life depends on it.
“You’re going to want to hold onto me,” Jax says, glancing back over his shoulder with a teasing smile.
I roll my eyes but wrap my arms around his waist, the warmth of his leather vest solid under my hands.
As the engine roars to life, I feel the vibration under me and my nerves spike again. But as we pull out of the lot, the cold spring air whipping past us, I feel something else, too—a strange sense of safety.
The night hasn’t gone at all how I expected, but at least now, I’m headed home. And for the first time all evening, I’m not dreading what’s next.