Chapter 16 Last Light #3
He did—his whole body seizing, my name tearing from his lips like a prayer, hot stripes painting his stomach and chest. The sight of him, the feel of him clenching around me, the sound of his voice breaking on my name—it was too much.
I followed him into oblivion with a groan that came from somewhere deeper than my throat, deeper than my chest. From somewhere I didn't know I had until this man found it. For a long moment, neither of us moved. Just breathed. Just existed. Just held on.
Then Tyler laughed—a soft, breathless sound, almost disbelieving. The kind of laugh that bubbles up when words aren't enough, when the body has to express what the mind can't contain.
"Holy shit."
I collapsed beside him, careful to avoid crushing him against the hard floor.
Both of us sticky and sweaty and breathing hard.
The concrete was uncomfortable beneath the thin tarp, the air thick with the smell of sex and motor oil and something that was just us.
My heart was still racing, my skin still tingling, and I'd never felt more content in my life.
"That was..." Tyler trailed off, shaking his head. His hair was a mess, plastered to his forehead with sweat, and there were red marks on his hips where I'd gripped too hard. He looked wrecked. He looked perfect.
"Yeah." I turned my head to look at him, found him already looking at me. "It was."
His hand found mine, fingers interlacing.
We lay there in silence for a while, listening to our heartbeats slow, letting the world outside the garage doors cease to exist. The work lights hummed overhead.
Somewhere outside, a distant voice called out—someone checking the perimeter, going about the business of preparing for war. It felt very far away.
"I used to think I'd never have this." Tyler's voice was soft, almost wondering. "After Cross, after everything—I thought this part of me was broken. That he'd taken it, along with everything else."
"It's not broken." I squeezed his hand. "You're not broken."
"I know that now." He turned his head to meet my eyes. "You taught me that. Not just with words—with everything. The way you look at me. The way you touch me. The way you're not afraid of what I've been through."
My throat tightened. "Why would I be afraid?"
"Because most people are. They hear 'abusive ex' and they see damaged goods. Something to be handled carefully, pitied, kept at arm's length." His jaw tightened. "Cross counted on that. Counted on me being too broken for anyone else to want."
"Cross was wrong about a lot of things." I rolled onto my side, cupped his face in my hand. "You're not damaged goods. You're not something to be pitied. You're the strongest person I've ever met. And I don't want you despite what you've been through—I want you because of who you've become."
Tyler's eyes glistened. He blinked rapidly, looking away. "You can't just say things like that."
"Why not? It's true."
He didn't answer. Just pulled me closer, buried his face against my shoulder, and held on like I was the only solid thing in a world that kept trying to knock him down.
Eventually, he spoke. The words muffled against my skin. "Whatever happens tomorrow—"
"Don't." The word came out sharper than I intended. I softened it by stroking his hair, pressing a kiss to his temple. "We come back. Both of us."
"You can't promise that."
"Watch me." I pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, to let him see the steel underneath my words. "I promise you. I promise that whatever happens, I will find my way back to you. And you will find your way back to me. That's not negotiable."
Tyler's eyes searched mine. Looking for doubt, maybe. Looking for the lie. He wouldn't find either. I meant every word with every fiber of my being. I'd faced down death a hundred times without flinching. But the thought of a world without Tyler in it—that was the one thing I couldn't accept.
"Promise me," he whispered. "Say it again."
"I promise."
He kissed me, soft and slow. A seal on a vow we both knew might be impossible to keep. Tomorrow we'd crawl into a drainage pipe and come out the other side into a firefight. Tomorrow we'd face Cross and his army and whatever trap he'd set for us. Tomorrow, one or both of us might not make it home.
But tonight, in this garage that smelled like motor oil and sex, with this man who'd become my whole world—tonight, we made promises anyway.
Because that's what love is, I realized. Making promises you might not be able to keep, and meaning them anyway.
Love.
The word settled into my chest like it belonged there. Like it had always been there, waiting for me to acknowledge it.
We'd cleaned up as best we could with a rag and a bottle of water from my pack, dressed in silence, and migrated to my room, where the bed was softer and the door had a lock.
The walk across the compound had been quiet, the night air cool against my still-flushed skin.
A few brothers were still up, sitting around the firepit or checking equipment one last time, but no one stopped us.
No one commented on the fact that we were walking close enough for our shoulders to brush, or that Tyler's hair was still damp with sweat, or that we both probably looked exactly like what we were—two men who'd just fucked each other senseless and weren't remotely sorry about it.
Maybe they didn't care. Maybe they had bigger things to worry about. Or maybe—just maybe—the club had already accepted what Tank and Tyler were becoming, and saw no reason to make a thing of it.
Either way, I was grateful for the silence.
Tyler fell asleep first, the way he always did.
One moment he was talking—something about the drain pipe, about how we'd need to move fast once we were inside, about the layout of the warehouse and where Cross was most likely to position his men—and the next his voice had trailed off, his breathing gone deep and even.
Mid-sentence, mid-thought, like someone had flipped a switch.
I let him sleep. He needed the rest. We both did.
But sleep wouldn't come for me.
I lay in the darkness, Tyler's weight warm against my side, and stared at the ceiling. Moonlight filtered through the blinds, casting striped shadows across the wall. Somewhere outside, a night bird called—a lonely sound that matched the hollow feeling in my chest.
I thought about the first time I'd seen Tyler.
Standing in the compound with his government-issue suit and his carefully neutral expression, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.
I'd thought he was just another fed—clean-cut, uptight, everything I wasn't. I'd resented his presence, resented the way he disrupted the easy rhythm of compound life, resented the way Hawk seemed to trust him even though he hadn't earned it.
Funny how things changed.
Now I couldn't imagine this room without him in it.
Couldn't imagine riding without him beside me.
Couldn't imagine facing whatever came next alone.
The thought of going back to who I'd been before—solitary, closed-off, burying my grief in engine grease and violence—made my chest ache in a way I couldn't quite name.
The word I'd finally acknowledged hovered at the edge of my consciousness, pressing against my teeth.
Love. Such a small word for something so vast. I'd thought I understood it before—the love of family, of brothers, of the club.
Danny had taught me what it meant to love someone so much their absence became a wound that never healed.
But this was different. This was terrifying in a way grief had never been. Danny hadn't chosen to leave. Tyler could.
Every day, Tyler made the choice to stay.
To be here, with me, in this insane life full of guns and violence and men who would kill us both if they got the chance.
He could walk away. He could take his FBI credentials and his hard-won freedom and disappear into a normal life somewhere—a desk job, a safe apartment, a relationship with someone who didn't come with a body count and a criminal record.
He chose this instead. Chose me. That choice meant more than any three words could capture.
I tightened my arm around him, felt him murmur something in his sleep and press closer. His hand found my chest, settled over my heart like it belonged there.
I finally understand, Danny. The thought rose unbidden, aimed at a brother who'd been gone for six years.
A brother whose voice I was starting to forget, whose face was starting to blur in my memory, but whose absence still ached like a phantom limb.
I understand why you kept chasing that feeling.
Why you were willing to risk everything for it.
I pressed a kiss to Tyler's hair, breathed in the scent of him—soap and sweat and something indefinably his. Something that had become the smell of home.
I'd burn the whole world down for him, Danny. I'd watch it all go up in flames and not feel a single fucking regret, as long as he was standing beside me when the ashes settled.
Maybe that made me crazy. Maybe that made me dangerous. Maybe loving someone this much was the worst possible thing I could do on the eve of a battle that might kill us both.
But I'd spent six years not feeling anything. six years of numbness and grief and going through the motions of living without actually being alive.
Tyler had woken me up. And I'd rather die feeling everything than go back to feeling nothing.
Sleep finally pulled me under, my arms wrapped around the man who'd become my whole world.
gray light filtered through the blinds when I opened my eyes. Pre-dawn. The hour when the world held its breath, balanced between darkness and light. The hour when soldiers and criminals and fools like us rose to meet whatever fate had in store.
For a moment I didn't move, just lay there feeling Tyler's heartbeat against my chest, savoring the last moments of stillness before everything changed. His body was warm against mine, his breathing slow and even, one hand still resting over my heart like he'd been keeping watch even in sleep.
Outside, the compound was coming to life.
Footsteps on gravel. The low rumble of engines being warmed up.
Voices, too quiet to make out the words, but carrying the tension of men preparing for battle.
In an hour, we'd be on the road. Several hours after that, we'd be crawling into a drainage pipe that might lead nowhere. And then—
I pushed the thought away. Worry about three hours when three hours came.
Tyler stirred against me, and I knew he was awake by the change in his breathing, by the subtle tension that crept into his shoulders. Neither of us spoke. Neither of us wanted to break the spell.
I thought about all the mornings I'd woken up alone in this room.
All the times I'd rolled out of bed with nothing to look forward to except another day of jobs and violence and trying not to think about the brother-shaped hole in my life.
All the years I'd convinced myself that this was enough, that the club was enough, that I didn't need anything more.
I'd been wrong about a lot of things.
Finally, I shifted. Tyler tilted his head up to look at me, his eyes clear and calm. No fear, at least none that showed. Whatever doubts he had, he'd made peace with them in the night. We both had.
The gray light caught the planes of his face, the stubble shadowing his jaw, the faint circles under his eyes from not enough sleep. He looked tired. He looked ready. He looked like the man I wanted to wake up next to for the rest of my life—however long or short that might be.
"Time to go to war."
He nodded. Kissed me once, brief and fierce, a promise and a prayer wrapped into one gesture.
The compound was bustling when we stepped outside, the pre-dawn air cool and sharp with the smell of exhaust and adrenaline.
Blade was by the vans, making final checks, his face carved from stone.
Axel was loading gear into a truck, moving with the efficient calm of a man who'd done this a hundred times before.
Hawk stood in the center of it all, a tower of controlled fury, barking orders that everyone scrambled to obey.
Tyler's hand brushed mine—just for a second, just long enough to say everything we didn't have words for. Then we separated, going to our assigned positions, becoming soldiers instead of lovers.
But even as I checked my weapons and loaded into the truck and prepared to crawl into a hole in the ground that might become my grave—even then, I could still feel the warmth of his hand in mine.