Chapter 18
Dexter
The scent of amber and orange blossom fills my lungs before I’m even fully awake, warm and soft and everywhere.
I open my eyes slowly and find Lexy asleep, her head resting on my legs, Marvel curled up against her like he’s claimed his spot for the night.
For a second, I don’t move.
I just… look at her.
Memory slides back in piece by piece. Ant-Man playing, her voice getting quieter, her body slowly relaxing against mine until she drifted off.
I remember pulling her closer without thinking, adjusting her so she wouldn’t wake up uncomfortable, telling myself I’d carry her to bed when the movie ended.
Just a minute.
Just until the credits roll.
Yeah.
That didn’t happen.
I must’ve fallen asleep too.
My gaze lingers on her face, softer like this, unguarded in a way I haven’t seen before, and before I can stop myself, my hand lifts, brushing a stray strand of her blonde hair away from her cheek.
Her skin is warm under my fingers, her hair spread across my legs, and like this… she looks younger.
Fragile.
Too damn fragile.
The memory of the bruises on her throat hits me out of nowhere, followed by the sound of her voice in those fever dreams, broken, scared, reliving something she never let me see in daylight.
Something inside my chest pulls tight, sharper than I expect.
She never told me what happened.
I never asked.
But the need to know, to find whoever put that fear in her, runs through me fast and ugly, settling into something that feels a little too close to rage.
I drag a hand over my face.
I need to get up.
I need distance.
Because the way she’s lying here, trusting, close, her weight resting against me like it belongs there, does something I don’t like.
Or maybe I like it too much.
Carefully, I shift, sliding a pillow under her head where my legs were. She stirs slightly, lips parting as she exhales, but she doesn’t wake. Marvel lifts his head, watches me for a second, then curls tighter against her.
Yeah.
I get it little dude.
I push myself up and head to the shower, letting the water run hotter than it needs to, standing there longer than I should, trying to wash off the lingering feeling of her against me.
It doesn’t work.
It’s still there when I step out.
Still there when I get dressed.
Still there when I walk back into the living room and find her sitting up, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
“Morning.”
I move toward the coffee machine, grabbing two mugs without thinking. I’ve learned quickly that she reaches for caffeine before she’s even fully awake.
“Morning,” she murmurs.
I feel it before I see it.
Her gaze.
It hits my chest, then drifts lower, slow, unintentional, tracing over my shoulders, my tattoos, my stomach, like she forgot how obvious she’s being.
I didn’t put on a shirt.
I never do after a shower.
But right now, standing here with her looking at me like that, I’m suddenly very aware of it.
Her lower lip slips between her teeth for half a second before she catches herself, her eyes snapping back up to mine, wide.
I don’t stop the smirk that pulls at my mouth.
She turns away fast, fumbling with the blanket, startling Marvel enough that he jumps off.
“Could you put a freaking shirt on?” she snaps, already retreating toward her room and then the bathroom.
I huff out a quiet laugh under my breath as I reach for the pan.
Yeah.
I’m definitely going to keep doing that.
There’s something about the way she reacts, all fire and fluster, that makes it impossible not to push just a little.
I shouldn’t enjoy it this much.
But I do.
By the time I plate the eggs and bacon, she’s back, her hair dried now, twisted into two messy knots that make her look… cute in a way that hits harder than it should.
The scent of her shampoo lingers in the air, stronger now, mixing with the heat from the stove, and for a second, my brain goes somewhere it shouldn’t.
Somewhere I shut down fast.
I turn toward the coffee instead.
“So you decided to look more like the real Tinker today?”
I glance back at her just in time to catch the spark returning to her eyes.
“Tinker has one bun and bangs.”
I laugh as I sit across from her. “You’d look good with bangs.”
She throws her napkin at me.
“You know I…”
My phone rings before she can finish.
Cas.
“Morning, Sheriff,” I answer.
“Morning, asshole. Just calling to tell you the roads are still closed today, so no opening the bar. I’m hoping this snow lets up tomorrow, but it doesn’t look good.”
I exhale slowly. “Alright. I’ll put something up online.”
There’s rustling on the other end. Then laughter.
I grin. “You still in bed, you fucker?”
Cas laughs. “Yeah, gotta go. Got something to take care of…”
A second later, Penny’s voice cuts through, loud and offended. “Don’t call me Mrs. Hawthorne. I’m not eighty!”
I shake my head, already smiling. “Tell her I said hi.”
“Cas, stop. You’re still on the phone with Dex!”
More laughter.
Then the call cuts.
I stare at my phone for a second, shaking my head.
Yeah.
Not touching that.
I set it down and look up.
Lexy’s watching me, those ocean-blue eyes a little wider than before.
“Still not opening?”
I shake my head. “Not today.”
She nods slowly.
I grab my phone again, typing out a quick post for the bar, but I can feel her attention on me, steady, curious.
“Did you always want this?” she asks.
I glance up. “The bar?”
She nods.
I lean back slightly, thinking. “Yeah. I think so. I remember going to rodeos with my dad and Jace when we were kids. We’d end up in these bars after, nothing fancy, just loud and full of people, and there was always this one guy behind the counter who knew everyone.
Even the ones who didn’t want to be known. ”
I huff out a small breath, remembering.
“People would walk in looking like the day had kicked the shit out of them, and they’d leave lighter. Laughing. Like they could breathe again.”
I shrug.
“I wanted to build something like that.”
She studies me, something softer in her expression. “You wanted to make people smile.”
I nod once. “Yeah.”
Her smile grows. “You do.”
Something about the way she says it settles deeper than I expect.
“What about you?” I ask.
She blinks. “Me?”
“Yeah.” I lean forward slightly. “What did you dream about?”
Her gaze drops to her mug, fingers tracing the rim. “Writing songs. Having someone famous sing one of them one day.”
She shrugs, like it doesn’t matter.
“It’s stupid.”
I reach out before I think about it, my fingers brushing under her chin, lifting her face just enough that she has to look at me.
“It’s not stupid,” I say quietly. “It’s… you.”
Her cheeks flush, her eyes flicking away before coming back.
“I don’t know…”
“I do,” I cut in. “You’ve got something. I heard you.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t want the spotlight. I just…” She hesitates, then smiles, softer now, like she’s somewhere else entirely. “When I write, when it all comes together… it feels like flying.”
Something in my chest shifts again.
“Promise me something,” I say.
Her eyes narrow slightly. “Why?”
“Just promise.”
She hesitates, then nods. “Okay.”
“Don’t stop writing. And start sending them out.”
Her smile turns shy. “I’ve never sent one.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t think they’re good enough.”
I hold her gaze. “Then let me hear one.”
Her head jerks up. “What? No.”
“Come on. I already heard you sing and play. You’re talented.”
She looks down again, unsure.
“It’s just me,” I say, softer now. “Let me hear it.”
She studies me for a long second.
“You’ll be honest?”
“I promise.”
She disappears into her room and comes back with a guitar and a notebook, sitting on the couch as she adjusts it in her lap.
Her fingers hover over the strings.
“I don’t know which one…”
“The last one,” I say.
Her eyes widen. “Oh no, I…”
“Please.”
She exhales slowly. “Okay.”
She starts to play, and something in me shifts before I can think it through.
I reach for my phone.
She glances up when she notices, hesitating for half a second.
I lift it slightly. “Just for me.”
A beat.
Then she nods.
I hit record…
And then she sings.
I miss you
But that won’t change
So I smile
I dance
I play
I miss you
Shouldn’t this pain be lighter by now?
So I work
I walk
I stand
I miss you
Do you miss me?
Do you still smile?
Can you see me?
Do you care?
There is no bandage for this
No medicine to make it okay
This is a wound that won’t ever heal
A world forever changed
I miss you
And I smile
For real
With joy
Because loving you
And being loved by you…
Was the greatest gift of all
So I miss you
But I know
One day, in heaven,
We’ll never let go.
By the time the last chord fades, the room feels different.
Quiet, but not empty.
Full.
Something moves through me before I can stop it, sharp and immediate, goosebumps rising along my arms, my chest tightening in a way I don’t have a name for.
I don’t clap.
I don’t speak right away.
I just stand there, looking at her like I’m seeing her for the first time.
“He’d be proud,” I manage finally, my voice lower than I expect.
Her head lifts slowly. “You knew it was about my father?”
“I didn’t know,” I say. “I felt it.”
She swallows.
“You should send them out,” I continue, stepping closer without realizing it. “There are people out there who feel exactly like that and don’t know how to say it.”
I gesture toward her. “You do.”
Her smile breaks open, bright and real, and before I can brace for it, she’s on her feet, closing the distance.
Her arms wrap around me.
And everything in me goes still.
For a second, I don’t move.
Then instinct kicks in and my arms come up around her, pulling her in closer than I should, her body fitting against mine in a way that feels…
Right.
Too right.
Warm.
Soft.
Like stepping into something I didn’t know I’d been missing.