Chapter 18 #2
The scent of her wraps around me, orange blossom and something sweeter underneath, and my chest tightens again, harder this time, my heartbeat picking up in a way that has nothing to do with the moment and everything to do with her .
This is a mistake.
I know it is.
Because if I hold her like this, if I let myself lean into it even a little more, I’m not sure I’ll stop at just a hug.
And that’s the problem.
She pulls back too fast, like she felt it too, her cheeks flushed.
“I’m sorry, I just… I’ve never played that for anyone before.”
My hand settles on her shoulder before I can stop it, grounding her, or maybe grounding myself.
“I liked it,” I say.
That’s not enough.
But it’s all I trust myself to give.
Because standing this close to her, with her looking at me like that, with her music still echoing in my head, I feel something shifting under my skin, something I don’t have control over anymore.
And I don’t like how much I don’t want to stop it.
So I step back, dragging a hand over the back of my neck.
“So… what comes after Ant-Man?” I ask, forcing something lighter into my voice.
She drops back onto the couch, smiling again.
“My favorite Marvel movie of all time.”
? ? ?
Alexis
“I didn’t ask to be torn apart and put together over and over…”
Rocket’s voice breaks on the screen, and even though I’ve seen this scene a thousand times, something inside me fractures right along with it. It hits deep, because when life tears you to pieces over and over at a young age, you learn to keep people at arm’s length.
“They used to call me trailer trash.”
I shrug, trying to play it off, but my throat tightens as tears prick my eyes, lingering stubbornly after Rocket’s outburst fades into the background.
“Give me their names and I’ll find them,” Dex says, a hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth.
A small laugh escapes me. “You going to hunt down ten twenty-three-year-old bullies?”
“Ten?”
“Yeah. Six football players and some of their girlfriends.” I lift a shoulder. “I survived.”
The words come out lighter than they feel.
Dex doesn’t respond right away.
The movie keeps playing, the low hum of it filling the space between us, but something has shifted. The air feels heavier now, quieter in a different way, like we’re both sitting with something unspoken.
Then…
“Mental.”
I turn toward him.
His eyes are still on the screen, jaw tight, something darker moving beneath the surface, like he’s not really seeing what’s playing anymore.
“What?” I ask softly.
“They used to call me mental.” His mouth twists slightly. “No matter how hard I tried to mask it, sometimes I couldn’t control my energy. Especially in high school. Hormones, anger… all of it.” He exhales through his nose. “They targeted us.”
“Us?”
“Me and Jude.” His gaze finally shifts to mine. “I let them talk as long as it was about me. I even wore the name like a badge. Figured if I owned it, it couldn’t hurt.” His voice hardens, rougher now. “But then they went after Jude.”
A pause.
“And I lost it.”
The words land heavier than he says them.
“My fists got them to shut up,” he continues, quieter now, like he’s remembering it instead of telling it. “I can still hear the crack of bone the first time I didn’t stop.” His jaw tightens. “After that, I found boxing. Then my first motorcycle.”
He leans back slightly, one hand dragging over his jaw.
“Adrenaline was like a drug. Boxing and riding helped me burn it off. Gave me some quiet up here.” He taps his temple once.
“And then I met Michael’s Legion when I was eighteen.” His mouth tightens again. “For the first time in my life, people didn’t want me to be less. They liked my impulsiveness. My anger. The things everyone else told me to hide.”
I don’t interrupt. I just let him talk.
“My mama cried the entire three years I rode with them,” he says, voice lower now. “But I needed it.” He exhales slowly. “Michael’s Legion was built to protect Lander from rival clubs. No drugs. No deals. But when it came to protecting our town…”
His gaze darkens.
“We didn’t play nice.”
A quiet settles between us again, heavier now, deeper.
“Casper wasn’t sheriff back then, just a deputy. We didn’t speak for two years.” He pauses, then continues more quietly. “The last year I was in, I realized I was growing out of my anger. I wanted something else. My own bar. A peaceful life. Something my mother could be proud of.”
His eyes flick to mine.
“So when I had the chance, I risked my life to save the Prez and his family. When he asked how he could repay me, I told him to let me walk away.” A faint smile pulls at his mouth. “On the condition that I kept their secrets and showed up if they ever really needed me.”
“So you’re not completely free of them?” I ask.
“No,” he says. “But in six years, the only favors they’ve asked for are free drinks.”
“Oh.”
I glance down at my hands, my fingers curling slightly in my lap.
“I’m glad you got out,” I say quietly.
I hesitate for a second.
“I was wrong, you know…”
He looks at me, the edge in his eyes still there. “About what?”
I take a breath.
“When I said I hate all MC members.”
Something shifts in his expression, subtle but there.
I hold his gaze, even though it feels like I’m stepping into something I won’t be able to take back.
“Turns out… there’s at least one biker I don’t hate.”
A small pause.
“Actually… I think he might be a better man than most.”
A beat passes before he looks away, turning his attention back to the TV, but the moment doesn’t disappear with it. It lingers, stretched between us, something softer threading through it now.
The thought of him back then, younger, angrier, carrying all of that alone, makes something in my chest twist.
“They were wrong,” I say.
He looks at me, the edge in his eyes already fading. “Who?”
“Your bullies.” I swallow. “You’re not mental. There’s nothing wrong with you.”
He doesn’t answer, so I keep going, the words coming easier now that I’ve started.
“I think I’m starting to like your impulsiveness. The way you say exactly what you think.” I shrug lightly. “I hate when people lie to spare my feelings. And I know, deep down, you never would. You’d always be real. Even when it’s hard.”
He studies me, like he’s weighing something.
“Why are you telling me all this?”
“Because I can’t stand the idea of you believing there’s something broken in you,” I say, my voice softer now. “You’re a good man, Dex Hawthorne. And I don’t think there’s a single thing about you that needs fixing.”
His throat moves as he swallows.
Then…
“You want a beer?”
He turns away, heading for the kitchen before I can answer, like the moment got too close, too real.
I let him go.
The room feels different now, quieter, fuller, like something important just settled between us without either of us naming it.
I lean back against the couch, exhaling slowly, trying to untangle everything he just stirred up inside me.
Marvel stretches beside me, then climbs into my lap like nothing just shifted in the air between us.
Lucky him.
A few minutes later, Dex comes back with two beers, handing me one without a word.
“Thanks.”
“Mm.”
We sit there for a while, not talking, the quiet between us easy now instead of heavy, like we don’t need to fill it.
I shift slightly, pulling the blanket tighter around me.
That’s when Marvel decides to attack.
Out of nowhere, he pounces on my arm, tiny claws barely held back.
“Hey!” I laugh, trying to shake him off.
Dex watches, clearly entertained.
“You’re getting taken down by a ten-pound kitten.”
“He started it!”
Marvel launches himself again, more determined this time, and I grab a pillow, using it as a shield.
“Oh, it’s war now,” I mutter, scooping him up and nudging him back as he wriggles and jumps again.
Dex chuckles, low and warm.
“Now you made him angry.”
Marvel leaps again, and I duck just in time, but he overshoots, landing square on Dex’s chest.
There’s a beat where everything pauses.
Dex looks down at the kitten.
Then at me.
Slowly.
“You did that on purpose.”
A grin spreads across my face. I didn’t.
But I’m not about to admit that.
“Maybe.”
He reaches for a pillow, and I see it coming just a second too late.
It hits me square in the face.
I gasp. “Did you just…”
“Yes.”
I lunge for another pillow. “Oh, you’re dead.”
The next few seconds dissolve into chaos, pillows flying as we try to outmaneuver each other, Marvel darting between us like he’s orchestrating the whole thing. Dex laughs, real and unguarded, blocking my swings like this is the easiest thing in the world.
“Stop cheating!” I say, trying to land a hit. “You’re using your height. Not fair.”
“I’m not cheating,” he shoots back. “You’re just slow.”
“Really?” I square my shoulders. “I’ll show you slow.”
I swing again.
He catches the pillow midair, pulling it out of my hands, and suddenly I’m off balance, stumbling forward…
Right into him.
Everything stills.
My hands land flat against his chest, warm and solid beneath my palms, his arm wrapping around me on instinct as he steadies me, pulling me just a little closer than necessary.
Too close.
His scent hits me all at once, filling my lungs until it settles somewhere deeper.
His hands rest at my hips, warm, steady, sending a ripple of heat through me that raises goosebumps along my arms, my back, everywhere.
His gaze drops to my lips.
My breath catches.
For a second, neither of us moves.
It feels like the whole room is holding its breath with us.
Then…
Marvel jumps between us, grabbing onto my pant leg.
The moment snaps.
I burst into laughter, the sound spilling out before I can stop it, breaking whatever that was before it can turn into something else.
I try to speak, but it comes out in broken sounds, and when I take a sip of my beer, it goes straight up my nose.
“Oh my God…” I cough, laughing harder, clutching my face.
Dex stares at me for half a second.
Then he loses it.
Full-on laughter, head tipped back, shoulders shaking, the sound filling the room in a way I’ve never heard from him before.
My laughter fades as I watch him.
Really watch him.
The strength in him is still there, the presence that demands attention without trying, but like this, open and unguarded, it doesn’t feel intimidating.
It feels… safe.
Like stepping closer wouldn’t mean losing myself.
Like his arms would be something to lean into, not something to fear.
He looks back at me, catching me staring.
“You…” he tries, failing through a grin. “You just…”
“I know,” I laugh again, shaking my head.
And for the first time since I met him, since all of this started and I wrote him off as the biggest asshole…
Being close to him doesn’t feel like something I need to fight.
It feels like something I might actually want.