Chapter 1 Delaney
CHAPTER ONE
Delaney
Two months later…
I shouldn’t be here.
That’s the first thought that hits me as the bus pulls into Coyote Glen, brakes squealing as if it disapproves too.
Pines crowd the edges of the road, tall and dark and endlessly still. Nothing like the city skyline I left behind. The air looks different here. Softer. Clearer. As if someone scrubbed the world clean while I wasn’t looking.
I step off the bus with my duffel slung over my shoulder, my suitcase bumping along behind me, and my knife roll clutched to my chest, because some habits die hard, even when your whole life has fallen apart.
Everything else is boxed up in a storage unit three hours away, paid up for exactly three months with my severance and panic savings. The apartment is gone, the lease broken, the life I killed myself to build boiled down to one rolling suitcase, a duffel, and my knives.
Gravel crunches under my boots. A sign nearby reads WELCOME TO COYOTE GLEN: WHERE COMMUNITY RUNS DEEP.
Cute. Condescending. Terrifying.
“This is temporary,” I mutter to myself. “A stepping stone. A reset. Something adult and responsible people do.”
The universe doesn’t answer. Probably for the best.
I never planned to end up in a small town, any small town, let alone one this tiny, where everyone probably knows how you take your coffee and what you bought at the grocery store last Tuesday.
But after everything… my options were limited.
My name was stained in every kitchen within a hundred miles, and the few places willing to talk to me treated me like a scandal waiting to happen.
The Sunridge Ranch job, as bizarre as it sounded, was the only one that didn’t come with thinly veiled judgment.
A private chef position. On a ranch. With an actual family.
Not exactly Michelin star material.
But it’s work. And right now, work is oxygen.
And at least I’m not completely alone here.
Wild Reverie’s house sits somewhere among these trees, and even if the band is on tour, they insisted I use their place until I start at the ranch.
Their group text, full of encouragement and badly misspelled jokes, is the only thing that kept me from turning around halfway here.
Sloane: You’ll love Coyote Glen.
Roman: The Hollow does killer wings.
Creed: You won’t get murdered.
Ezra: We believe in you.
And I need people who believe in me. Especially now.
I used to work for the guys. They know my cooking, and apparently, they think this will be right for me. At least for now.
I drag in a breath that tastes of pine needles and a faintly sweet tang.
Okay. I can do this. Take a few days. Get my bearings. Try not to cry in public.
The walk from the bus stop into town is short. Cozy houses, a few shops with hand-painted signs, mismatched lampposts that look like they’ve been here since before the moon landing. Coyote Glen is… charming. Against my will, I feel my chest loosen.
Wild Reverie’s house is at the outskirts of town. And it’s gorgeous. Very rockstar hiding in a mountain town.
The key is exactly where Sloane said it would be: tucked under a ceramic frog on the porch.
Inside, it smells faintly of cedar, coffee, and the lingering ghosts of musicians who live on adrenaline. Guitars line one wall, and blankets are draped haphazardly over the couch. A note sits on the counter in Roman’s messy handwriting:
Eat whatever. Sleep wherever. Don’t overthink it.
You’re safe here.
—R
Safe and, more importantly, rent-free. If Roman and the guys hadn’t insisted I use the house while they were on tour, I’d be back in the city sharing a couch with someone’s cat and three roommates.
I exhale.
A small, shaky, grateful sound.
I drop my duffel and suitcase, turn in a slow circle, and let the quiet wrap around me. No paparazzi. No accusations. No Marcus.
Just pine trees and silence.
I unpack a few things, rinse my face, and force myself not to curl up and sleep for a week. If I do that, I’ll never pull myself back up again. Better to move. Explore. Pretend I’m a person with a plan.
So I head out.
I wander past Granger’s Goods, Coyote Cup, and a florist's stand with buckets of wildflowers. A teenage girl with combat boots and a tarot deck eyes me like she knows all my secrets. I avert my gaze. Absolutely not ready for that energy yet.
My stomach growls, reminding me I haven’t eaten since the crackers I inhaled on the bus. I follow the sound of distant laughter and music until a weathered sign comes into view.
THE HOLLOW
Bar · Grill · Live Music
Perfect.
Inside, it’s warm and dim. A handful of locals sit in booths, and despite the quiet, the place feels lived in. Safe.
Behind the bar stands a man with a jawline sharp enough to slice lemons and a disinterested expression that tells me he’s seen absolutely everything.
“New face,” he says, polishing a glass. “Or tourist?”
“New,” I admit, landing on a barstool. “But hopefully not too obviously.”
He snorts. “Everyone’s obvious. What’ll it be?”
I scan the chalkboard menu. “Burger, fries, and a beer.”
“Good choice.” He slides me a water. “Name’s Arlo.”
“Delaney.”
He nods once and goes to put in the order. While he works, I let myself melt into the bar. It feels good to sit. To breathe. To not think about… everything.
Then someone sits in the stool beside me, and everything shifts.
“Well, hello there.”
His voice is warm, lazy, and unmistakably flirtatious. I turn and blink in shock.
If sunshine and trouble had a baby, it would be this man. Golden blond hair that looks artfully tousled, green eyes full of mischief, and a grin that could start fires. He’s the kind of beautiful that makes you suspicious.
“I haven’t seen you around,” he continues, leaning in like we’re already halfway into a conversation. “And trust me, sweetheart, I would’ve remembered.”
I choke slightly on my water. “I… just got into town.”
“Welcome, then.” He clinks his beer against my glass. “To Coyote Glen.”
His shirt is half unbuttoned, revealing tanned skin and just enough chest to be illegal. His jeans fit like he posed for a billboard. His entire vibe screams charismatic madness.
I don’t need this kind of distraction.
My body disagrees.
Arlo slides the plate in front of me. “Burger and fries for Delaney.” He shoots the man beside me a look. “Don’t scare her off, Silas. We need the business.”
Silas.
Great. Even his name sounds like a problem.
“Me?” Silas places a hand on his chest. “I’m delightful.”
Arlo rolls his eyes. “You’re something.”
Silas ignores him completely, turning his attention back to me. “So, Delaney, who just got into town… what brings you to our humble little corner of the world?”
“A new, much-needed start.”
I don’t feel like giving him more than that right now.
His eyebrows shoot up. “Oh. Mysterious.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
He leans closer, eyes gleaming. “Not at all. I’ve always had a weakness for it.”
I open my mouth to say something—goodness knows what—but Silas’s grin widens, wicked and bright, and the rest of the world recedes.
He launches into a story about the time the town’s cornhole league turned into a full-scale border dispute with the neighboring county, complete with a stolen trophy and a midnight rescue mission.
“Picture it,” he says, hands moving as much as his mouth. “Me, halfway up the side of Beau Hartwell’s dad’s barn, trying to break in and liberate a beanbag trophy while Deputy Morgan screams about ‘jurisdiction’ from the driveway.”
I laugh before I can stop myself, the sound bursting out of me so suddenly it startles us both.
He talks. And dear lord, does he talk. Stories, jokes, wildly exaggerated anecdotes about the town and the folk who live here. He fills every silence like he’s allergic to them, and instead of being overwhelmed, I find myself leaning in, soaking up the warmth of him like sunlight on my skin.
He asks questions too. Good ones. About food, about travel, about where I came from. He listens, even when he teases. And each time I answer, my chest untwists just a little more.
I should stop drinking. I should definitely stop smiling foolishly.
But Silas’s laughter is loud and contagious, wrapping around me like a hug.
Hours pass. Arlo shuts down parts of the bar. The crowd thins. The night deepens.
At some point, Silas shifts closer, his knee brushing mine. The contact jolts through me as a spark.
“You want another?” he asks softly, dipping darker.
I meet his eyes. Wow, they’re green. Not soft green. Dangerous green. Take-me-home green.
“I shouldn’t.”
“No,” he agrees, his gaze dropping to my mouth. “You really shouldn’t.”
We both know what’s happening.
We both know neither of us is stopping it.
He stands and offers me his hand. “Come on, sunshine.”
Every rational part of me screams bad idea.
The rest of me is starving for exactly this. Heat, distraction, a night where I’m not the woman everyone whispers about. A night where I’m just Delaney. Desired. Wanted.
I slip my hand into his.
His smile is slow and satisfied.
He leads me out the back door of The Hollow and into the cool darkness of the alleyway. The moment the door clicks shut behind us, he presses me gently against the wall, his hands bracketing my hips, his breath warm against my ear.
I pull him in and kiss him like I’ve been drowning for months.
And Silas kisses me back like he intends to bring me back to life.
My insides crack open, tight and aching and starved. Silas tastes of beer and warmth and trouble, and help me, I want all of it.
His hands slide to my waist, pulling me closer, his thumbs pressing into my hips like he needs to anchor me. The kiss turns hot fast, too fast, and I forget where I am, who I’m supposed to be, what I swore I’d never do again.
All I know is the way Silas makes me feel alive.
I gasp when he deepens the kiss, and he smiles against my mouth because he likes that sound. His tongue sweeps against mine, coaxing instead of demanding, but there’s nothing gentle about how my body reacts.