37. Sienna
Chapter 37
Sienna
S ix months ago, I thought my world was crashing.
Now? Now, I’m standing at the helm of the baddest custom bike shop in the damn country.
Steel King's Customs isn’t just treading water; we’re the go-to place for those who are looking for unique custom builds they can be proud of.
The garage hums with life as I make my final rounds, the sunset bleeding gold across the polished showroom floor that we’ve recently added.
The team really came together after the build-off. And I cannot imagine a world without these people in it.
I do a final spin, seeing the signed jerseys from athletes lining the walls. Pictures with celebrities. Even a letter from a senator's office about the "outstanding craftsmanship" on a build we did for some oil tycoon’s grandson.
Today, Zane O’Connor and Keelan Landry, two legends from the Heatwave Hockey team, stopped by to pick up their bikes.
Casual.
No big deal.
Okay, a very big deal.
Joey’s still posting about it like it’s the best day of his life.
I smile to myself as I lock the front doors, the neon "CLOSED" sign humming to life in the window.
Another day. Another victory.
And tonight?
Tonight, I’m supposed to meet the crew up at Rusty’s for a drink.
Tradition.
I swing my leg over my bike, fire up the engine, and take the long way there, letting the wind wash the day off my skin.
Rusty’s is dim and half-empty when I pull in. Not typical for a Friday night.
And when I step through the doors… I pause.
The place is empty.
No Gramps arguing with the bartender.
No Kick hustling pool.
No Joey eating wings like they’re going out of style.
Just one person.
Sitting at the poker table. Waiting. My heart stutters so hard it almost knocks the air out of my lungs.
Levi Steele.
He doesn’t move when he sees me. Just sits there, one arm slung over the back of his chair like he has all the time in the world.
He looks good. Dangerously good. Beard trimmed tighter. Shoulders broader. Sun-kissed like he’s been outside more these days.
He’s wearing a faded SKC hoodie that’s so old it probably should’ve been burned... and it’s never looked better on anyone.
And in his eyes… there’s peace.
Real, earned peace.
I make myself walk toward him, one step at a time, the sound of my boots like gunshots against the wood floor.
"You’re not who I expected to see," I say, voice cool even though my whole body’s about to catch fire.
He smiles, slow and rough. The kind of smile that used to tear me apart.
"Maybe I should start with the important stuff," he says, standing as I get closer.
"I have full custody of Josie now. Official. Finalized."
I blink. My chest aches so fast and sharp I almost double over.
"Levi..." I breathe.
He nods. "She’s doing good. Thriving. Happy."
He steps closer.
"I worked on myself. Therapy. Groups. Even got myself a stupid goat," he says, voice rough with humor. "Josie named him Theo 2. Little bastard keeps eating my shirts."
I snort before I can help it, covering my mouth with my hand.
He grins wider, then sobers.
"I’m moving back into the house," he says, voice quieter now. "Carter got a job offer up north. It’s just me and Josie now. And we’re ready to come home to Breaker's."
He lets the words hang there.
Heavy. Hopeful.
"If you’ll have us," he adds, voice cracking just a little.
Silence stretches between us, thick with everything we lost and everything we could still have.
I cross the final distance to him, standing toe to toe.
"You really think you get to just come back here," I say, tilting my head. "No conditions?"
He lifts a brow. "Name it, Captain."
I lean in, so close I can feel his breath on my lips.
"Only under one condition," I whisper.
He stiffens.
"You have to be my first mate."
The smile that breaks across his face could light up the whole island.
"Always was, Angel," he says, voice rough with emotion.
And then I grab the front of his hoodie and yank him down into a kiss that tastes like every dream I never dared to hope for.
He groans low in his chest, his hands coming up to cup my face, my waist, my everything, like he’s trying to make sure I’m real.
We stumble back toward the poker table, never breaking apart.
He lifts me onto it like I weigh nothing. Spreads me out like a winning hand.
And then he’s over me, his mouth devouring mine like he’s starved for me.
I tug his hoodie over his head, his hands sliding under my shirt, palms rough and desperate against my skin.
"Missed you," he mutters against my throat. "Missed you so fucking much."
"Then show me," I rasp.
And he does.
Right there on the poker table.
I didn't come to Breaker's Isle to fall in love.
But when love plays its hand… all bets are off.