Chapter 18
Hannah
I missed you last night.
When my eyes open again, the sunlight through the window has shifted into that warm, late glow, dimmer than before. It must be five or six in the evening. I can’t believe I slept the entire day away, but maybe my body needed it.
What I notice first is Sarge. Folded forward in his chair, resting his head on the edge of my mattress. Solid and protective, even in sleep. The second thing I notice is that I actually feel better. Not perfect, but the pounding in my skull has dulled, and my stomach isn’t twisting the way it was.
For the first time today, I let myself really look at him.
He looks different like this, softer somehow.
Peaceful. The constant tension he carries in his shoulders and jaw has slipped away, making him look almost younger.
Like he doesn’t have to think about protecting anyone or holding the world together.
I wish I could give him that all the time.
Everything about him today tells me this isn’t a fluke. The way he’s taken care of me, stayed by my side all day, it feels like it’s in his nature. He’s the kind of man who shoulders responsibility for everyone he lets into his life, and he carries it with pride, even if it’s heavy.
I can’t help myself. I reach over and brush my knuckles along the side of his scruffy face.
His beard is both coarse and soft beneath my touch, long enough to hang below his jaw but kept neat.
His lashes are darker and longer than I’d ever noticed before.
They make me wish I could see the sage-green beneath them right now.
Instead, I inch a little closer and press the lightest kiss against his lips.
It makes him stir. His eyes blink open, hazy with sleep, but they focus on me almost instantly. A small smile curves his mouth as he cups my cheek with one hand. For a moment, it feels like everything stills—like the world outside doesn’t exist.
It’s odd how two strangers can feel so much comfort in each other. By all accounts, I should be wary of Sarge, except I can’t help but feel at peace around him.
But there are words still burning inside of me, and I can’t keep them in.
“I missed you last night,” I whisper. “I may have gone just to see you...” My voice sounds smaller than I intended, the disappointment seeping through, mirroring the ache I feel.
He exhales, sitting up in his chair and stretching his arms wide.
“I wanted to be there,” he says, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, his voice low and steady.
“I’d planned to be there. Hell, I’d looked forward to it all week.
But something came up—club business. When it’s serious, I don’t get to choose.
Given my position, I can’t send someone in my place.
Please believe me, Hannah. If I could have been with you, I would have.
I am so thankful you are okay, and I will spend forever trying to make this up to you. ”
The way he says it, the weight in his eyes, makes it hard not to believe him. My head leans into his palm almost instinctively, letting it hold its weight. “I believe you,” I murmur, though the words carry all my lingering sadness too. “But, how after everything did you end up here? In my house?”
His eyes rake over my exposed legs before answering.
“My prospect was keeping me updated all night. He let me know when you got there with Ellie, told me you were tipsy but seemed fine. I thought you were safe with him and a couple of others keeping watch. I should have known better. They had one job—one—and failed at it.” His jaw tenses. “And you paid the price.”
The way his voice fractures on that last word makes my chest ache. He’s carrying this like it’s all on him, but it’s not.
“The next call I got was from Gizmo,” Sarge continues, “he was panicked. He said you’d collapsed at the pool tables.
He’d been on the line with me as Ellie tried to wake you, and I can’t remember the last time I felt that helpless.
Not knowing if you were breathing. Not knowing if I’d already lost you before I even got there. ”
The raw pain in his face has me aching to comfort him, but I stay still, giving him my full attention.
“I rode like hell to get to you,” he says. “By the time I got to the bar, Gizmo and Wolf had loaded you into one of the club vans. The doc was waiting inside to treat you.” He must notice the quizzical look on my face, because he explains further.
“It’s been converted into an undetectable ambulance for the club—helps when we get into a bad situation.
He checked you over, took blood, and made sure you were stable.
Once I knew you were okay to come home, Ellie followed us and was the one who changed your clothes.
Even showed me around the house a little before she left with Gizmo. ”
My heart lurches. Ellie. I need to call her, or at least text. She’s been calm, capable, and fiercely protective—exactly the kind of friend you want in a nightmare situation. I feel a rush of gratitude for her spunk and devotion.
“They made it home safe,” Sarge adds quickly, reading the panic on my face. “I had Gizmo text me as soon as they got there.”
Relief rushes through me, almost dizzying. And then, out of my mouth comes the most ridiculous thing I could have said: “Your prospect’s name is Gizmo?”
Sarge actually laughs, just for a moment. “One of ‘em, yeah. Odd little fucker, but he’s solid, and he’s been with us a while.
Started as a hang-around, and now he’s been a prospect for almost a year. And he seems to like Ellie quite a bit.” He tilts his head, his eyes warming. “Almost as much as I like you, Butterfly.”