19. Alexandra
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-Bee
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WHAT THE FUCK?!
The warmth drains out of the room, out of me, leaving nothing but a sharp ringing in my ears. For a second I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I just stand there, caught between the door and the life I apparently imagined, watching the man who held me like I mattered let someone else fit into the same space.
My first instinct is to disappear.
To back out before anyone notices I walked in here with my heart still stupidly open, before I have to see him look at me and realize what an idiot I’ve been. I actually take a step toward the door.
Then something ugly and bright sparks in my chest.
Anger. Hot, humiliating anger that burns away the urge to run. I don’t want to hide anymore—I want to march across that room and ask him what the hell last night was supposed to mean. I want to hear him explain how someone can look at me the way he did and then sit there with another woman in his lap like it’s nothing.
My hands curl into fists at my sides.
I barely make it two steps before a hand closes around my arm.
“Lex,” Bruiser says quietly.
I try to shake him off, eyes still locked on the table, on her fingers playing with the collar of Cole’s shirt. “I’m fine,” I snap, even as my feet betray me and follow the direction he’s guiding. “Let go.”
“I know,” he answers, voice low, steady, like he’s talking someone down from a ledge. “Just—come outside with me.”
“I don’t need—”
“You do,” he says gently, already opening the door with his free hand. Not dragging me, not making a scene—just giving me an exit before I light the whole room on fire with my temper.
The cool night air hits my face and I finally breathe, anger and embarrassment tangling together so tight I can’t tell them apart.
Behind us the door swings shut, muffling the music, the laughter—him.
And whatever version of me almost walked straight into that room demanding answers.
Cold air hits my face as he guides me just outside, positioning us beside the wall, close enough that the sounds of the clubhouse leak through but far enough that no one’s watching. He releases my arm but doesn’t move away, his presence deliberate. Containing.
“That,” I say, pointing back toward the door, my voice sharp and thin, “was very clear.”
Bruiser exhales slowly, like a man choosing what not to say.
“It’s not what it looks like.”
I let out a short laugh. “It usually is.”
He studies my face for a beat, eyes steady. He knows more than he’s giving me — I can feel it — but whatever it is, he’s holding the line.
“You need to hear him out,” he says finally.
My jaw tightens. “I just watched him.”
“And I’m telling you,” Bruiser replies evenly, “Stone doesn’t do anything without a reason.”
“That’s comforting,” I reply, not bothering to hide the sarcasm.
“I know.”
The silence stretches, heavy and uncomfortable.
“Fuck this, I’m out of here!” I reach for my phone but Bruiser stops me.
“I’m not explaining this,” he adds after a moment. “Because if I do, I take something away from him that he needs to say himself.”
Something inside my chest twists painfully.
“So what now? I just… wait?” I ask.
Bruiser hesitates. Not long — just enough for me to notice.
“Yes,” he says. “Give him the chance.”
I look past him at the door. It opens. Closes. Laughter spills out and disappears again. Stone doesn’t follow.
Every instinct in my body is screaming now.
Leave. Don’t do this again. Don’t stay where you’re just an option.
“I’m not fucking doing this again.” I say quietly.
Bruiser nods once, like he understands that much at least.
“I’ll go get him,” he says. “Just—don’t go anywhere.”
I look Bruiser dead in the eye.
“I swear to God,” I say evenly, “if he’s not here in the next five minutes, he will never see me again.”
Bruiser doesn’t hesitate.
He nods once, sharp and decisive — a man who understands exactly how serious that is.
“Don’t move,” he says.
Then he turns and heads back inside, already moving fast, already knowing that this isn’t a bluff.
I stay.
At first, I tell myself it’s fine. That it’s only been a minute. Two.
Then five.
I check my phone. No messages. No missed calls.
The night air is cold now, seeping through my clothes. Ten minutes. The door opens and closes again. Still not him.
My chest starts to ache — not sharp, just deep. Settled. Like something sinking into place.
Fifteen minutes.
That’s when I stop waiting.
I pull out my phone and scroll to Rasmus’s name.
He answers on the second ring.
“Hey,” he says. “What's up?”
I look once more at the door. At the place I thought I might stay. At the life I considered choosing.
“Can you come get me?” I ask.
There’s a pause. Then, gently, “Yeah. Where are you?”
“Outside the clubhouse,” I say. “I’ll be out front.”
“I’m on my way.”
I hang up and tuck the phone back into my pocket, my hands steady even if my chest isn’t. I don’t cry. I don’t look back.
When Rasmus pulls up, I get in the car and close the door behind me.
And just like that, I’m gone.
The car is quiet as we pull away. The kind of quiet where neither of us wants to rush into words that might splinter something fragile.
Streetlights slide past the window. My hands are clenched in my lap, nails biting into my palms, grounding me in the moment. Still, the image won’t let go.
Cole. No. Not Cole. Stone. Her mouth on his. The ease of it. The familiarity.
I press my lips together, stare straight ahead.
After a few minutes, Rasmus clears his throat.
“You don’t owe me details,” he says, eyes fixed on the road. “But… do you want to talk about it?”
I shake my head automatically — then hesitate.
“I thought I was okay,” I say finally. “I thought… maybe this could be something.”
He nods once, slow and understanding, like he’s filing the words away rather than dissecting them.
“And now?” he asks gently.
“And now I feel stupid,” I admit, hating the way my voice wavers. “For believing in it at all.”
He glances at me then, brief but earnest. “You’re not stupid.”
“You trusted someone,” he continues. “That’s not a flaw.”
Something in my chest cracks at that. I turn my face toward the window, blinking hard, pretending I’m fascinated by the blur of the city.
We ride in silence for another block before he speaks again, more cautiously this time.
“You can stay at my place tonight,” he says. “If you want.”
I look over, startled.
“It’s nothing fancy,” he adds quickly. “Couch pulls out. And—” a faint smile, self-aware, “—excellent tea.”
I huff despite myself.
“It might be better than being alone right now,” he finishes. “But no pressure. Really.”
I study his profile — the calm steadiness of him, the complete lack of expectation. He’s not rescuing me. He’s just… offering space.
“I don’t want to impose,” I say.
“You wouldn’t be,” he replies easily. “You’d be doing me a favor, honestly. My plants are terrible listeners.”
That earns a small, real laugh from me — the first one since I left.
“Okay,” I say after a beat. “Just for tonight.”
He nods, like that’s exactly the right answer. “Deal.”