Chapter 6 - Canvas
My vision is blurred when I first open my eyes, everything soft around the edges like I'm looking through frosted glass. The ceiling above me is white and unfamiliar, and for a moment, I can't remember where I am or why my entire left side feels like it's on fire.
Then it comes back. The studio. The gunshots. Eden.
I try to sit up too quickly and immediately regret it. Pain explodes through my shoulder, radiating down my arm and across my chest. A groan escapes before I can stop it.
"Easy." A hand on my good shoulder pushes me gently back down. Phoenix's face comes into focus above me. "Don't be an idiot. You got shot less than—" He checks his watch. "Thirty-six hours ago."
Thirty-six hours? I've been out for a day and a half?
"Water," I manage, my throat raw.
Phoenix grabs a cup from the nightstand and holds it while I drink. The water is cool, and I drain half the cup before coming up for air.
"How you feeling?" Phoenix asks, setting the cup aside.
"Like I got shot." I close my eyes against the harsh overhead light. Every muscle in my body aches, my head is pounding, and my mouth tastes like I've been licking batteries. "But alive. That's something."
"Saint said you got lucky. Bullet missed the major arteries. Clean through-and-through." Phoenix pulls up a chair, settling into it with the weight of someone who hasn't slept much either. "Could have been a lot worse."
"Could have hit Eden." The words come out before I can stop them, and Phoenix's expression changes.
"The nurse."
"Yeah. The nurse." I force my eyes open again, scanning the medical room.
It's empty except for us. No dark-haired woman with bright blue eyes and an eyebrow piercing.
No Eden. "Did she—" I stop, not sure how to ask.
Did she leave? Go back to her life? Realize this was insane and get as far away from the MC as possible?
Would I blame her if she did?
"Where is she?" I finally ask.
Phoenix's mouth quirks into something that might be a smile if he allowed himself to show that much emotion. "Upstairs. Finally sleeping. Took her more than twenty-four hours of being awake before she crashed."
"She stayed."
"Barely left your side until we forced her to get some rest." Phoenix leans back in the chair.
"Saint said she refused to leave the medical room.
Ate here, changed into borrowed clothes and came right back, monitored your vitals like her life depended on it.
Ivy finally convinced her to go upstairs around four this morning when you were stable and clearly not waking up anytime soon. "
Eden stayed. She didn't run. Even after everything, the shooting, the blood, the reality of what the MC life means, she stayed. I try to keep my face neutral, but Phoenix catches the smile I'm fighting.
"Don't even try to hide it," he says, shaking his head. "I know that look. That's the same stupid look I had when I met Ivy."
"It's not—" I start, then stop because what's the point? Phoenix knows.
He's been here. Three weeks ago, he was exactly where I am now: falling for a woman at the worst possible time in the middle of the worst possible circumstances.
"These are dangerous times," Phoenix says, his voice getting serious. "The Vipers aren't backing down. They're escalating. First Judge, now you. They're hitting us where it hurts, targeting the club's resources, making statements."
"I know."
"But I went for Ivy anyway." Phoenix meets my eyes directly. "Despite the danger, despite the timing, despite knowing it made her a target. Because some things are worth the risk."
Phoenix isn't just my president. He's a brother, my best friend, the man who gave me a family when I had nothing. And he's telling me it's okay. That if I want to go for Eden, to pursue whatever this is that's building between us, he understands.
"As long as she understands the risks," Phoenix continues. "That's the key. Ivy knew what she was walking into. She chose it with open eyes. Eden needs the same information, the same choice."
"She knows it's dangerous. I told her in the car."
"Telling her and making sure she truly understands are different things.
" Phoenix stands, moving to check the IV bag that's still attached to my arm.
"She needs to know what it means to be with someone in the MC during wartime.
The threats, the violence, the possibility that you might not come home. All of it."
"I will tell her. When she's ready to hear it."
"Good." Phoenix adjusts something on the IV line. "Now, about the Vipers. I've talked with the others. We're done playing defense."
The shift in his voice makes me focus despite the lingering fog from the medication. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, we're going on offense." Phoenix's expression hardens into something dangerous. "They think because they outnumber us, we'll just roll over and take it. They're wrong. We’re going to hit them hard, make them regret every shot they fired at us."
"Phoenix—"
"Echo's already working it. Looking for their lookouts in Millhaven, their safe houses, their supply lines." Phoenix paces now, the restless energy of a man planning war. "They have to have someone local. Someone watching us, reporting back to Demon. We find that person, we send a message."
A lookout in Millhaven. It makes sense. The Vipers have been too informed, too quick to respond. They even knew where my studio was at. Someone's been watching, reporting, coordinating.
"What kind of message?" I ask, though I already know the answer.
"The permanent kind." Phoenix stops pacing, turning to face me. "I'm not asking you to be part of it. You're recovering. But I need you to know—things are going to escalate. Fast. And anyone close to the club is going to be in the line of fire."
Including Eden.
"I'll talk to her," I say again. "Make sure she knows what she's choosing."
"That's all I ask." Phoenix moves toward the door, then pauses. "For what it's worth? Saint says she's good. Really good. Kept you alive, stayed calm under pressure, and took directions without argument. The kind of person you want in your corner when shit hits the fan."
"Yeah. She is."
"She's in the last room on the right. Second floor." Phoenix gives me a look. "Don't do anything stupid like try to walk there on your own. You need help, you call someone."
"I'm fine."
"You got shot thirty-six hours ago. You're not fine." But he leaves anyway, closing the door behind him.
I lie there for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling, processing.
Eden stayed. She's upstairs, sleeping, probably exhausted from watching over me for a day and a half straight.
The image of her sitting beside my bed, monitoring my vitals, refusing to leave, it does something to my chest that I don't have words for.
I need to see her.
The logical part of my brain knows I should stay in bed, let my body heal, follow Saint's orders. The other part, the part that's been falling for a woman I barely know since the moment she walked into my studio, doesn't give a shit about logic.
I disconnect the IV, months and months of watching Saint work paying off. The needle slides out clean, and I apply pressure with gauze from the bedside table. Once I'm sure it's not bleeding, I swing my legs over the side of the bed.
Standing is harder than I expected. The room tilts dangerously, and I have to grip the bed frame to keep from falling. My shoulder screams in protest, but I breathe through it, waiting for the dizziness to pass.
One step. Then another. By the time I reach the door, I'm sweating and my shoulder feels like someone's driving nails into it with every movement, but I'm upright. That's something.
The hallway is empty, most of the club probably dealing with the Viper situation or giving me space to recover. I make it to the stairs and seriously consider Phoenix's warning about calling for help. The steps look impossibly steep from down here.
But Eden is upstairs, and I need to see her.
I take them one at a time, using the railing to support most of my weight. By the time I reach the second floor, I'm breathing hard and the edges of my vision are going dark, but I made it.
Last room on the right. I count doors as I walk, my bare feet silent on the hardwood. When I reach it, I pause, listening. No sound from inside. She's probably still asleep.
I should leave her alone. Let her rest. Come back later when I'm not half-dead and bleeding through Saint's stitches. Instead, I open the door as quietly as I can.
The room is small, dimly lit by afternoon sun filtering through thin curtains.
Eden is curled up on the twin bed, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt that are definitely not hers, probably Nora's or Ivy's.
Her long dark hair is spread across the pillow, and even in sleep, she looks exhausted.
There are dark circles under her eyes, tension in her shoulders that suggests she hasn't truly relaxed even unconscious.
She stayed. For a day and a half, she stayed by my side.
I move closer, trying to be quiet, just wanting to be near her for a moment. To see for myself that she's okay, that the shooting didn't break something fundamental in her.
My foot catches on something: her shoes, kicked off beside the bed, and I stumble. The sound is small but enough.
Eden's eyes snap open immediately, going from asleep to alert in half a second. Nurse training, probably. She sits up fast, her gaze landing on me, and for a moment, she just stares.
"Davis?" Her voice is rough with sleep. "What are you… You shouldn't be out of bed! You got shot. You need to rest! Oh my god, you're bleeding through your bandage—"
She's up and moving before I can respond, crossing to me in two strides. Her hands go to my shoulder, checking the bandage as her eyes scan my face.
"You're an idiot," she says, but her voice is shaking. "A complete idiot. You should be in the medical room. What were you thinking, walking up here? You could have fallen, torn your stitches, passed out—"
"I needed to see you."
Eden stops, her hands still on my shoulder, and looks up at me. Those bright blue eyes are red-rimmed from exhaustion, but they're focused entirely on me, and searching my face for something.
"You're bleeding," she says again, softer this time.
"I know."
"You need to sit down before you fall down."
"I know that too."
But neither of us moves. We stand there in the middle of her borrowed room, her hands on my injured shoulder, my good hand finding her hip like it belongs there.
"You stayed," I finally say.
"Of course I stayed." She says it like it's obvious, like there was never any other option. "You took a bullet for me, Davis. Did you really think I was going to just leave?"
"Thought you might come to your senses. Realize this life isn't worth whatever we—" I stop, not sure how to finish that sentence.
"Whatever we what?" Eden's voice is challenging now, that confidence I saw in the studio coming back. "Say it. Whatever we're building? Whatever this is between us?"
"Yeah. That."
"I don't run from things that matter." Her hands move from my shoulder to my chest, right over my heart. "I told you that in the car. I meant it."
"And I told you this isn't high school bullies, Eden. This is real danger. The Vipers will come after you if they think you matter to me."
"Do I?" She throws my own question back at me. "Matter to you?"
I should lie again. Tell her it's too soon, that we barely know each other, that she should leave before this gets more complicated…
But standing here with her hands on my chest, looking up at me with those blue eyes that see right through all my bullshit, I can't do it. Can't lie, can't push her away, can't pretend I don't feel what I'm feeling.
"Yes," I confess. "You matter to me."
"Good. Because you matter to me, too. And I'm not going anywhere."
"You should—"
"Stop telling me what I should do." Her voice is firm but not angry.
"I'm a grown woman who makes her own choices.
And I choose to stay. I choose to see where this goes.
I choose you, Davis, even though I barely know you and you're in a motorcycle club and someone just shot at us and everything about this is completely insane. "
"You're insane," I tell her, but I'm smiling.
"Yeah, well. Takes one to know one." She's smiling too now, tired, beautiful and absolutely perfect. "Now sit down before you pass out. Your bandage is definitely bleeding through."
She guides me to the bed, and I sit slowly, every movement sending fresh pain through my shoulder. Eden disappears into the bathroom and returns with a first aid kit that someone must have stocked the room with.
"Shirt off," she orders, all business now. "Let me see the damage."
I try to pull my shirt over my head and immediately regret it. The movement pulls at the stitches, and I can't lift my left arm high enough to get it past my shoulders.
"Here." Eden helps me, easing the shirt off without jarring my shoulder more than necessary. When it's off, she sucks in a breath. "Yeah, you're bleeding. Not a lot, but enough. You definitely shouldn't have been walking around."
"Needed to see you," I say again, because it's the truth.
"I didn't leave your side for twenty-four hours, Davis.
I monitored your vitals, changed your bandages when Saint showed me how, talked to you even though you were unconscious.
I haven't cared about someone like that in—" She stops, swallowing hard.
"Ever. I've never cared about someone like that ever. "
"Eden—"
"So, you walking up here to see me? That means something. But you bleeding through your bandages because you're stubborn? That pisses me off." She's unwrapping the gauze now, checking the stitches underneath. "You're going to heal properly if I have to tie you to that medical bed myself."
"Kinky."
She smacks my good shoulder lightly. "Don't make me laugh. I'm trying to be stern with you."
"Is it working?"
"Not even a little bit." But she's smiling as she cleans the small amount of blood seeping through. "Stitches look okay. You didn't tear them, thank god. But you need to be more careful. These take time to heal."