Chapter 9 #2
"Nova." Her name comes out of me raw and broken and I say it again because I can, because she's here, because she didn't leave. "Nova."
We stay in the pool house.
The counter isn't comfortable but neither of us moves.
She's sitting on the edge with her legs still wrapped around me, her forehead resting against my collarbone, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back where she scratched me.
The blue-green light ripples across the ceiling.
The pool pump hums outside.
Somewhere in the clubhouse, the card game is still going.
I can hear the bass through the walls and the occasional burst of laughter.
"Why don't you hate me?" she asks quietly.
Her breath is warm against my skin.
I pull back enough to look at her.
Her hair is a mess. Her lips are swollen.
She looks like she's been thoroughly fucked on a counter in a pool house, which she has, and even now, sweaty and tear-stained and wrecked, she's the most stunning woman I've ever seen.
"Because you chose the club over me," I tell her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "And that's exactly what I would've done. You protected the people you love. I can't hate you for that." I hold her eyes. "Because of what you did, I fell in love with you."
She presses her lips together. Her chin wobbles once, then steadies.
"I thought I'd lost you," she says, her fingers still on my back.
"You can't lose me." I press my mouth to her forehead. "I told Amara you're my girl. Used those exact words. So, that's what you are, if you want it."
She pulls back and looks at me with those dark eyes. "You told Amara I'm your girl?"
"Told her I needed to go to Vegas because my girl was struggling." I shrug. "She didn't argue."
Nova almost laughs.
Her mouth curves, her eyes crinkle, and it's the first real warmth I've seen on her face since before everything fell apart.
"Your girl," she repeats, pressing her palm flat against my chest.
"My girl."
She leans up and kisses me.
Slow this time. Soft.
A different kiss than the one that started this. No urgency, no desperation.
Just her mouth on mine, her hand over my heart, and the realization that whatever we are, we're done pretending we're not.
* * *
I wake up in the guest room bed with Nova curled against my side, her head on my chest, her hair fanned across my shoulder.
The sheets smell like fabric softener and sex and the coconut shampoo she must have brought with her from Chihuahua.
The window says early morning. Gray light, no direct sun yet. The Vegas compound is quiet outside.
I slide out of bed without waking her, pull on my jeans and my shirt, and step into the hallway barefoot.
The clubhouse is empty this early.
Nobody at the bar, nobody in the main room.
The coffee maker in the kitchen is warm.
I find the back door and push through it onto the patio.
Dracus is sitting by the pool.
He's in one of the patio chairs with a mug of coffee, his cut draped over the back of the chair, watching the sunrise turn the desert sky pink and orange above the compound walls.
He doesn't look surprised to see me. He looks like he's been waiting.
"Coffee's on the counter inside," he says, lifting his mug without turning around. "Made a fresh pot."
I go back in, pour a cup, and come back out. I take the chair beside him and sit.
The concrete is cold under my bare feet. The pool is still, no wind, the surface reflecting the sky like a mirror.
We sit in silence for a while. Dracus drinks his coffee. I drink mine.
The mockingbird from yesterday is back on the fence, running through its rotation.
"I know who you are, Emiliano," Dracus says finally. He sets his mug on the arm of his chair and turns to look at me. "I knew who you were when you prospected in Montana, and I know who you are now. Zane vouched for you. I would've too, if Amara had asked."
I nod. I don't have words for what that means, coming from this man.
Dracus chose to be a father. He chose Roxy, chose the complicated relationship he has with her, Tex, and Bolt.
He's everything Curtis Brown isn't, and he's sitting next to me drinking coffee like I've earned the right to be here.
"Nova told me what happened," he continues, his forearms resting on his knees. "All of it. The Enforcer at the gate, the investigation, what she did." He pauses. "What you did."
"What I did?" I ask, wrapping both hands around the warm mug.
"You didn't run." He looks at me straight. "Your Prez cleared you and you got on your bike and rode here. Most men would've licked their wounds, let their pride make decisions for them. You showed up."
"She needed me to show up."
"Yeah." He watches me for a long moment, his eyes steady, reading me with the same patience Nova inherited from him. "She did. And you did. That matters."
The mockingbird switches songs on the fence. The sky is turning from pink to pale blue.
"She's strong," Dracus says. His voice drops half a register, and the casual ease drains out of it.
This isn't a dad making conversation anymore.
This is a man drawing a line. "But she feels everything.
She carries things deep and she doesn't let go of them easily.
If you're in this, you're in it. No halfway. No exit strategy."
I meet his eyes and hold them. "I don't have an exit strategy."
He studies me for another moment. Whatever he's looking for, he finds it, because his shoulders drop a fraction and he picks his coffee back up.
"Don't make me regret trusting you with her," he says, and takes a sip.
"I won't."
We sit by the pool and finish our coffee while the sun comes up over the Vegas desert.
He doesn't say much else. Neither do I. But when Nova opens the back door twenty minutes later, still half asleep in my t-shirt with her hair tangled and pillow lines on her cheek, Dracus watches me watch her.
And whatever he sees on my face when I look at his daughter, it's enough to make him nod once, pick up his mug, and go inside without a word.
Nova drops into my lap and wraps her arms around my neck.
She's warm from bed and her skin smells like sleep and coconut and me.
"When do we go back?" she asks, her mouth against my jaw.
I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her closer. "Whenever you're ready."
She's quiet for a second, her fingers playing with the chain at my neck. "Today," she says. "Let's go today. I want to go home."
Home.
She means Chihuahua.
"Then we go today," I tell her.
She settles against my chest and we watch the desert sky turn blue, and for the first time in weeks, the quiet between us isn't heavy.
It's just quiet.