Chapter 13Olivia
Olivia
The adjacent corridor to the entrance is our last stop before leaving the brewery.
I whip my head to the middle-aged man exiting the restroom next to the one Lauren’s in.
Slumping farther into the wall, my eyes shy away from his presence.
My lungs pitch before I lay my ankle across my opposite thigh, and on instinct, my fingers graze the part of my Chelsea boot that covers the jewelry.
Instantly, the grinding of the thin chain relieves the tightness just enough.
I’m safe.
I spin my head to the throng of people surrounding the bar, only for hazy movements to fan around my left periphery.
Behind the front window, a tiny orange bulb pokes through the midnight, Cade’s mouth the catalyst of the light source.
His legs straddle what I presume to be his motorcycle in the front parking space, one palm cupping his phone as his free fingers nestle the cigarette.
A cloud of smoke escapes his lips, the black leather of his coat obscured behind the white vapors. With his interest planted downward, a loose tendril mildly curls over his forehead. Then my eyes suddenly trace the way his full, stubbled lips purse around the rear of the cylindrical paper.
I yank my chin up, fastening my ogling to the exposed beams of the ceiling.
He’s a smoker.
I’m not attracted to smokers.
But even with that fact, I can’t thwart the way my lower belly bunches at the sight.
Masculinity exudes effortlessly from him, the allure provoking me in the best and worst of ways.
He harbors an edge that I’m not quite sure of.
Normally, I’d be running for the hills in the opposite direction, but instead, I’m galloping toward it with arms wide open.
I blame Lauren, honestly.
If it weren’t for her stupid recommendation tonight, I could’ve just buried the memory of Cade six feet under. Never to see or think of him again.
“Ready?”
Lauren’s voice peels me off the wall. “Shit, you scared me,” I breathe.
Her irises flash with concern when she rests a hand on my arm. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
I smile, waving my hands in front of her. “No, I’m fine, I’m fine. Let’s go.”
When I spin on my heels, she’s trailing behind me until we curl left to exit through the glass doors. Our boots travel the concrete, and my hands slip into the pockets of my plaid coat to hide from the small chill.
The white fenders of Cade’s vacant Harley poke into my line of view—a Softail Deluxe. My legs decelerate, swerving gently in its direction as Lauren walks beside me. It’s a good-looking bike, that’s for sure. And of course, he’d be the one to own and ride one.
My gaze skims over the white wall tires, creeping its way up to the handlebars. Until I notice something dangling from the chrome, and my body freezes all functions.
A blur of white amidst the nighttime, only to sharpen when my eyes finally adjust.
There’s not a chance I could miss it.
A white feather.
My heart plummets into the pit of my stomach, breaths jumbling beneath my chest and stripping me of the ability to speak a single word. Lauren’s voice fades in and out, her words circling me over and over again, but never penetrating my ears. Nor do I care for them to.
The feather delicately flutters with each whisk of the wind. A feather that’s the same length as the one I brought to Officer Bellmont several months ago.
Each soft swing of the keepsake whispers in my ear.
He’s come back for me.
He’s flown back to me.
“Liv, you’re scaring me!”
I jolt when two hands curl snugly around my upper arms, carefully shaking me to come to. My eyes expand as I look at her, her frightened expression lost on me. All I can see is the last five months, playing like a medley of events that led me right here.
To this moment.
To this person.
To him.
Images fall like a downpour of rain, crashing to the ground. Only for the thick droplets to bang against my ankles.
My ankle.
I rip my arms from Lauren’s grasp, snubbing her pleas when I whirl around. If this is me throwing caution to the wind, so be it.
I need to know.
And I know exactly what will confirm the truth.
My palm yanks the handle of the front door to the brewery, swinging it open before stepping inside. I swallow thickly, my skin heating with the acceleration of my heartbeat.
My eyes cautiously wander to my target, landing on Cade pouring beer from the tap handles. But before I continue the mission, a delicate palm wraps around my arm to twirl me around.
“What the hell is going on?” Lauren whispers harshly, the lines of her forehead boldened from utter bewilderment.
“Lauren, please ,” I beg through my teeth. “I’ll explain later, just give me a minute.”
I snap back into action, my legs finally carrying me to the end of the bar.
My body squeezes between two people, and Cade’s palms are glued to the bar top as he dives into conversation with his patrons.
Like a knee-jerk reflex, my eyes dart down to his left hand splayed on the polished surface, studying each finger.
They’re all bare.
Each finger free of any jewelry.
My throat rolls, realizing his right hand is hidden behind his side-profile. It feels intentional. Like whatever brought me to this brewery tonight, whatever drew me to his motorcycle, and whatever made me walk through the doors of The Grind, was preparing me for this moment.
This moment that’s about to alter everything for me.
All noise suctions out as I slowly venture my way back. My eyes catch moving mouths and clinking glasses, but their sounds fall on deaf ears. Instead, there’s only a single thud that ricochets off the reclaimed brick.
My heart beats like a bass drum. Profound and booming, as if it’s in my throat. Restricting any air from entering my lungs or even the shallowest breath from escaping.
With every tentative step forward, my belly coils a knot tighter. Time gradually slows, my vision tunneling to Cade as I wander behind the string of people bordering the bar.
His wide shoulders bounce gently as a perfect, white grin decorates his rugged jaw.
Those blue-gray depths glimmer under the warm lighting, and his mouth tosses back a humorous remark to the customer sitting in front of him.
Then my gaze falls to the way his corded forearms lean on the bar top, that natural masculinity now magnified a trillion times over.
And the longer I stare, the more layers I peel off his exterior, uncovering the man behind the one I thought I knew.
The man I thought I had all figured out since this morning.
I discreetly jam myself between the bodies at the other end of the bar, inhaling through parted lips. But just as my vision finds his right palm on the counter, he turns to retrieve a beer glass from the shelf behind him.
My stare burns into him, branding every inch of movement. He spins back around, his tattooed hand grabbing the tap handle to pour the amber liquid into the cup. On cue, my eyes stitch to his hand covering the lever, trailing to the base of his middle finger.
Until they meet stainless-steel metal.
The image of the tarnished wings begs me to focus in, and I strip the last layer of his outer shell.
A reserved breath extracts from my parted lips, the knot in my stomach wound so tightly that I feel I may double over any second.
Because when the familiar ridges of the overlapping wings reveal themselves, his final layer falls to the floor.
And what I find isn’t visible to anyone else but me.
I’m the only one who truly knows it.
His heart.
And I believe I’ve just staked my claim.