Chapter 7
Grim
Grim stood there for a long moment, staring at the closed bedroom door like it held answers he didn’t know how to ask for.
The house felt different now that she wasn’t in the room.
Quieter. Softer. Too damn warm for a man who’d spent most of his life sleeping with one eye open.
He could still hear the faint rustle of her moving around on the other side of that door, a drawer sliding shut, the soft thud of her setting something down, and every sound tugged at something in him he didn’t want to name.
His stomach growled. Loud.
He scowled at himself. “Real smooth,” he muttered.
He locked the front door out of habit, then turned toward the living room. The couch was already made up, blankets folded, pillows stacked neatly at one end. She’d done it fast, like she didn’t want him to see how much she cared.
Or maybe she didn’t want to think too hard about why she cared at all.
He didn’t blame her. He didn’t understand it either.
He told himself he was here for Reyes, for the Reapers who’d hit La Luna, for the fact she lived alone and someone needed to watch the door. None of it explained the way his chest had tightened when she’d told him to come inside.
He walked into the kitchen, intending to get water, nothing more. But the smell hit him first, warm and rich and savory, drifting from the crockpot like it had been waiting for him.
He lifted the lid and froze.
It looked good. Too good. Home-cooked, seasoned, made with hands that knew what they were doing. He hadn’t smelled anything like that in years. Maybe ever.
He grabbed a bowl. Filled it. Took a bite.
Then another.
Then another.
By the time he realized what he was doing, the bowl was empty. He stared at it like it had betrayed him.
He couldn’t remember the last time someone cooked for him. Maybe never. Food, for him, had always been fuel, whatever he could grab, whatever kept him moving. This tasted like something else entirely. Like care. Like home. A thing he’d never had and didn’t know how to want.
He washed the bowl. Dried it. Put it back exactly where he found it. No trace left behind.
Old habits.
His phone buzzed in his pocket as he wiped the counter clean.
Grim answered with a low, steady, “Prez.”
“You in position?” Stone asked, calm, clipped, the way he sounded when things were handled but not over.
“Yeah.”
“You got eyes on her place?”
“Inside.”
A pause, not surprise, not judgment. Just Stone recalibrating. “She let you in.”
Grim didn’t respond.
Stone exhaled through his nose, a quiet sound Grim had heard in sandstorms, firefights, and long nights on watch. “She safe?”
“She’s down. Wiped.”
“And you?”
“Up.”
“Good.” Another beat. “Reapers are scattered but pissed. They’ll regroup.”
“I know.”
“You armed?”
“Always.”
“Thought so.” Stone’s tone shifted, not softer, but heavier. “You’re my line on this one.”
Grim’s jaw flexed. “Copy.”
“Get some rack time when you can. I’ll have Ghost or Vandal swing by at dawn.”
“Don’t need relief.” Grim’s voice was low, certain.
Stone didn’t argue. “Didn’t plan on sending any. Just making sure you weren’t white-knuckling it alone.”
Grim swallowed. “I’m good.”
A pause, not tactical, not assessing. Just… knowing.
“Heard Havoc running his mouth earlier,” Stone said, voice even. “About you being a little shaken.”
Grim’s jaw flexed. “Havoc talks too much.”
“Yeah,” Stone agreed. “But he wasn’t wrong.”
Grim didn’t respond.
Stone’s tone shifted, steadier, the way it got when he meant something. “She rattled you, brother. I saw it myself.”
Silence stretched, heavy but not uncomfortable.
“Not always a bad thing,” Stone added quietly. “Man like you, maybe it’s time something shook loose.”
Something in Grim’s chest pulled tight. “I’m good.”
“I know you are.” Another beat. “And she’s safer with you than anyone.”
Grim swallowed. “Copy.”
“Get some rest when you can.”
“Night.”
He hung up before the quiet between them could turn into something heavier.
The house felt different after the call, softer in a way that didn’t match the weight still sitting in his chest. Stone’s voice lingered, steady and familiar, a reminder of the world he came from.
But this place… this woman… they pulled at him in ways he didn’t have a name for.
Too warm. Too still. Too gentle for a man who’d spent years surviving instead of living.
He walked back to the couch, the blankets waiting for him like an invitation he didn’t know how to accept.
He scanned the room automatically, windows, corners, shadows, the line of sight to the front door. The sort of habit from too many nights in the wrong places. Necessary ones. He’d sleep, but only after he knew she was safe.
He sat down slowly, testing the cushions like they might disappear under him.
They didn’t.
They were soft. Too soft. A softness that made a man forget the world outside existed.
He leaned back, letting his body sink into the warmth. The house hummed quietly around him, the fridge, the AC, the faint click of her bedroom light turning off.
And her scent lingered in the air.
Vanilla. Sweet. Clean. Something that wrapped around him and settled under his skin like it belonged there.
He shouldn’t notice that. He shouldn’t want to breathe it in. He shouldn’t want to know what she smelled like up close, or what her hair would feel like if he touched it, or why the sound of her voice had hit him harder than a bullet.
He shouldn’t want anything from her.
But he did.
Too much.
He closed his eyes, jaw tight, trying to force the thoughts away. They didn’t go. They never did, not when something got under his skin. And she had, fast and quiet, without even trying.
He hadn’t meant to stay inside. He hadn’t meant to get comfortable. He sure as hell hadn’t meant to eat her food or breathe in her scent like it was oxygen.
But he was here.
And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like he needed to be anywhere else.
His eyes drifted shut, heavy with exhaustion he’d been ignoring for years.
The last thoughts that slipped through his mind before sleep took him were simple and dangerous.
She’d trusted him.
Just trusted him.
Opened her door, fed him, gave him a place to sleep. He didn’t know what to do with that kind of faith. Didn’t know how to hold something that fragile without breaking it.
And she was beautiful. Too beautiful.
A woman who’d never look twice at a man like him.
But God help him, he already couldn’t stop looking at her.