Chapter 9 #2
Now a classic rock station crackled through the space, tinny but cheerful enough to push back the silence that had been unsettling her for hours.
She’d been alone too long. Where could the team be?
What if they were hurt?
What if they didn’t come back and she had to find her own way out?
What if something happened to—
No.
She refused to finish that thought.
So she’d turned up the music and started cooking. Finding ingredients for another meal took some time when faced with enormous cans of protein powder and almost nothing that had ever grown in soil.
But they seemed to have tomato sauce in bulk. Now she stood over a simmering pot and eyed the bare counterspace, thinking how nice this place would be if it had a window. If there were a window, she could grow herbs.
But she wasn’t staying here.
As the sauce simmered, she finished her romance novel. It ended in a rainstorm kiss and a declaration of love, and she set the book aside with a sigh that wasn’t quite satisfaction when her nerves were sharpened to lethal points.
She stirred the sauce again. She paced. She checked the clock on the range, though why the time mattered was the question of the month.
She took off through the hallways, wandering and exploring. When she found a strange little niche carved into the concrete wall, she stopped. Someone had shoved a metal desk into the space, leaving an inch or two on each side. It sat there in the shadows like it was being punished.
Poor thing.
Inspired to make it a little cheerier, she returned to the kitchen and washed out one of the empty tomato cans. She swiped some extra pencils from the common room and set the makeshift pencil cup on the surface.
She stood back to inspect it.
It wasn’t exactly what she’d call décor, but it was almost civilized. If she had flowers, she would add those too, and the thought made homesickness spread through her chest. She missed her family with a physical ache.
Memories drifted through her mind of Lara bringing a sweaty little handful of flowers she’d proudly picked from the neighbor’s flowerpot.
She raked her fingers through her hair. She needed out of here.
Maybe tonight.
She chanted that to herself as she went back to the kitchen and set a giant pot of water to boil for rigatoni. Meatballs browned in the oven and she had garlic bread waiting to go in at the last minute.
The radio played on, and she sang along badly to the chorus just to hear a voice—any voice.
Suddenly footsteps thundered in the corridor, and relief crashed through her hard.
“They’re back,” she whispered to herself.
Someone let out a groan. “She’s cooking again.”
The men flooded into the kitchen, bringing a wave of fresh energy that made her chest feel full for no reason at all. She scanned their hard faces. They were dirty and their eyes were tired…and they were alive.
She searched the room for Archer, and the second she saw him, a tiny place that was clenched inside her loosened.
He looked cold and dangerous and so damn good that she almost forgot how to breathe.
“I made rigatoni,” she announced, because saying thank God you’re alive in front of everyone felt dramatic.
She picked up a spoon to keep her hands busy and waved it at the food. “I still say this meal should include salad.”
Archer gave her the faintest twitch of a smile. “But there’s garlic bread.”
His smile made her heart tumble.
They filled plates fast and ate faster, and Jolie settled into the familiar rhythm of feeding people. Caring for people.
While the moment reminded her of something normal, it wasn’t normal at all. She didn’t fit here. But did she fit at home? Not the way she used to.
For years she’d been the oldest daughter, the stand-in parent. Fixer of disasters and breaker-upper of fights.
She was twenty-eight and had already entered her empty-nester years. What did people do with a second life once the first one ended?
Archer leaned close enough that his shoulder brushed hers. “You okay?”
She pushed pasta around her plate with her fork. “Just having a small identity crisis.”
“Good sauce, though.” His eyes twinkled even as they held a shadow of concern.
She laughed softly. Under the table, his hand found hers for one secret second and squeezed. She took the touch as a way to tell her he wasn’t ignoring her needs—he would wait until they were alone.
Cannon set his phone down on the table with enough of a thump to halt conversation. All eyes snapped to him, but his gaze found Jolie’s.
“We’re not moving you tonight, Jolie. I’m sorry.”
She compressed her lips. “What happened?”
The flex of his jaw was the only indication that he held back information. “There’s movement where there shouldn’t be. Until I know who it is, you’re staying here.”
If there was danger on the route back to the motel, she didn’t want anything to do with that. But disappointment hit.
“My family.” It came out as a soft whimper.
“We got word to them that there’s a delay,” Cannon assured her. “They know you’re safe. We’ll get you in touch with them as soon as we can.”
Her eyes burned and she managed a nod. “Thank you.”
She still wanted to go home, but beneath it waited a small, shameful happiness—one more day with Archer.
Under the table, a warm thumb moved across her knuckles, sending electricity rippling down her spine.
The men didn’t talk much as they ate, but soon dinner was finished and the plates cleared. Rome pushed away from the table with an announcement that made the whole room perk up.
“Poker night.”
That was her exit.
Archer caught her wrist before she could go. She swung toward him, aware of how close he stood. “You okay?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know how to play poker. I think I’m going to my room to read.”
“You don’t have to play. We can do something else.”
O turned from the dishwasher he was loading. “Bro’s already whipped.”
Laughter broke out.
Archer didn’t flinch at the teasing. “Tonight our guest gets to choose the entertainment. Movies?”
Her heart gave one stupid thump, and she carefully disguised her expression. “I thought I saw board games.”
At the question, Townie was already moving toward the common room. “I got you.”
They all followed, and Townie pulled out an ancient Monopoly box, battered and taped in several spots.
She laughed and plunked into a seat around one of the card tables. “But there are too many people to play.”
“Don’t worry—I hate Monopoly. Takes hours.” Rome edged up to the poker table and started scooping chips into piles. After that, the team divided between tables.
As Archer took a seat opposite Jolie, she felt his boot nudge hers under the table. The small touch might only be an accident, but her body reacted like his rough hands were gliding all over her naked body.
To hide the heat climbing her cheeks, she focused on sorting the play money. As she separated it into tenders, a story slipped out of her.
“After my parents died, I was struggling so hard to keep the bills paid. Sometimes the power got shut off.”
The room was silent, not a card being dealt or a play piece being moved on the game board.
She went on, “So I’d tell my siblings we were pretending to live in 1776 and could only use candlelight. We did everything by candlelight, and at night we’d play Monopoly wrapped in blankets and pretend it was fun.”
Archer stared at her for a long beat. “That’s genius.”
She met his gaze and saw no pity on his face—only that same heat that made the room and the games fade.
For one dangerous second, she forgot anyone else was there.