Chapter 33
Chapter
Thirty-Three
KADE
Before I even make it to the door, I hear the music.
God damnit. Could they not listen? Just be cool while I'm gone—that's not too much to ask. But fuck, she's probably pissed now. She'll probably want to go home, want to get the hell away from my idiot roommates who can't follow one simple instruction.
I rush inside, already planning damage control in my head, mentally rehearsing apologies, and when I turn the corner into the main living space I freeze mid-step.
Just a Lil Bit by 50 Cent blasts through the house, bass thumping so hard it rattles the fucking windows.
Fallon stands in our kitchen with a beer in her hand while Ash and Beck show her how to bob her head to the beat.
She's trying, really trying, but missing the rhythm by about half a second every time.
Havoc sits at the bar across from them, drink in hand, watching the whole scene unfold.
Is that a fucking smile on his face? When did Havoc start smiling at anything that wasn't violence?
What the fuck is going on here?
"Is this it?" Fallon asks, bobbing her head to something but definitely not the actual beat of the song. "Am I doing it?"
The guys laugh—actually laugh, not the polite chuckle you give someone you're tolerating or humoring. Real laughter, the kind we usually only share with each other after too many beers and bad decisions.
"Oh my god, help me!" she demands, laughing at herself now. "I look ridiculous, don't I?"
Ash starts walking her through it again, patient in a way I've never seen him be with anyone. "Close your eyes," he says, carefully taking the beer out of her hand and setting it on the counter. "Now just feel the music for a second, then move to it. Don't think so much."
She stands there just listening, head tilted slightly to the side in that way she does when she's concentrating.
Her eyes are closed, chest rising and falling with each breath, and I watch her actually start to feel the rhythm instead of counting it out in her head.
Havoc spots me lurking in the hallway, gives me a brief nod, but I stay hidden, wanting to watch this for another minute before I interrupt whatever the hell this moment is.
"There you go," Beck says, grinning now. "You got it now. See? Just feel it."
She smiles big and opens her eyes, and the three of them start dancing again—if you can call what they're doing dancing. More like controlled chaos with rhythm, the kind of movement that happens naturally when you're comfortable with the people around you. When you're not performing, just existing.
"Don't burn the food while you're all fucking off," Havoc calls from his perch at the bar, but there's no real bite in his words. Almost sounds like he's enjoying himself.
"Oh shit!" Fallon rushes to the oven, yanking it open with those ridiculous floral oven mitts that came with the house. "Whew, it's not done yet." She picks up her beer again and chugs half of it in one go, throat working, and my brothers exchange impressed looks.
So they cooked together too. What the hell happened while I was gone? I was only gone for two hours.
I step out from the hallway and walk toward them, boots heavy on the hardwood floor, but she spots me before I get far.
Her whole face lights up—actual light, the kind that hits me square in the chest and makes breathing difficult for a second.
Like I'm the best thing she's seen all day, even though she's been having a good time without me.
"You're here!" She runs over and jumps on me, beer still clutched in one hand, legs wrapping around my waist automatically.
I laugh and catch her easily, hands going to her thighs to hold her steady against me. "Hey, Peaches."
She presses her forehead to mine, still grinning, smelling like beer and tomato sauce and something sweet underneath. "I missed you."
"I missed you too." The words come easier than they should, easier than anything's come in years.
"We missed you too," Ash chimes in with that shit-eating grin I know too well, the one that says he's about to make this weird.
I flip him off without looking away from Fallon, middle finger raised high. They just laugh at me.
"So what have you guys been up to?" I ask, walking deeper into the kitchen with her still wrapped around me like a koala. "Besides corrupting my girl with cheap beer and 50 Cent?"
"We made lasagna and did a little dancing." She slides down me—slowly, deliberately, body dragging against mine in a way that makes my brothers suddenly very interested in other parts of the room—and goes straight to the oven. "Let me check on dinner real quick."
She opens it again, and the smell that wafts out hits me immediately. Actual food. Real cooking, not the half-assed pasta attempts or frozen pizza we usually manage. This smells like someone's mother made it, like family dinners I've only seen in movies.
"Okay, it's ready. Beck, put the garlic bread in when I take this out," she says, all business now, completely at ease giving orders in my kitchen.
"Yes ma'am," he says, moving to grab the pan.
She glares back at him while getting the lasagna out, those ridiculous mitts making her hands look twice their size. "Don't 'ma'am' me. I'm not your grandmother, Beck."
"Could've fooled me with those mitts," Ash mutters under his breath, just loud enough for everyone to hear.
She sets the dish carefully on the stovetop and points one oven-mitted hand at him like a weapon. "These are vintage, thank you very much. And they were in your kitchen, so clearly someone here has taste."
"They're from 1981," Beck adds jokingly.
"Still work perfectly," she says, turning to grab the garlic bread from Beck's hands before he can fumble it.
I lean against the counter and just watch her move around my kitchen like she belongs here, like she's been doing this for years instead of hours. Just seeing her here, comfortable with my brothers, cooking in my kitchen, wearing my old Metallica t-shirt that hangs to mid-thigh on her...
Yeah. She belongs here.
"You gonna help or just stand there looking pretty?" Havoc asks from his seat, that rare smile still playing at the corners of his mouth, eyes clearer than I've seen them in weeks.
"I'm supervising. Important job."
"Bullshit," Fallon says without even turning around, sliding the garlic bread into the oven with practiced ease. "Set the table, Kade."
Ash and Beck freeze mid-movement, eyes going wide as they look between me and her. Nobody tells me what to do in my own house. Not even my brothers, and they've known me since I was fourteen. Hell, even Walker asks instead of demands most of the time.
I push off the counter and start grabbing plates from the cabinet above the sink, setting them at each spot around our battered dining table that usually serves as a place to pile mail and motorcycle parts.
Ash's jaw actually drops open. "What the fuck?"
"Problem?" I ask casually, setting plates at each spot, grabbing forks and knives from the drawer.
"You just... she just... you're just gonna..." He can't even finish the thought.
"Finish a sentence, man."
Beck recovers first, that knowing smirk spreading across his face as he watches me follow her orders without hesitation. "Nothing. No problem whatsoever."
Fallon washes her hands at the sink, completely oblivious to the minor miracle that just occurred in my kitchen. Or maybe she knows exactly what she's doing and just doesn't care. Maybe that's what I like most about her—she doesn't play by rules she doesn't understand or agree with.
"Five minutes," she announces, grabbing her beer again and taking another long drink.
The music shifts to something slower—Ginuwine, I think—and she sways slightly to the rhythm. Natural now, fluid, not the forced movements from earlier when she was trying too hard to figure it out. My brothers taught her well in the couple hours I was gone.
I move up behind her, hands settling on her hips. She leans back into me without hesitation, like it's the most natural thing in the world to trust me to hold her up.
"They behave?" I murmur against her ear, lips brushing the sensitive skin there.
"Mostly." She tilts her head to the side, giving me better access to her neck, and I take full advantage. "Ash tried to teach me poker. I won forty dollars."
"Forty?" I look over at him, who suddenly finds the ceiling fascinating, won't meet my eyes. "You let her win or did she actually take you?"
"She counted cards," he mutters, voice filled with grudging respect and wounded pride. "Your girl's a fucking shark, man. Played us all."
Fallon grins up at me, pride written all over her face, eyes sparkling with mischief. "I might have forgotten to mention I'm good with numbers."