2. Reyes #2
She heads back to the bedroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the lingering scent of her shampoo. This is going to get messy. But watching Shannon tuck her kid in safe and warm, seeing that brief moment when her walls came down—I know I’m already in too deep to walk away.
Some battles are worth fighting, even when the odds are stacked against you.
Especially then.
Three days in, and Shannon’s driving me out of my goddamn mind.
Not because she’s trouble—though she is. Not because she’s demanding—she’s the opposite of that, barely asking for anything, jumping every time I walk into a room like she expects me to change my mind about helping her.
No, she’s driving me crazy because I can’t stop watching her. I check in on her at every meal. Lying to myself, that I’m just making sure she’s eating. After dinner, I drag myself home with the same enthusiasm as a man going to the electric chair.
I hate the way she moves around the safehouse like she’s trying to make herself invisible.
The way she touches everything—straightening cushions, wiping down counters that are already clean, washing dishes that don’t need washing.
Right now, she’s at the kitchen sink, scrubbing a pot that was spotless ten minutes ago.
Her hair’s pulled back in a messy bun, and she’s wearing one of my old t-shirts because her clothes needed washing. The shirt swallows her whole, falling halfway down her thighs, and every time she reaches for something, I catch a glimpse of smooth brown skin that makes my mouth go dry.
Aiden’s on the floor with a coloring book I picked up in town, finally starting to act like a normal kid instead of a ghost. Yesterday he actually laughed when I showed him how to make paper airplanes. Today he asked if he could help me fix the motorcycle chain.
Small victories.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say, nodding toward the sink.
Shannon doesn’t look up. “I know.”
“Then why are you scrubbing that pot like it owes you money?”
Now she does look at me, and there’s something defiant in her dark eyes. “You’re letting us stay here, haven’t asked for any money.” Her voice drops. “Not that I have any money to pay you.”
I’ve got news about that. News she’s not going to want to hear.
“About your car,” I start, and her whole body tenses. “I had it towed to Murphy’s shop, got it looked at properly.”
“And?”
“It’s not just a busted hose. Whole radiator’s trash. Murphy says a good used one plus labor would run about four hundred.”
Her expression freezes. “Four hundred?”
“Good news is the tow was free. Bad news is…” I don’t need to finish. We both know she doesn’t have four hundred dollars.
Shannon sets the pot down with shaking hands. “The longer I stay here, the more likely he is to find me.”
“Shannon—”
“I need that job.” Her voice is fierce now, desperate. “The one at the bar you mentioned.”
“There’s a place in town. The Black Crown. They might be looking for help.”
“What kind of help?”
“Waitressing. Bar work. Owner’s a friend of mine. He’d pay cash.”
Shannon’s hands still on the dish towel. “Won’t he ask questions? About why I need to be paid under the table?”
I lift an eyebrow. “He’s not going to ask.”
She considers this, chewing on her bottom lip in a way that makes me want to do the same. “What about Aiden?”
“Daycare’s attached to the elementary school. Takes kids as young as three. I could pull some strings, get him enrolled.”
“With what documentation? I don’t have his birth certificate, medical records, any of that.”
“Leave that to me.”
Shannon turns to face me fully, and she’s weighing options, calculating risks. “Why would you do that? Get involved like this?”
Because watching you try to put your life back together reminds me of someone I used to know. Because your kid deserves better than to grow up afraid.
“You don’t know me. I get that. But I’m one of the good guys.” I gesture at my leather jacket. “Don’t let this fool you. If I were driving a gray sedan and wearing khakis, you wouldn’t even question it.”
She’s quiet, waiting for more.
“I grew up like this. My mom, running from one bad guy straight into the arms of an even worse one. I can spot it a mile away, and I hate it every time I see it.”
Shannon’s chin lifts, that fire flashing in her eyes again. “I’m not a victim. And I’m not seeking out bad guys.”
“No?” I lean against the counter. “So where’s the kid’s dad? Why isn’t he here helping you?”
Her face goes carefully blank. “He’s dead.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. We were both foster kids, same house.
Got turned out when we aged out at eighteen.
” Her voice is matter-of-fact, like she’s reciting someone else’s story.
“We were young, and all we had was each other. We were in love. Jim was my first. I got pregnant. And he was determined to make our family work. He thought dealing drugs would help us get by faster.” She shrugs. “Got himself killed for the effort.”
Jesus. “How long have you been on your own?”
“Since Aiden was six months old. Three years.” She meets my eyes, daring me to pity her. “I haven’t been with anyone since. Hell, I haven’t even tried until—” She stops herself.
“Until this Mason.”
“I was determined to take it slow. Didn’t even sleep with him.
I was taking my time.” A bitter laugh escapes her.
“I thought I was being smart, careful. But he still turned out to be—” Her voice cracks.
“The first time he laid a hand on my son, I was done. I’m never going back. My son deserves better.”
There’s a tear sliding down her cheek now, and it guts me. This woman who’s been fighting alone for three years, trying to do everything right for her kid, and she thinks she failed. “You forgot to add that you deserve better too,” I say quietly.
Shannon’s breath hitches. “What?”
“Your son deserves better. But so do you.” I reach out without thinking, brushing the tear away with my thumb. “You didn’t screw up, Shannon. You got away. That takes guts.”
She leans into my touch for just a second, and the air between us crackles. She’s looking at me like I’m something she wants but doesn’t trust herself to have.
I should step back. Should keep my hands to myself and my thoughts professional.
Instead, I pull her closer. She comes willingly, fitting against me like she belongs there. Her hands fist in my shirt, and her heartbeat races against my chest. When she tilts her face up, her lips are just inches from mine.
For a moment, the world narrows to this—her warmth, her scent, the way she’s looking at me like I might actually be the good guy I claim to be.
Then Aiden’s voice cuts through the moment. “Mama? Can I have some juice?”
Shannon jerks back like she’s been burned, putting safe distance between us again. But I catch the way her fingers linger on my chest, the way her breathing is still erratic.
“Of course, baby,” she says, already moving toward the refrigerator.
I stay where I am, watching her pour juice with hands that aren’t quite steady. Whatever just happened between us, it changed something. Shifted the ground we’re standing on.
Shannon Cole is going to be the death of me.
And I’m thinking that might not be such a bad way to go.