Chapter 12 #2
The alcohol just made it easier to stop lying to myself about it for five goddamn minutes.
She was pretending to be tipsy too.
I know that now. I knew it then too, probably.
But in the moment, standing there with her too close and my head just light enough to stop me from doing what I should, it didn’t matter.
She looked up at me with those big dark eyes and a mouth that had been driving me insane in quiet ways for longer than I’d ever admit, and something in me snapped clean through.
She said something. I laughed. Then I looked at her. Really looked.
And the thing about Allison is that once you do that, once you let yourself actually see her instead of the version of her you’ve been safely filing away for years, there’s no easy path back out.
She was never a kid to me. That’s the ugly truth under all of it.
Not really.
Safer to call her that. Safer to throw her in the family box and nail the lid shut and tell myself I was doing the right thing.
But I saw her. I saw the way she looked at me. I saw the way she’d grown into herself over the years, softer in some ways, sharper in others, all stubborn mouth and warm eyes and quiet strength under the sweetness.
And that night, I let myself feel it.
My hand landed on her waist like it belonged there. Her breath caught. Mine did too.
Then I kissed her.
Soft first. Testing. Like maybe I’d pull back before it became real.
I didn’t.
Because the second her mouth opened under mine, I was gone.
She kissed me back.
That’s the part that still wrecks me if I let myself think about it too long. There was no hesitation in her once the shock passed. No uncertainty. She melted into it like she’d wanted it too, and for one dangerous, perfect minute I forgot every reason I shouldn’t be doing it.
She tasted like summer and bad decisions and something sweeter underneath the fake haze of alcohol she’d been trying to sell me. Her fingers curled in my shirt. Mine tightened at her waist. If someone had walked around the corner then, I’d have killed them for interrupting.
That’s how bad it was.
That’s how much I wanted it. Wanted her. And that’s exactly why I avoided her after.
Because the second the kiss ended, the second I looked down at her with her lips swollen and her chest rising too fast and that dazed, hopeful look in her eyes, sobriety hit me like a fist to the throat.
I knew.
Knew I’d crossed a line I couldn’t uncross. Knew if I did it again, I wouldn’t stop there. Knew if I let myself keep going with her, I’d ruin her or ruin me or maybe both.
Uncle Torch’s daughter. Ana’s best friend. Landon’s sister. A woman I’d known too long and wanted too much.
A woman who mattered.
That was the real problem. Not that she was off-limits. That would’ve been manageable.
The problem was that she mattered enough to break me if I let myself keep touching her.
So I did the only thing I knew how to do.
I ran.
Not physically. Not in some dramatic, burn-the-road kind of way.
I just stayed the hell away from her for a while, then trained myself into a colder version of normal. Friendly enough not to raise flags. Distant enough not to repeat the mistake. I told myself it was the smart thing. The right thing.
Maybe it was.
It didn’t make it hurt less every time she looked at me after like she was trying to understand what changed. What changed was that I’d given myself proof.
Proof that if I let the leash slip, I’d take too much.
That’s why I avoided her. Because I wanted it too much. Because she mattered too much. Because once I crossed that line, there was no version of me that could go back and pretend I didn’t know exactly what her mouth felt like.
“You planning to stand in there all night or actually bring the refill pack back in?” Logan’s voice jerks me out of my own head hard enough that I almost slam the storage door into the wall.
I look up to find him standing in the back doorway with one shoulder against the frame, arms folded, expression somewhere between amusement and suspicion. “Mind your business.”
He grins. “You look pissed.”
“I’m carrying boxes, not smiling for pictures.”
“Uh-huh.”
I grab the refill pack from the shelf and shove past him before he can keep fishing.
Logan’s not stupid. He notices more than people give him credit for, especially now that Mac’s pregnancy has apparently turned him into an anxious little detective about everyone he cares about.
The last thing I need is him deciding to poke at whatever’s clearly off with me.
The common room is worse when I get back. Not louder. Just more lived in somehow. More settled.
Mom has lit one of the candles she likes on the mantle.
Kya’s got her feet in Dom’s lap again. Brooke’s now sorting tiny hats into a separate pile like that’s urgent.
Mac is helping Ana fold blankets while pretending not to listen to whatever nonsense Shaina is currently trying to sell as a legitimate baby name.
And Allie is on the floor by the coffee table, laughing so hard at something Shaina said that she has to brace one hand against Ana’s knee to keep herself upright.
The lie I’ve been telling myself for years starts wearing thinner every time I look at her in a setting like this.
Because off-limits is supposed to feel solid. Certain. Clean.
Off-limits is not supposed to look like a woman who fits too easily into the rhythm of your world.
It’s not supposed to sound like her laugh carrying through the clubhouse while your chest tightens for reasons you don’t want to examine.
It’s definitely not supposed to come with flashes of what-if so vivid they make you feel like your own head is trying to betray you.
I set the refill pack on the counter harder than necessary.
Mom glances over. “Problem?”
“Nope.”
“Then stop slamming things.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Allie’s eyes flick up at the sound.
We look at each other for one beat.
Then she looks away first and says something to Brooke that I don’t catch, because now all I can hear is the blood moving too hard in my own head.
I need out.
“Anything else?” I ask Mom.
She studies me for a second. “No.”
“Good.”
I don’t wait for permission after that. I head for the front door, snagging my keys off the table by instinct more than need.
“Where are you going?” Ana calls from the couch.
“Out.”
“Helpful,” she mutters.
I hear Shaina ask where I’m headed, hear Mom tell them to leave me alone, hear Kya say something about men being allergic to domestic spaces, which gets her a low laugh from Dom and a dry, “He’s not wrong,” from Mac.
I keep walking.
The air outside is cooler than inside the clubhouse, the kind of spring night that still carries a little bite once the sun’s gone.
I head around toward the side lot where a few of the guys are already posted up near the bikes and the old metal fire barrel somebody dragged out for no good reason other than men like fire and an excuse to stand around it.
Landon’s there first, leaning against his truck with a beer in hand and his cut open over a gray tee. Cobra and Hammer are near the barrel arguing about football. Blaze is sitting on the hood of his car smoking like he’s got nowhere else to be.
Exactly what I need. Single men. No baby names. No folded onesies. No Allie laughing on a rug like she belongs in every future my mind keeps trying to build against my will.
Landon spots me first and lifts his bottle. “You look like you got drafted into some shit you didn’t deserve.”
“Got trapped in there with all the baby stuff.”
Hammer laughs. “Damn, man. Thoughts and prayers.”
Cobra glances at me. “You run or get released?”
“Ran.”
Blaze takes a drag off his cigarette and smirks around it. “Smart.”
I grab a beer out of the cooler by the barrel and lean against the nearest bike, letting the easy roughness of their conversation settle over me.
Sports. Club bullshit. An idiot prospect from another county making noise where he shouldn’t.
Nothing soft. Nothing domestic. Nothing that smells like baby powder and candles and tiny goddamn socks.
This is easier.
Safer.
Landon launches into a story about some local asshole hitting on one of the women at Ambrosia last weekend and getting escorted out by security before he could make a bigger fool of himself. Cobra starts talking over him halfway through. Hammer tells them both to shut up and hand him another beer.
I laugh at the right spots. Talk when it’s expected. Keep my attention where it should be.
And still, underneath all of it, my mind circles back.
Back to the common room. Back to Allie on the floor between Ana and Shaina. Back to the way she looked holding those tiny clothes like she’d been doing it forever. Back to the kiss.
Off-limits.
I tell myself that again like saying it enough times might make it true in a way that still feels solid.
Off-limits because she matters too much. Off-limits because if I let this go where it wants to go, there’s no clean way back. Off-limits because one kiss already proved I’m not as in control as I pretend to be.
The problem is, the lie’s wearing thin.
It still sounds right in my head.
It just doesn’t feel as convincing anymore.