Chapter 27
I wake up slowly.
Not the kind of jolt awake where your brain is already running before your body catches up, not the kind of restless, half-aware drift I’ve been stuck in for days.
This is different. This is warm.
Quiet.
Heavy in that soft, anchored way that makes it feel like I’m sinking into something instead of bracing against it.
For a few seconds, I don’t move. I just breathe.
There’s a steady weight at my back, an arm wrapped low around my waist, the solid press of a chest behind me rising and falling in a rhythm that feels…safe.
That’s what finally pulls me all the way under.
Not the weight. Not the warmth. The safety.
Because that hasn’t been there with him before.
Not like this. Not without the edge.
My eyes open slowly.
Jimmy’s room is dim, the curtains still drawn, early light sneaking in around the edges and painting everything in soft gray instead of the harsh brightness of day. I’m on my side, half turned into the pillow, his sheets tangled around my legs, one of his shirts hanging loose on my body.
And his arm is still around me.
Not gripping. Not holding me in place.Just there.
Like it belongs.
Like I belong.
That thought should scare me.
A week ago, it probably would have.
Now it just sits in my chest, quiet and real and heavier than I know how to process all at once.
I shift slightly, testing it.
His arm tightens immediately. Not enough to trap me. Just enough to acknowledge the movement.
Behind me, his voice is rough with sleep. “You good?”
There’s no suspicion in it. No tension. No sharp edge like he’s waiting for me to pull away or say something that changes the temperature of the room.
Just…checking.
I swallow once and nod, even though he can’t see it. “Yeah.”
His hand slides once over my side, slow and absent, like he’s still halfway asleep and operating on instinct instead of intention. “Okay.”
That’s it.
No interrogation. No follow-up. No shift in tone that makes me feel like I’m about to be handled instead of held.
I close my eyes again for a second, letting that settle.
Because this is new.
Not him. Not the wanting. Not the pull between us that’s always felt like it could snap tight enough to take us both down with it.
This.
The quiet. The steadiness. The way his body is wrapped around mine like it’s not a question anymore.
I turn my head slightly, just enough to look back at him.
He’s still half asleep, hair a mess, eyes barely open, one arm tucked under the pillow and the other still draped over me like he forgot how to move it.
He looks…softer.
It’s subtle.
You wouldn’t clock it if you didn’t know him.
But I do.
I know the difference between the version of Jimmy that’s braced for impact and the version that’s finally let something settle.
This one isn’t waiting for the other shoe to drop. This one isn’t already halfway out the door. And that realization hits me somewhere deep and fragile.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” he mutters, eyes still closed.
I huff a quiet laugh. “You’re not even awake.”
“Enough.” His grip shifts again, pulling me a little closer, his face pressing into my shoulder like he’s anchoring himself there. “Go back to sleep.”
That should make me smile.
Instead, my chest tightens.
Because it’s so normal. So easy. So dangerously close to everything I’ve wanted from him without ever saying it out loud.
“I can’t,” I say quietly.
He exhales against my skin, warm and slow, and then his eyes open a little more. “Why?”
I hesitate.
Because the truth feels too big for this soft, quiet morning. Because saying it out loud might break whatever fragile, new thing we built last night.
“Because this is different,” I admit.
He goes still behind me. Not tense. Just…aware.
“Yeah,” he says after a second.
I turn a little more, enough to face him this time, and his arm slides with me, settling at my waist again like it belongs there. “That’s not exactly comforting,” I tell him.
His mouth twitches. “Didn’t say it to be comforting.”
“No, I noticed.”
There’s a pause.
A real one this time. Not awkward. Not strained.
Just…space.
Then he lifts a hand and brushes a loose strand of hair off my face, his fingers slower than usual, more careful. “That scare you?” he asks.
I hold his gaze.
Because if we’re doing this, if we’re actually doing this instead of whatever half-version we’ve been stuck in for years, then I can’t keep softening my answers just to make him comfortable.
“A little.”
He nods. No pushback. No defensiveness. Just acknowledgment. “Me too.”
That surprises me.
I search his face, waiting for the deflection, the shrug, the pivot back into something easier. It doesn’t come.
“You don’t look scared,” I say.
He lets out a quiet breath. “I am,” he says. “Just not in the same way.”
My brows pull together. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” he says slowly, “I’m not scared of this.” His hand shifts, thumb brushing lightly over my hip where his shirt rides up. “I’m scared of messing it up again.”
That lands. Deep. Because that’s the difference, isn’t it?
Before, his fear made him run. Now, it’s making him stay.
I don’t know what to do with that yet. I don’t think he does either. So I don’t push it.
I just nod once and let the silence settle again. It doesn’t feel heavy. It feels…new.
Eventually, I shift away enough to sit up, pulling the shirt down over my thighs as I swing my legs off the bed.
Jimmy watches me, eyes clearer now, expression sharper but still softer than I’m used to. “Where you going?”
“Bathroom.”
“Come back after.”
The words are simple. Not a demand. Not a test.
Just…said.
I glance back at him over my shoulder.
“You planning on actually letting me leave at any point today?”
His mouth curves. “No promises.”
That earns a real smile out of me, and God, I didn’t realize how much I missed that, how much I missed laughing with him without it feeling like we were balancing on the edge of something that could fall apart at any second.
When I come back, he’s sitting up against the headboard, hair still a mess, sheet low on his hips, looking like he hasn’t quite decided if he’s fully awake yet or just functioning on instinct.
His eyes track me the whole way back to the bed. That hasn’t changed. The way he looks at me. The intensity. The focus.
But it feels…different too.
Less frantic. More certain.
I climb back in beside him, and this time when he pulls me against him, it’s slower. Deliberate. Like he’s making a choice instead of reacting to a feeling.
I settle against his chest, listening to his heartbeat for a second longer than I probably should. “This is weird,” I murmur.
“Yeah.”
“Not bad.”
“No.” His hand slides up and down my back in an absent rhythm, and for the first time in a long time, I let myself just be in it.
No overthinking. No waiting for the shift. Just…here.
Eventually, reality starts creeping back in. Responsibilities. People. The fact that we are in a clubhouse full of the most observant, nosy, ride-or-die group of humans on the planet.
Which means, “they’re going to know.”
Jimmy huffs a quiet laugh against my hair. “They already know something.”
“Shaina definitely knows.”
“She always knows.”
I pull back slightly to look at him. “Ana’s going to lose her mind.”
“Yeah.”
“Mac’s going to stare at me like she’s reading my soul.”
“Also yeah.”
“Kya is going to ask inappropriate questions.”
“Without a doubt.”
“Brooke’s going to cry.”
He actually laughs at that, low and real. “Probably.”
I shake my head. “I’m not ready for that.”
“You don’t have to be.”
I frown. “That’s not how this works.”
“It is today.”
Something in his tone makes me pause. “Why?”
“Because,” he says, voice steady now, “I’m not letting you deal with this alone.”
That shouldn’t feel as big as it does. It does anyway.
Before I can respond, there’s a knock on the door. Not tentative. Not polite.
Two sharp taps, followed immediately by: “Allie, if you’re in there, I swear to God—”
Kya.
Jimmy closes his eyes briefly. “You have got to be kidding me.”
I press my face into his shoulder to muffle a laugh. “We should answer that.”
“No, we shouldn’t.”
Another knock. Louder. “Mac said she saw you come upstairs and if you don’t open this door I’m assuming something bad happened and I will break it down.”
Jimmy mutters something under his breath that sounds like a prayer for patience.
I grin despite myself. “They’re going to escalate.”
“They always escalate.”
The door handle jiggles.
“That’s new,” Jimmy says dryly.
“ALLISON,” Kya yells. “IF YOU’RE DEAD I’M BLAMING JIMMY.”
“I’m fine!” I call back.
There’s a beat of silence.
Then, quieter but no less intense: “Oh my God.”
Jimmy drops his head back against the headboard. “Here we go.”
I slide out of bed, grabbing my jeans off the floor and pulling them on quickly while he watches me with a mix of amusement and resignation. “You’re enjoying this,” I accuse.
“A little.”
“Traitor.”
I tug his shirt down over my hips again and head for the door before this turns into a full-blown intervention.
When I open it, Kya is standing there with her hands on her hips, Mac just behind her with her arms crossed, Brooke hovering to the side like she’s trying to be subtle and failing spectacularly.
They all look at me. At once. Up and down. Assessing. Knowing.
“Oh,” Kya says slowly.
Mac’s brows lift just slightly.
Brooke’s hand flies to her chest. “Oh my God.”
I resist the urge to slam the door in their faces. “You’re all being weird.”
“We are not being weird,” Kya says immediately. “You are glowing.”
“I am not glowing.”
“You are absolutely glowing,” Brooke insists.
Mac tilts her head. “You look…different.”
That one hits closer to the truth.
I lean against the doorframe and try to keep my expression neutral. “Different how?”
Mac studies me for one long second. Then, very calmly, “like he didn’t mess it up this time.”
Silence.
Behind me, I feel Jimmy shift. Not defensive. Not tense. Just…present.
Kya’s eyes widen. “Oh my God,” she repeats. “Did he not mess it up?”
Brooke looks like she might actually cry again. “That’s so romantic.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Because that’s the question, isn’t it? Not what happened. Not how. Not when.
Did he mess it up again?
I glance back over my shoulder at Jimmy.
He’s watching me. Steady. Waiting. Not trying to control the answer. Not stepping in to speak for me. Just…there.
And for the first time, I don’t feel like I have to protect myself from what comes next.
I look back at them. “No,” I say. My voice is quiet. Certain. “He didn’t.”
The room goes still for half a second.
Then Kya claps once like she just witnessed a miracle. “Finally.”
Mac exhales slowly. “Took long enough.”
Brooke wipes at her eyes. “I’m so happy for you.”
I laugh, shaking my head at all of them. “Okay, that’s enough.”
“It is not enough,” Kya says. “I have questions.”
“I’m not answering them.”
“You will eventually.”
“Not today.”
Mac pushes off the wall. “We’ll give you a few hours.”
“Thank you.”
She pauses, then adds, “Then we’re circling back.”
Of course they are.
I close the door before Kya can ask anything else and lean back against it, letting out a breath that feels lighter than anything I’ve taken in days.
Jimmy is still on the bed, watching me. “Not as bad as you thought,” he says.
I snort. “That was the warm-up.”
He smiles.
God. That smile.
I walk back over to the bed and sit beside him, quieter now.
There’s one more thing sitting in my chest. One more piece of reality that doesn’t disappear just because this morning feels different.
“I have to talk to Drew,” I say.
Jimmy’s expression shifts. Not sharp. Not possessive. Just…aware. “Yeah.”
I study him for a second. Waiting for the jealousy. The anger. The territorial edge.It doesn’t come. Not like before.
“Okay?” I ask.
He nods once. “Yeah,” he says. “That’s yours to handle, unless you want me to. I have no problem telling Deputy Dipshit to fuck off..”
That shouldn’t feel as big as it does. But it does. Because it’s trust. Because it’s him not trying to control the outcome. Because it’s him standing here, finally, like he understands that this only works if I’m choosing him, not being cornered into it.
I nod back. “Okay.”
And for the first time since all of this started, that word doesn’t feel like a lie.