Chapter 26
I know I’m fucked before I even open my eyes.
Because the first thing I register isn’t the room or the time or the low, familiar rumble of the clubhouse waking up around me.
It’s her.
Warm and half-curled into my side, one leg tangled with mine under the sheet, dark hair spread over my pillow like she belongs there. And if that doesn’t tell me exactly how bad this is, nothing will.
I stay still for a second, staring at the ceiling while the full weight of it settles in.
Raven in my bed. Raven asleep against me. Raven soft and unguarded in a way she never is when the world’s looking.
That should probably feel dangerous in a way that sends me running.
Instead, all I can think is that I could get used to waking up like this way too fucking easily.
That’s the problem. Not the sex. Not the fact that I finally had her under me, around me, saying my real name like it belonged in her mouth.
No.
The problem is this. The quiet. The warmth. The way she fits against me like some part of my body had been built waiting for hers and just forgot to mention it until now.
That’s what should worry me. That’s what actually does. Because I know exactly what kind of man I am, and men like me don’t survive getting attached to things this soft.
I turn my head just enough to look at her.
She’s still asleep, lashes low against her cheeks, mouth slightly parted, one hand tucked between us under the blanket. In sleep, she looks younger somehow. Less braced. Less like she’s expecting the world to take a swing at her the second she drops her guard.
That alone puts something dark and ugly in my chest. Because I know she didn’t get that way on her own.
I know enough now to understand what kind of man Cal is, even if I don’t know every detail yet.
And I know enough to know if he ever gets close enough to touch her again, I’m going to put him in the fucking ground.
The thought comes easy.
Too easy. No hesitation. No moral debate. Just certainty.
That should probably concern me too.
It doesn’t.
She shifts before I can keep going down that road, making a small sleepy sound low in her throat as she starts waking up.
My arm is still around her waist. I leave it there. Not because I’m trying to keep her in place. Because I want one more second before the daylight gets involved and everything changes shape.
Her breathing changes first. Then her whole body goes subtly alert under my arm.
And there it is.
That tiny, awful moment where her nervous system wakes up before the rest of her does and immediately starts checking for danger.
I feel it happen. The way she stills. The way her body goes just slightly tight. The way she realizes where she is all at once. That alone is enough to put a bad taste in my mouth.
Because she’s here. With me. Safe. And still her first instinct is to brace.
I loosen my arm before she has to ask. Not pulling away. Just giving her room before she needs to fight for it.
She shifts carefully, starting to sit up, and I open my eyes fully just as she glances back at me. Her face does about six things in two seconds.
Awareness. Heat. Panic. Vulnerability. And underneath all of it, something worse. Because this mattered to her too. That’s what I see immediately.
Not regret. That would be easier. This mattered. And now she doesn’t know what the hell to do with that.
“You running?” I ask, voice rough from sleep.
There’s no accusation in it. No pressure. Just a question.
She goes still for half a second before answering too fast. “No.”
Good.
I loosen my arm completely and let her move without crowding her.
That’s the thing with Raven. You can’t push when she’s already halfway to bolting in her own head. She sits on the edge of the bed with the sheet gathered around her, and I can practically see the spiral starting to build.
Not the same kind as last night. This one’s quieter. Meaner. The kind that turns inward and starts cutting her up before anybody else gets a chance.
“You can breathe,” I tell her.
She glances at me, defensive on instinct. “I am.”
“You’re not doing it right.”
That gets a look out of her.
Good. Anything that drags her out of her own head for a second is useful.
She stares at me like she’s trying to decide whether I’m being annoying on purpose.
I am. And she knows it.
“You’re doing that thing again,” I say.
“What thing?”
“Trying to think yourself into a corner.”
Her mouth presses into a thin line, and I know I hit it dead on. She looks away.
I let the silence sit for a beat before I ask the only thing that actually matters. “You regret it?”
Her head turns back immediately. “No.”
Too quick to be fake. Too honest to miss. Something in my chest settles.
“Then stop acting like you need to apologize for it.”
That lands harder than I mean for it to, judging by the flicker in her face. But I’m not taking it back. Because I know that look. Know the instinct behind it.
She’s used to smoothing things over before they become a problem. Used to getting ahead of fallout before it lands.
I’m not letting her do that here. Not with me.
She looks down at her hands and says quietly, “I just didn’t expect it to feel like that.”
That one gets me. Because same.
I shift up onto one elbow and study her for a second before asking, “Like what?”
She lets out a short breath. “Big.”
A laugh almost gets out of me. Not because it’s funny. Because it’s true enough to hurt.
“Yeah,” I tell her. “It was.”
That finally gets a small laugh out of her, surprised and unwilling, and the sound of it loosens something in the room that was starting to pull too tight.
I sit up after that and reach for my sweats, tugging them on while she tries not to visibly look at me and fails just enough to make me want to pin her back into the mattress and remind her exactly how last night ended. But she’s still shaky around the edges, and I’m not an asshole.
Mostly.
So instead, I look toward the door and ask, “You want coffee?”
She blinks at me like I’ve spoken another language. “What?”
“Coffee,” I repeat. “Seems useful.”
And just like that, I watch her entire expression shift from panic to confusion. Which is honestly an improvement.
She stares at me for a second, then says, “Yes?”
I nod once. “Thought so.”
She watches me pull on a shirt and reach for my cut, still looking a little dazed by how aggressively normal I’m being about this.
Good. Because the truth is, I don’t know how else to be.
Last night mattered. That doesn’t mean I’m going to start acting like she’s fragile in the morning.
I pause at the door and glance back at her.
She’s still sitting on the edge of the bed with the sheet pooled in her lap and that same vulnerable, uncertain look trying to creep back in around the edges.
So I give her the one thing I know she needs most.
Something steady. Something practical. Something normal.
“Get dressed, angel,” I say. “I’ll check on Lexi.”
Her whole body stills. Just for a second. Her eyes lift to mine. There it is. The first hit of it.
Angel.
Not babe. Not baby. Not some lazy, interchangeable shit I could hand to anybody.
Angel.
And judging by the way her throat moves when she swallows, she feels the difference.
Good. Because I mean it.
I don’t wait for her to answer.
If I stay in this room another minute, I’m dragging her right back into bed and to hell with breakfast.
So I step into the hall and shut the door behind me.
The downstairs hallway is quiet this early. A couple brothers are already outside near the bikes, low voices drifting in through the cracked back door, but most of the clubhouse is still waking up slow.
I pass the open door of the room Amy and Casey commandeered for their “sleepover,” which apparently involved every blanket in a five-mile radius.
I stop in the doorway and take in the scene.
Lexi is out cold in the middle of a blanket nest, Bunny tucked under her chin, one arm thrown over Amy’s leg like she passed out mid-conversation.
Casey is upside down at the other end of the bed like a tiny feral possum.
Gio is on the floor with one pillow over his face, probably because the girls talked too much and he’d rather die than admit it bothered him.
Jason’s curled up in the small kid cot someone dragged in, still asleep hard enough that he probably wouldn’t wake up if the room caught fire.
It’s ridiculous. And weirdly fucking adorable.
Amy cracks one eye open when she notices me in the doorway.
“You’re loud,” she whispers.
I raise a brow. “I’m standing still.”
“You feel loud.”
That gets a snort out of me before I can stop it.
She glances back toward Lexi and lowers her voice further. “She slept all night.”
Good.
“Wanted Bunny and one extra blanket,” Amy adds. “And she asked if her mommy was okay.”
That one lands in my chest.
I nod once. “Thanks, kid.”
Amy squints at me like she’s trying to figure out why I’m being weirdly sincere this early in the morning. Then she says, “You can carry her if she wakes up cranky.”
I stare at her.
She smirks.
Mini assholes. Every one of them.
I leave them to it and head toward the kitchen, because Raven needs coffee and I need something to do with my hands that doesn’t entail going back into my room and wrecking her all over again. By the time she comes down a little while later, I’ve got two mugs made and breakfast mostly handled.
Nothing fancy.
Toast that isn’t dead this time, eggs, fruit, enough food to make it look like I know what I’m doing.
Which I do. More than I should.
She stops in the doorway when she sees me. And there it is again.
That look. That soft, unguarded thing she gets for one split second before she remembers herself.
I’m starting to realize that look is going to ruin me. “Two cream, one sugars,” I say, nodding toward the mug waiting on the counter.
She blinks. “You remembered.”
I look at her flatly. “You act surprised every time I know basic shit about you.”
That gets the faintest little smile. And there it is again. Another nail in the coffin.