12. Shadow
Shadow
Sleep isn’t happening tonight.
I’ve been lying in bed for hours, staring at the ceiling, watching shadows move across the wood paneling as clouds pass over the moon outside.
My mind won’t shut off. Won’t stop replaying the meeting earlier.
The way Jade laid out intel with the exactness of someone who’s been paying attention for years.
The way she looked at each of us and demanded to be treated as an equal.
Not a victim. Not a captive. A partner.
And the way my chest tightened when she shook Hawk’s hand, and I realized she was staying. Choosing to stay. Choosing to work with us instead of fighting us at every turn.
I’m in trouble. Deep trouble.
I throw off the covers, pull on jeans and a T-shirt, and head downstairs. The cabin’s quiet except for Razor’s snoring from his room. Hawk’s probably still awake somewhere, keeping watch like he always does when things are tense. The man runs on coffee, nicotine, and sheer stubborn will.
I grab a beer from the fridge, crack it open, and drink half in one pull. It doesn’t help. Doesn’t quiet my mind or cool the heat that’s been building since I met this woman.
Days. It’s only been days since we grabbed her. Feels like weeks. Feels like I’ve known her longer than four days. Like she’s been under my skin for months instead of hours.
That’s the problem. That’s why I can’t sleep.
I head out to the back porch, beer in hand, needing air. Needing space from the walls that feel like they’re closing in.
The night air is cold, biting through my T-shirt. I don’t care. Just lean against the railing, staring out at the dark forest, trying to get my head straight.
That’s when I see her.
Jade’s already out here, sitting on the porch steps, wrapped in a blanket that’s too big for her. She doesn’t turn when I step out, just keeps staring at the trees.
“Can’t sleep either?” I ask.
“No.” Her voice is quiet. Tired.
I sit down beside her, keeping a respectful distance. Not too close. Not too far. Just… there.
We sit in silence for a while. It’s comfortable. Easy. The kind of silence you have with someone who doesn’t need words to understand.
“Thank you,” she says suddenly.
“For what?”
“For being kind. For making breakfast and trying to keep things normal. For not treating me like I’m broken or stupid or…” She trails off. “Just. Thank you.”
I take a drink of my beer. “You’re not broken. Or stupid. You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met.”
She laughs softly. It’s not a happy sound. “I don’t feel strong. I feel like I’m barely holding it together.”
“That’s what strength looks like sometimes. Holding it together when everything’s falling apart.”
She turns to look at me then. In the moonlight, her eyes are darker. Softer. “You really believe that?”
“Yeah. I do.”
She’s quiet for a moment. Then she shifts the blanket, offering half of it to me. “You’re freezing.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re shivering. Take the damn blanket, Shadow.”
I smile despite myself and scoot closer, letting her drape half the blanket over my shoulders. Now we’re sitting side by side, sharing warmth, shoulders almost touching.
It’s intimate in a way that has nothing to do with sex.
I pull out my cigarettes and offer her the pack. She surprises me by taking one.
“Thought you didn’t smoke,” I say, lighting hers first, then mine.
“I don’t. Didn’t.” She takes a drag, coughs slightly. “But after the last few days, I figure what’s one more bad habit.”
“Fair enough.”
We smoke in silence. She’s not good at it—holds the cigarette wrong, doesn’t inhale right—but she’s trying. That’s very her. Trying things even when they’re uncomfortable. Pushing through even when it hurts.
“Tell me about your son,” she says after a while. “The real story. Not the version you gave me before.”
I take a long drag, considering. I don’t talk about Jason. Haven’t talked about him in years. But something about sitting here with Jade, sharing this blanket and these cigarettes, makes me want to.
“His name is Jason,” I start. “He’s twenty-six now. Joined the Army when he was eighteen. Haven’t heard from him in five years.”
“Why not?”
“Because he hates me. Hates what I represent. Hates the club, the lifestyle, everything about who I am.” I flick ash off my cigarette. “Can’t say I blame him.”
“What happened?”
I’m quiet for a long moment, sorting through memories I usually keep locked away.
“I wasn’t there. That’s what happened. His whole childhood, I was at the clubhouse more than I was home.
Club runs, club business, club everything.
My wife Angela got sick when Jason was fifteen.
Cancer. I was supposed to be there for both of them. Instead, I kept choosing the club.”
“Why?”
“Because the club was easier. Angela’s cancer was slow.
Watching her waste away, watching her suffer, watching her die piece by piece…
” I take another drag. “I couldn’t handle it.
So I ran. Told myself the club needed me.
That I was providing for my family. That I was being strong by keeping things normal. ”
“But you were just running.”
“Yeah. I was just running.” I stub out my cigarette.
“Angela died when Jason was seventeen. He stayed for one more year, finished high school, and then enlisted the day after graduation. Told me he was done. Done with me, done with the club, done with everything that reminded him of what I’d failed to be. ”
“Have you tried to reach out?”
“A few times. He doesn’t respond. Changed his number.
Blocked me on everything.” I stare out at the forest. “Last I heard, he’s stationed overseas.
Special Forces. Doing dangerous shit in dangerous places.
And I can’t help but think he’s doing it because he wants to prove he’s nothing like me, that he’s better. Stronger. More honorable.”
“Maybe he is.”
The words should sting. They don’t. “Maybe. Probably. I hope so.”
Jade’s quiet, processing. Then she says something I don’t expect. “I lost him while trying to protect him.”
“What?”
“That’s what you said to me before. ‘I lost him while trying to protect him.’ But that’s not really what happened, is it?” She looks at me. “You lost him because you weren’t there. Because you chose the club over him. Over your wife. Over the people who actually needed you.”
The truth of it hits hard. “Yeah. That’s more accurate.”
“I’m not saying it to be cruel.”
“I know.”
“I’m saying it because you need to stop telling yourself you were trying to protect him. You were protecting yourself. From pain. From loss. From having to watch the people you loved suffer.”
She’s right.
“You’re good at this,” I say.
“At what?”
“Seeing through people’s bullshit.”
She smiles slightly. “Four years with Tyler taught me how to read people. How to spot lies and half-truths and the things people tell themselves to justify their choices.”
“That why you see through us so easily?”
“Yeah. That’s why.” She takes another drag of her cigarette, coughs again.
“For what it’s worth, I think you’re a good man in a bad situation.
I think your son will figure that out eventually when he’s older.
When he’s had his own failures and regrets.
He’ll understand that you weren’t perfect, but you were trying. ”
Her words hit me harder than they should. Harder than I want them to.
I feel it then. The pull toward her. That magnetic attraction I’ve been fighting since the night we grabbed her. Since I watched her refuse to break even when she was terrified. Since I saw her stand up to Hawk and demand to be treated as an equal.
I want her. Want her in ways that go beyond physical. Want to know her. Protect her. Be worthy of the way she’s looking at me right now, like I’m someone worth believing in.
And that’s dangerous. Dangerous in ways I can’t afford.
Because I don’t just want to fuck her and move on. I care about her. About what happens to her. About her kid and her future and whether she makes it out of this alive.
I lean toward her. Just slightly. Just enough that she notices.
Her breath catches. She doesn’t pull away.
“Shadow…” Her voice is uncertain.
I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t. But I can’t seem to stop myself from leaning closer, from lifting my hand to brush a strand of hair from her face, from letting my fingers linger on her cheek.
Her skin is soft. Cold from the night air. She shivers under my touch, but not from cold.
“This is a bad idea,” I murmur.
“Probably.”
“We shouldn’t.”
“No.”
But neither of us moves away.
I’m an inch from her lips. Maybe less. Close enough to feel her breath on my face. Close enough to see the way her eyes widen, the way her lips part slightly.
Then reality crashes over me like cold water.
What am I doing?
Getting involved with her means dragging her into my world. The club. The violence. The constant danger. It means making her choose between me and Mason’s safety. It means putting her in the exact position that destroyed my family.
I can’t do that to her. Can’t be that selfish.
I pull back. Fast. Putting distance between us, even though every part of me is screaming to close that distance instead.
“Jade, this can’t happen.” My voice comes out rougher than I intend.
She blinks, confused. Hurt flickers across her face. “What can’t happen?”
“This. Us. Whatever this is becoming.” I stand up, letting the blanket fall, creating physical space because I need it. “You need to get back to your son. We need to keep you safe. Getting involved with you… it’s not safe. For any of us.”
“I don’t understand.”
“My son hates me because I chose the club over my family. Because I prioritized danger and loyalty and brotherhood over the people who actually loved me. Over the people who needed me to be better.” I look down at her.
“If I get involved with you, I’m doing the same thing.
I’m dragging you into a world that destroys families.
That gets people killed. That turns love into fear and safety into a lie. ”
“Shadow—”
“I can’t do that to you. Can’t do it to Mason. He deserves a mother who’s not constantly looking over her shoulder because she’s involved with a criminal. Who’s not teaching him that violence and danger are normal. Who’s not repeating the cycle that destroyed my family.”
“You’re not Tyler.”
“No. But I’m not father material either. Not husband material. Not the kind of man you build a life with.” I take a step back, then another. “You deserve better than this. Better than me. Better than any of us.”
She stands now too, blanket falling away, arms wrapped around herself. “Don’t I get a say in what I deserve?”
“Not about this. Not when I can see the future and I know how it ends. With you and Mason caught in the crossfire. With you hating me the same way Jason hates me. With your kid growing up resenting you for choosing a man over his safety.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do. Because I’ve lived it. I’ve been the man who chose wrong and lost everything that mattered because of it.
” My chest aches, but I force the words out anyway.
“I care about you, Jade. That’s the problem.
If I didn’t care, this would be easy. But I do.
Which means I have to be the one who walks away before I ruin your life the way I ruined mine. ”
She’s crying now, silent tears streaming down her face. “That’s not fair.”
“No. It’s not. But it’s right.”
I turn and walk back into the cabin before I can change my mind. Before I can close the distance and kiss her and damn the consequences.
Inside, the cabin is still dark. Still quiet except for Razor’s snoring.
Hawk’s sitting at the kitchen table, coffee mug in hand, watching me with those steel-blue eyes that see too much. “You okay?” he asks.
“No.” I grab another beer from the fridge and drain half of it in one pull. “None of us are.”
Hawk nods slowly. “Saw you two on the porch.”
“Then you saw me walk away.”
“Yeah. I saw that too.”
I sit down across from him, elbows on the table, hands in my hair. “This is fucked. This whole situation. Her being here. Us wanting her. All of it.”
“Agreed.”
“I can’t do this, Hawk. Can’t get involved with her, knowing what it’ll cost. What it’ll do to her and her kid.” I look up at him. “I already destroyed one family. I’m not destroying hers too.”
Hawk takes a drink of his coffee. “You think you’re the only one struggling with this?”
“I know you are. Know Razor is too. We’re all fucked.”
“Yeah. We are.”
We sit in silence for a while. Just two men, late at night, acknowledging that they’re in over their heads with a woman they can’t have.
“What are we going to do?” I ask finally.
“Keep her alive. Get her home to her kid. Make sure Tyler never touches her again.” Hawk sets down his mug. “And try not to fall any deeper than we already have.”
“You think that’s possible?”
“No. But we have to try anyway.”
He’s right. We’re already too far gone. All three of us. Drawn to a woman who’s off-limits in every way that matters. Who deserves a life that doesn’t include us and the danger we bring.
“She’s strong,” I say quietly.
“Yeah.”
“She’d survive this. Survive us.”
“Probably.”
“But her kid wouldn’t. Not without scars. Not without learning all the wrong lessons about what love looks like.”
Hawk’s quiet for a long moment. Then: “You did the right thing. Walking away.”
“Doesn’t feel right.”
“Rarely does.”
I finish my beer, crush the can, and toss it in the trash. “I’m going to bed. Try to sleep. Not gonna happen, but I’ll try.”
“Shadow.”
I pause at the stairs, look back.
“For what it’s worth,” Hawk says, “she’s lucky you care enough to walk away. Most men wouldn’t.”
“Most men aren’t fucked up enough to know better.”
I head upstairs, back to my room, back to staring at the ceiling.
But now I’m replaying a different scene. The almost-kiss that didn’t happen. The look on Jade’s face when I pulled away. The tears streaming down her cheeks as I chose her future over my present.
It hurts. Burns like acid in my chest. But it’s the right choice. The only choice that doesn’t end with me destroying another family.
Even if it means walking away from something I want more than I’ve wanted anything in years.
Even if it means never knowing what could have been.
Some things are more important than what I want. Jade’s safety. Mason’s future. The chance for them to build a life that doesn’t include violence and fear and men who choose wrong.
I close my eyes, knowing sleep still won’t come.
But at least I can tell myself I did the right thing.
Even if the right thing feels like tearing my own heart out.