Chapter Twenty-Seven
Cassie’s color had come back.
Well, mostly, she thought, staring at her reflection.
A few days ago, she’d looked a hell of a lot worse—
gray around the mouth, eyes dull, her skin clammy no matter how many blankets Nash had piled over her.
Even now, if she let herself linger there too long, she could still feel it—that hollow, drifting weight in her limbs, the way every movement had lagged half a second behind what she wanted it to do.
Worse than that was the way her chest had struggled for air—like breathing was something she had to remember how to do.
Sighing, she reached for the faucet and splashed cold water over her face, dragging the water down slowly, as if she could take the last of it with her. The chill helped, grounding her to the present.
Here.
At Nash’s house.
Not…there.
She stayed at the sink a moment longer, water dripping from her chin, staring at her wrists wrapped in gauze, at her hands…and for a second, they didn’t feel like hers—
not after what they’d done to—
She shoved the thought away before it could finish forming, dried her face quickly, and stepped out into the hall. One palm trailed along the wall as she started down the stairs.
The house was quiet.
Too quiet, considering just yesterday it had still been full—boots on the floor, low voices carrying from one room to the next, doors opening and closing at all hours.
Nash. Margie. Charlie. Sarge, too, she thought, her brows drawing together slightly.
Had Luanne stopped by? She could almost remember talking to her…
but whenever she tried to hold on to it, it slipped.
That had been happening more than she liked.
And if that wasn’t bad enough, there were still pieces missing, some of it coming back in fragments, and out of order.
She was halfway down the stairs when the smell of freshly brewed coffee hit her, turning her stomach. She paused; her fingers tightened on the railing until the nausea finally eased.
Pushing off, she made her way down the remaining stairs, slower now, following the smell of coffee into the kitchen, where Nash stood at the counter, a mug in hand.
His head lifted at the sound of her, his eyes going wide. The cup hit the counter with a soft thud as he set it down, already moving.
“You okay?” he asked, pulling her into his arms.
“I mean, I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck,” she whispered, folding into the solid press of his chest, the warmth of his arms settling around her.
Fingers curling into his shirt, she closed her eyes. Every time she let herself think about what it had taken for him to find her—the sheer stubborn force of it—her throat tightened, her eyes burning before she could stop it.
Nash’s hand came up, gently cradling the back of her head, careful of the still-swollen knot McCoy had left behind.
McCoy.
Cassie’s eyes squeezed shut as the sensation of the knife driving into his neck rushed back, followed by a flash of all the blood that came after.
She’d stabbed a man—
Maybe killed him…
…and she was having a hell of a time dealing with that fact.
Even knowing what he’d done—to Connor, to Maya…
“Concussion’ll do that to you,” Nash said, voice low against her hair. “So will a hot shot of fuckin’ fent.” His grip tightened slightly at the back of her head.
“We should’ve taken you in,” he muttered. “You want to go, I’ll take you. Charleston, Kentucky—don’t matter.”
Somewhere in the back of Cassie’s mind, she knew she probably should’ve gone to a hospital. But that would’ve meant questions. And possibly the police.
A shudder ran through her.
“No,” she murmured. “You did the right thing.”
“Besides, I feel better than yesterday. And yesterday I felt better than the day before that.”
Nash went still against her for a second. “Yeah,” he said roughly. “That’s how it goes.”
She swallowed past the tightness in her throat. “Is it still burning?”
Nash’s gaze flicked past her toward the window, his hand slipping into hers.
“C’mon,” he said, walking her through the house and out onto the porch.
The morning air greeted them warmly, thick with the usual scents of the ridge—pine sap, faintly sweet—though tinged with smoke. A haze hung over everything, softening the line of the mountains in the distance.
Cassie stepped forward slowly, her eyes lifting to where a dark smear cut across the trees, rolling up into the sky in heavy plumes. It didn’t look close, but it didn’t look small either.
“Forestry’s got it contained,” Nash said, dropping her hand and pulling her back against him. “Long as it stays put…” He paused, just a fraction. “They’ll let it burn.”
Cassie’s gaze stayed fixed on the fire, watching the smoke climb.
“The sheriff?” she asked. “Has he…”
“Not a fuckin’ word.”
“And…Ollie?” She couldn’t quite remember what she’d been told…or maybe she didn’t want to.
Nash didn’t answer right away; his arm tightened around her.
“Handled,” he said finally, his tone hard. “Nobody’s gonna touch you again. Not in my fuckin’ town.”
Cassie tipped her face to Nash, something soft tugging at her mouth.
He glanced down at her. “What?”
“You sounded just like Mav,” she replied.
“That good or bad?”
“Good,” she murmured. “Very good.”
Nash’s mouth twitched, his gaze dropping briefly like he didn’t quite know what to do with that.
“Almost forgot.” He pulled a phone out, handing it to her. “Swapped your SIM into a burner. Figured you’d want a phone.”
Shaking his head, he continued, “Thing’s been blowin’ up. Had to answer a few times.”
Cassie blinked at it for a second before taking it, her thumb already moving.
He sounds hot btw. Just thought you should know. And Marta agrees.
Cassie let out a small laugh as she scrolled back further—
Hey Cas, u up?
Cassie? Proof of life?
CASSIE?!
Smiling, Cassie started typing out a quick health update.
Three dots popped up instantly.
OMG! I’ve been worried!
I’m so glad you’re feeling better!
Marta says near death experiences are no excuse for keeping hot biker content from us.
P.S. I agree.
Cassie laughed—really laughed this time.
Totally fair, she texted back. Hot biker content incoming…
She snapped a picture of Nash.
He ducked the second he realized what she was doing, reaching for the phone with a low, “Oh, hell no—”
Cassie tucked the buzzing phone into her pocket before he could grab it, swatting him away as he caught her around the waist instead and pulled her to him. For a moment they just stayed there, her cheek to his chest, breathing in smoke, leather, coffee—Nash.
“Hey—” she said after a second, glancing up at him, the smile at her mouth faltering.
Reaching up, she brushed her fingertips down his cheek and through his beard.
“Thank you.”
“For what?” he said, tucking loose curls behind her ear. “Lettin’ you puke in my bed? Ain’t the first time.”
Cassie huffed through the sting in her eyes. “Yeah, that. And, oh, I don’t know. Saving my life, maybe.”
He held her gaze for a long second—long enough that she saw it.
How close he still was to having almost lost her.
With her hand still buried in his beard, she tugged him into a kiss. A slow, careful kiss.
Too goddamn careful.
“This okay?” he murmured against her lips.
Cassie’s hands were already in his hair, pulling him closer—kissing him harder.
“More than okay,” she whispered.
Because with his hands on her—his mouth on hers—
she could almost forget.