Chapter Eleven
Riley
After yoga, their girls’ lunch turned into a full-blown day of chaos and pampering that Riley hadn’t seen coming.
It started at a tiny nail salon on the edge of town that smelled like acetone and lavender. Ella claimed the biggest pedicure chair like royalty, feet in the bubbling water, sighing dramatically. “This is the only part of pregnancy I still enjoy. Everything else is just hormones and heartburn.”
Nora and Maria flanked Riley, passing around a thermos of frozen margaritas they’d smuggled in. The techs pretended not to notice. Riley sipped hers through a straw, toenails painted a deep red that matched her hair. “You do this every week?”
“Every other,” Maria said. “Keeps us sane when the boys are being idiots.”
“And how often are the boys idiots?”
“Often enough that we do this every other week.” Ella laughed, hand to one side of her baby bump.
After nails came the shooting range. It was an outdoor spot tucked behind a hill, owned by a prospect’s uncle.
They lined up at the pistol bay, earmuffs on, margaritas traded for water bottles.
Riley shot first, putting a tight grouping on the paper target at twenty-five yards. Ella watched with wide eyes.
“I’ve never even held a gun,” the yoga guru admitted.
Riley asked the owner for a .380, knowing it was small, light, with an easy recoil. She checked to verify it was loaded, showed Ella the safety, and handed it over. “Finger off the trigger until you’re ready. Then you flip the safety. Breathe out, squeeze slow.”
Ella’s first shot went wide. The second one clipped the edge. Third hit center. She squealed, jumping up and down. “I did it! I’m a badass!”
“You’re a pregnant badass,” Nora corrected, grinning as Riley retrieved the weapon from Ella’s grip on her next jump.
“We won’t tell anyone about that part,” she whispered to Maria, who laughed until tears wet her cheeks.
Back at Ella’s house, the day ended with backyard yoga. Mats were spread on the grass, Chicken Nugget determined to photobomb every pose. During downward dog, he launched himself at Riley’s face, tongue out, happy to have a new target. Riley collapsed laughing, and the dog sprawled across her back.
By six-thirty, the sun was low and gold, and Riley was loose, happy, and buzzing with a low-grade heat that had nothing to do with tequila. She’d spent the whole day surrounded by women who didn’t flinch at her past, who laughed at her jokes, and who treated her like she already belonged.
When Dan’s bike growled into the driveway right on time, Riley felt it in her chest first. That familiar thunder, the way it vibrated through her bones. Throughout the day she’d kept him updated on every change of venue, just as he’d asked.
He stayed on the bike, arms folded over the handlebars, watching her walk towards him. She didn’t miss the way his gaze tracked her legs under the borrowed flannel, the hem brushing mid-thigh.
“Miss me?” she asked, settling into the seat behind him without waiting for an invitation.
He twisted to look at her happy smile. “You’re wearing my shirt.”
“You left it on the floor. Possession is nine-tenths and all that.”
Dan’s laugh rumbled through his back into her chest.
“Get a room, you two,” Ella called from the porch, waving with both hands.
Riley flipped her off cheerfully over Dan’s shoulder. He eased away from the curb, twisted the throttle, and the wind tore the laughter right out of her mouth.
They didn’t go back to the clubhouse. She didn’t know where he was taking her, but she didn’t care.
She trusted him.
***
Dan
Dan had spent entirety of the day trying not to lose his mind.
After church, he’d paced the garage like a caged animal, cleaning guns that didn’t need cleaning.
Glock, Sig, the old 1911 he’d carried in the sandbox, didn’t matter the make or model, he worked methodically to ensure every piece was stripped, oiled, and reassembled until his hands ached.
Rocker found him there around three, leaning against the workbench with a bottle of bourbon.
“Brother, you’re wearing a hole in the concrete.”
Dan grunted. “She’s fine.”
“I know she’s fine. Maria’s texting me updates. They’re at the range now. Your girl just taught Dawg’s pregnant wife how to shoot.” Rocker took the bottle, and swigged. “You’re fucked, man.”
Dan yanked the bourbon back and paused before he drank deep. “I know.”
By six, his buzz had faded, threatening a low headache in his temples.
He popped a couple of over-the-counter pain killers and went out to where their bikes sat side-by-side.
Dan gave hers a little pat, promising, “Momma’s gonna be home soon, take you out before you know it.
” He rode to Ella and Dawg’s house like he was chasing something he couldn’t name.
When Riley walked out, her blazing hair wind-tossed, cheeks flushed from sun and laughter, and still wearing his flannel like she owned it, everything in him settled. And then ignited.
She climbed on behind him without hesitation, arms wrapping around his waist, cheek against his back. He felt her smile through the leather.
They didn’t talk much on the ride. Didn’t need to.
He took her to his place, which was a tidy little white house past the outskirts of town with an angled roof, surrounded by nothing but trees and stars.
Inside was sparse. The living room had a leather couch, a big TV, and framed photos of his old unit on the wall.
One shelf held the folded flag from his best friend’s funeral, triangle case gleaming under the lamp.
He locked the door behind them.
“My place,” he said. “Figured you might want space that doesn’t smell like ashtray and motor oil.”
Riley set her goggles on the counter. “You trying to seduce me, Sharp?”
“Already did that.” He stepped close, backing her against the fridge. “Now I’m working to keep you.”
She lifted the bandana, revealing his mouth. The kiss was slow. Deliberate. He was memorizing the shape of her lips, the way she tasted like lime and salt and something sweeter underneath. When he pulled away, his eyes were dark.
“I need to tell you some things,” he said. “About how I got to look like this.”
Riley reached up and tugged the bandana down herself. “I’m listening.”
So he told her. About the convoy outside Kandahar.
About the IED that turned his Humvee into burning confetti and shrapnel.
About waking up in Landstuhl with half his face gone, skin hanging in rags, his best friend in a box next door.
About the months of surgeries, the mirror he’d shattered, how the nurses had whispered sadly about the ruin of his looks when they thought he was asleep.
When he finished, voice raw, Riley pressed her forehead to his scarred cheek.
“Thank you for your service is bullshit,” she whispered. “So I’m just gonna say thank you for still being here. And for letting me touch what’s left.”
Dan felt like she’d punched him, pushing out a half sob, half groan, and kissed her like she was oxygen after years underwater.
They didn’t make it to the bedroom.
***
Riley
The kitchen light was harsh, but she for sure didn’t care.
Dan lifted her onto the counter in one smooth motion, hands rough and reverent on her thighs.
She yanked his shirt over his head, fingers tracing scars like a map she already knew by heart.
He peeled the flannel off her shoulders, followed by her tank, and then Dan groaned when he saw she’d worn nothing underneath.
“Fuck, Riley.”
She hooked her legs around his waist and pulled him closer. “Now, Dan. Can’t wait.”
He didn’t argue.
The rest of their clothes hit the tile floor in a hurry.
He checked that she was ready, and when he found a wealth of slippery wet, entered her in one slow, deep thrust that made them both gasp.
She clung to him, nails digging into his back, mouth on his neck, tasting salt and leather.
He moved hard, steady, each stroke dragging a moan from her throat.
They came together fast, almost too fast, the buildup of the whole day crashing over them like a wave. He buried his face in her hair, breathing ragged. She held him tight, trembling.
When the aftershocks faded, he didn’t pull out. Just rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed.
“Stay,” he whispered.
She kissed the worst of the scars on his jaw. “Already decided to.”
He carried her to the bedroom then, each movement gentle and careful, like she was precious cargo. They finished slower this time, face-to-face, hands everywhere, no rush anywhere. When they shattered again, it was a promise. She felt it in her bones.
After, tangled in sheets that smelled like him, Riley traced the burns across his chest.
“I kinda like you, Raggedy Dan.”
He pressed a kiss to her temple. “And I more than like you, Riley Monroe.”
***
Dan
Dan wiped down the workbench in the garage, the repetitive motion doing little to ease the knot in his gut.
These days there were a thousand reasons to earn an ulcer, and zero ways of avoiding it.
Middle of the night, he needed a quiet activity.
Maybe wrenching on his bike would help offset all the things he couldn’t control.
He’d been at it for a couple of hours, and the longer his hands were busy, the more silent his mind became.
His thoughts wandered back to that first day at the shop, when Dawg had barreled in and called her “Meg” like they were old pals.
It had stuck with him, that casual familiarity, especially seeing Riley run into Dawg’s arms when she needed the comfort.
Dan wasn’t the jealous type, not anymore, not after the blast had stripped away any illusions of control, but the familiarity between them had sparked a question he couldn’t shake.
He pulled out his phone and shot a quick text to Dawg: *Hey brother, quick Q about Riley. Why’d you call her Meg that first day? Ella introduce her that way or what?*
Dawg’s reply came almost immediately: *Yoga nickname.
Ella started it. Said Riley’s got that fiery, no-BS vibe like Meg from Little Women.
The one who’s all independent and artsy.
Stuck in class. Riley digs it there, says it’s like a reset button.
But she told me she prefers Riley everywhere else.
Keeps her worlds separate, you know? Why, jealous? :D*
Dan stared at the screen, a reluctant smile tugging at his scarred mouth.
Little Women? He hadn’t pegged Riley for the literary type, but the name fit, her strength wrapped in all that quiet defiance.
And yeah, maybe there’d been a twinge of jealousy, seeing her lean on Dawg like that.
But recognizing the nickname was a yoga thing, a safe space she carved out for herself, eased something in him.
It was another layer to her, like the tattoos she inked on her own skin, stories she chose when and how to share.
He texted back: *Nah, just curious. Thanks man.*
Dawg: *She’s good people, Dan. Treat her right.*
Dan pocketed the phone, the words lingering. Treat her right. Like he needed the reminder. But yeah, he would. Every damn day.
He made his way back to their bedroom and stood in the doorway appreciating the woman in front of him. She’d gone to bed in one of his RMMC support shirts, and he loved seeing her in the club’s gear.
Time to wake my woman up.
***
Riley
Riley lay there in the afterglow, her head pillowed on Dan’s scarred chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat.
The room was quiet except for the distant serenade of crickets outside, and the day’s events swirled in her mind.
Moments like the honest laughter with the girls, the easy camaraderie, and the way they’d welcomed her without question.
Their acceptance and friendship made her feel settled, like she belonged somewhere for the first time in years.
But that warmth stirred something else, a curiosity she couldn’t quite suppress.
She propped herself up on one elbow, tracing lazy patterns on his skin with her fingertip. “Hey, Dan?”
“Mmm?” His voice was low, sleepy, his eyes half-closed as he looked at her.
She hesitated, suddenly unsure if she wanted the answer, but the words tumbled out anyway. “Before me...what was your dating life like? I mean, after the military, with the scars and all. Were there others?”
Dan’s eyes opened fully, and he shifted slightly, pulling her closer.
“Not much to tell, really. After the blast, I wasn’t exactly prime real estate.
Women took one look and bolted. There were a couple who tried, but they were pity dates, mostly.
One nurse from rehab stuck around for a few weeks, thought she could ‘fix’ me.
Name was Sarah. Blonde, sweet, but she couldn’t handle the stares we got in public.
Ended it gently. She said it was too hard watching people flinch. ”
Riley’s stomach twisted, a sharp pang she hadn’t expected.
She pictured this Sarah, this pretty, compassionate woman, touching his scars the way she did now, and a hot flush of jealousy burned through her.
Why did the idea of another woman bother her so much?
He is here with me, not some ghost from the past. But the image lingered, making her chest tight.
“And before that?” she pressed, regretting it even as she asked. “In the service? Any serious ones?”
He chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it.
“A high school sweetheart who wrote me letters for the first deployment. Lisa. We were kids who thought puppy love was gonna last forever. She met someone else while I was gone. He was some kind of accountant type. She broke it off in a Dear John email. After that, dating was just flings, nothing real. Until you.”
Lisa. Sarah. Names that shouldn’t matter, but suddenly they did.
Riley imagined them, young, unscarred, Lisa laughing with a pre-blast Dan, the one without the bandana or the shadows in his eyes.
Her fingers stilled on his chest, and she forced a smile, but it felt brittle. “Sounds like you dodged a few bullets.”
Dan tilted her chin up, searching her face. “Hey, what’s that look? You jealous, Monroe?”
She scoffed, but it came out too quick, too defensive.
“Me? No. Just curious.” Liar. The green-eyed monster was clawing at her insides, whispering that those women had parts of him she’d never know.
She buried her face in his neck, inhaling his scent of leather and soap to ground herself.
Stupid, she thought. He’s mine, no question about that.
But the regret settled in, heavy and unwelcome. Why did I open that door?
He wrapped his arms around her tighter, pressing a kiss to her hair. “They’re history, Riley. You’re my now. My always.”
She nodded against him, letting his words soothe the sting. But as she drifted towards sleep, the names echoed faintly, a reminder that love came with vulnerabilities she wasn’t used to facing. Next time, she’d keep her questions to herself.