Chapter Six
Reaper rolled into the parking lot behind the diner, the low growl of his bike cutting off as he killed the engine. For a moment, he just sat there, gloved hands gripping the handlebars.
The sun beat down on the cracked asphalt, heat waves shimmering like a mirage in the distance. His gaze drifted to the back door of the diner, where Savannah would slip out on her break, ready to light up his whole damn world with a smile she probably didn’t even know she had.
What the hell am I doing? This wasn’t his style. He didn’t wait around for women. He didn’t plan surprise lunches or debate the finer points of grilled cheese sandwiches. And he sure as hell didn’t get butterflies—Jesus, butterflies—waiting to see if she’d be happy to see him. But here he was, parked behind a diner, second-guessing himself like some lovesick teenager.
It had been ten years since he’d “ dated. ” The last time, he’d fallen hard and fast for Pat, the woman who eventually became his wife. Her laugh, her fire, the way she never took any of his brooding bullshit—he’d thought that was it. Forever.
And even when forever turned into a deathbed promise, he’d told her there would be no one else. She’d smiled weakly, eyes bright with unshed tears and whispered that he shouldn’t shut himself off. That he deserved more love, more life.
He’d shaken his head, gripping her hand as if that could keep her there. “ There ’s no one else for me, Pat.”
He’d meant it. Until Savannah came roaring into his life, all sharp edges and hidden pain, like a spark he didn’t know he needed.
She was too young, too wild, too ... everything. But the way his heart clenched whenever he saw her told him he was fighting a losing battle.
Reaper took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “ Screw it, ” he muttered.
He wasn’t the type to play games. Life was too short for that kind of nonsense. He swung his leg over the bike, boots hitting the pavement with a solid thud, and headed for the diner’s back entrance.
The bell above the door jingled as he walked in. The smell of grease, coffee, and something vaguely sweet filled the air.
Samantha spotted him instantly, her eyes lighting up with recognition. She wiped her hands on her apron and grabbed a menu, a teasing smile on her lips.
“ Hey, Reaper. Need a table? ”
He shook his head. “ Nah. Just here to see Savannah. ”
Samantha’s smile faltered, a flicker of apology crossing her face. “ She ’s not here today.”
A chill settled in his gut. “ Not here? ”
She shook her head. “ She ’s feeling under the weather. Called in sick this morning.”
Reaper forced his face to remain neutral, but disappointment twisted through him like barbed wire. He should’ve known this was a bad idea. Maybe he was pushing too hard, wanting too much. He glanced at the floor, jaw tight.
Samantha must’ve seen the flicker of dejection he tried to hide because her eyes softened. She leaned closer, dropping her voice.
“Listen, she asked me to swing by the pharmacy after my shift to grab her some cold meds. But maybe you’d like to do that instead?”
He raised an eyebrow, suspicion warring with hope. “ You sure? ”
She grinned slyly, already pulling her phone out. “ Yeah. I think she ’d prefer it if you showed up.”
A second later, his phone buzzed with her text. The message was simple—a short list of meds Savannah needed—but to Reaper, it felt like an invitation. A chance.
“ Thanks, Samantha. ” His voice came out rougher than he intended.
“ Don ’t mention it.” She winked. “ Just take care of her. ”
He nodded, a silent promise in that simple gesture, and turned on his heel. He pushed through the door, the sun feeling less harsh now, the heat less oppressive.
He straddled his bike and fired it up, the roar of the engine vibrating through his bones as he headed toward the pharmacy.
The pharmacy was quiet, the fluorescent lights casting everything in a clinical glow. Reaper felt out of place here, surrounded by shelves stocked with pastel-colored boxes and rows of bottles that promised quick fixes.
He grabbed what Savannah needed—cold meds, tissues, cough drops—and then paused. His gaze landed on a row of lip balms. The memory of Savannah’s lips, dry and cracked from the wind during their last ride, made his fingers itch. He grabbed one—cherry flavored—and added it to the basket.
Back on his bike, he spotted a nearby diner that did takeout. An idea struck him, and he pulled in without a second thought. Ten minutes later, he walked out with a steaming container of tomato soup and a couple of slices of buttered bread. If Savannah was sick, the least he could do was bring her something warm and comforting.
The ride to her apartment was a blur of thoughts and doubts. By the time he parked in front of her building, his nerves were frayed. He hadn’t felt this uncertain in years. The weight of the soup container and pharmacy bag felt heavier than they should have.
He climbed the stairs, each step echoing in the silent hallway. Finally, he reached her door. For a moment, he just stood there, staring at the faded numbers on the peeling paint.
What if she doesn’t want to see me? What if this is too much? Then he remembered Pat’s voice, soft and steady, telling him not to shut himself off.
Reaper knocked.
A few seconds passed before he heard shuffling inside. The door cracked open, and Savannah peered out, her eyes dull with exhaustion, her cheeks flushed. She wore an oversized hoodie and leggings, her hair piled into a messy bun. Even like this, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
Her eyes widened when she saw him. “ Reaper? ”
“ Hey, ” he said softly, holding up the bags. “ Samantha said you were under the weather. Thought you could use some supplies. ”
For a moment, she just stared at him, something unreadable in her eyes. Then, her face softened, and she curved her lips upward to a smile. She stepped back and opened the door wider.
“ Come in .”
He entered, the warmth of her small apartment enveloping him. She took the bags from his hands, her fingers brushing his briefly, sending a jolt of heat through him.
“ You didn ’t have to do this,” she murmured.
“ Yeah, I did. ” His voice was rough, sincere. “ Figured you shouldn ’t have to tough it out alone.”
She swallowed, eyes shimmering. “ Thank you. ”
He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling too big, too rough for her space. “ I brought soup. Thought it might help. ”
Her smile widened, a real one this time, and it felt like sunlight breaking through clouds. “ It ’s perfect.”
He watched as she set the soup on the table, his heart pounding. The silence between them was charged, full of things unsaid. But for now, it was enough just to be here, to take care of her.
****
Reaper leaned back in Savannah’s worn armchair. The hum of the TV filled the silence, some old black-and-white movie flickering across the screen.
He wasn’t really paying attention, though. His eyes kept drifting to Savannah curled up on the couch, wrapped in a soft blanket, her fingers cradling a steaming bowl of tomato soup. Her cheeks were still flushed from the fever, but there was a hint of color returning to her lips, and her eyes seemed brighter than they had this morning.
She caught him looking and gave a playful smirk. “You know, you don’t have to babysit me. I’m not dying,” she told him.
“ Could ’ve fooled me,” he shot back, a grin tugging at his mouth.
She rolled her eyes, but the smile stayed. “ Don ’t you have things to do? Club business and all that?”
He did. A list of errands and tasks for the MC was burning a hole in the back of his mind. But for once, he didn’t care. The world outside this apartment could wait.
“Figured they could take a back seat today,” he said, his voice low, firm. “I’m exactly where I wanna be.”
Her eyes widened slightly, the teasing glint replaced by something softer, something more vulnerable. She ducked her head, a strand of hair falling loose from her bun. Her fingers toyed with the edge of her blanket.
“You keep hanging around, you’re gonna catch my cold,” she pointed out.
Reaper chuckled. “ I ’ll risk it,” he told her.
She peeked up at him through her lashes, her smile gentle, almost shy. “ Your funeral. ”
“ Been through worse, ” he said with a shrug.
A quiet settled over the room, not awkward, but thick with things unsaid. Reaper’s gaze traced the line of Savannah’s jaw, the delicate curve of her neck.
He’d never met anyone like her—soft and sharp all at once, a tangle of contradictions he was desperate to unravel. And even though she tried to hide it behind sarcasm and sass, there was a shadow in her eyes, a weight she carried. He wanted to know what it was. Wanted to help carry it. But he knew better than to push.
She took another sip of her soup, then set the bowl on the coffee table. The blanket slipped slightly off her shoulder, revealing the thin strap of her tank top underneath. Reaper’s eyes caught on the curve of her collarbone and breast before he forced himself to look away.
“ So, ” she murmured, voice quiet. “ I guess I owe you a little honesty. ”
His chest tightened. He stayed silent, giving her the space she needed.
“I’ve been … on the run,” she said, her fingers worrying the edge of the blanket. “For a while now.”
The words were simple, but the weight behind them was crushing. Reaper felt his jaw clench. Who the hell was she running from? He kept his expression neutral, though, his eyes steady on her face.
She lifted her gaze, her eyes guarded. “ Don ’t ask why. Not yet.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw, but he nodded. If she wasn’t ready to give him the whole truth, he’d take what she could give. For now.
“ All right, ” he said, his voice low and even. “ I won ’t ask.”
She exhaled, relief flickering across her features. “ Thanks. ”
Silence stretched between them again, but it wasn’t as tense this time. It was like the weight of her confession had loosened something, even if just a little. Reaper leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. He stared down at his hands, the knuckles scarred, the veins prominent.
“ You ’re not the only one with ghosts,” he said, the words tasting unfamiliar on his tongue.
He didn’t talk about this. Not with anyone. But for some reason, it felt right to tell her.
She tilted her head, curiosity lighting her eyes. “ Yeah? ”
“ Yeah. ” He took a deep breath, the memories settling like stones in his chest. “ Her name was Pat. My wife. ”
Savannah’s eyes widened, and she straightened up a little. “ You were married? ”
He nodded. “A long time ago. She was … everything. Tough, smart, didn’t take any shit from me.” He paused, continued, “She got sick. We fought it together, but some fights aren’t meant to be won.”
Savannah’s eyes softened, her brows pulling together. “ I ’m so sorry.”
He shrugged, but the weight of grief was there, just beneath the surface.
“She told me to keep going. To open myself up to more.” He huffed a humorless laugh. “Didn’t think I’d ever listen.”
Savannah’s gaze was steady, her eyes searching his face. “ And now? ”
He met her eyes, something raw and honest passing between them. “ Now, I ’m not so sure.”
She swallowed, her throat working, and nodded slowly. “ It ’s hard to trust again. To let someone in.”
“ Yeah, ” he agreed, his voice rough. “ But maybe it ’s worth the risk.”
They sat there, the air between them thick with shared understanding. Reaper felt something shift inside him, a tether pulling him closer to her, to this fragile connection they were building.
“ Thank you for telling me, ” Savannah whispered. “ About her. ”
He nodded. “ Thanks for trusting me. Even just a little. ”
She smiled faintly. “ You make it hard not to. ”
Reaper’s heart kicked in his chest. He leaned back, trying to regain some semblance of control, but he kept his gaze on her. On the way her shoulders relaxed, the way her lips curved just slightly, like she was letting herself hope for the first time in a long while.
“ Come on, ” he said, voice low. “ You need rest. ”
She rolled her eyes, but her smile stayed. “Bossy.”
He stood, towering over her, and offered his hand. “Someone’s gotta keep you in line.”
She took his hand, her fingers warm and small against his. As he helped her up, they were close enough that he could feel the heat of her body, the faint scent of lavender clinging to her skin. For a moment, neither of them moved.
Reaper’s eyes dropped to her lips. The urge to kiss her was a low burn in his gut, but he held back. She was still recovering, still fighting off whatever storm was chasing her. He wasn’t about to add to her burdens. But damn, he wanted to.
“ Get some sleep, Savannah, ” he murmured, his voice like gravel.
She nodded, her eyes flicking up to his. “ You ’ll stay a little longer?”
He squeezed her hand gently. “ Yeah. I ’ll be right here.”
She released a shaky breath and nodded, disappearing into her bedroom. As the door clicked shut, Reaper sank back into the armchair, his heart pounding.