Chapter 7 Miles
Seven
Miles
I don’t expect to see her.
That’s the thing about it. This hits so hard because there is no warning. No time to brace. One second I’m stepping into Raff’s house with the familiar weight of quiet joy and exhaustion hanging in the air, and the next—She’s there.
Danae.
Arkansas Danae. The pussy I can’t get out of my head.
Standing in my brother’s living room like she belongs. While I’m stuck in the doorway staring like an idiot.
My brain stutters. My feet keep moving because they’re trained to, but everything else in me locks up.
The room sharpens around her, the way she stands on alert, the way she holds herself like she’s ready for the world to come at her sideways, the familiar green of her eyes softening when she looks at the baby in Raff’s arms. The genuine love as she gazes at Josie and then back to the baby.
I don’t breathe. She’s real and right in front of me. Not a memory. Not a phantom from a night I’ve spent weeks pretending didn’t carve itself into my bones.
She’s here. In North Carolina. In Raff’s house.
My world feels smaller all of a sudden. Like the walls leaned in without asking permission. I stay in the doorway, half-shadowed, watching as she steps closer to the baby. She doesn’t crowd. Doesn’t rush. She moves like someone who knows exactly how fragile moments like this are.
“She’s perfect,” Danae says, her voice softer than I’ve ever heard it. “Good job, Josie Mosie.”
Josie snorts from the couch. “Tell my body that. I feel like I got hit by a truck.”
Danae smiles, an actual, unguarded smile, and something in my chest twists. “That’s what happens when you push a human out of your body. But hey. You survived.”
The room laughs quietly around her. Like gravity shifted when she walked in and everyone adjusted without realizing it.
I should leave. That’s the smart move. Back away. Give them space. Keep this night about what it’s supposed to be about. New life, Raff and Josie’s love.
But my body doesn’t listen. I clear my throat instead, leaning against the doorframe like I planned it this way. “Damn. I was just coming to check in, didn’t know there’d be a whole welcome committee.”
Danae turns.
Her eyes hit mine and stop.
There it is.
That flicker. That sharp, unmistakable recognition that slices through me like a blade. She schools her face fast. The same way I saw it when she woke up and realized I was gone because yes, I watched. She’s clever and can cover up her emotions easily. Too easily if you ask me.
My brain is in overdrive. I didn’t know she’d be here. Honestly, I didn’t know she’d be anywhere near me again unless I went back for more. And that thought had crossed my mind more than once.
“Didn’t know you’d be here,” I manage to speak, because the truth feels too big to hold in my mouth.
She crosses her arms, defensive reflex snapping into place. “I could say the same about you.”
I grin automatically, because that’s my armor. Because if I don’t smile in a smirk, I might stare too long. Might give away how hard my pulse is hammering.
“You’re feisty,” I say. “I like that.”
Her eyes narrow. “Not interested.”
I chuckle, though it comes out rougher than I intend. “We’ll see.”
But I don’t mean it the way it sounds. Not really. This isn’t a chase. This isn’t a game. This is a full force, head on collision.
Raff moves past me then, grounding the moment without meaning to. He sets Journey into the bassinet, careful, delicate like. The room’s focus goes back to where it belongs, this new life.
I watch from the sidelines as he kneels in front of Justice, his voice low and steady, saying all the things a kid needs to hear when his world just rearranged itself.
I should be watching that. I am watching that.
But my awareness keeps sliding back to Danae like a pulled muscle, an ache I can’t escape.
She’s near the couch now, sitting with Josie, her knee angled toward her, listening like it matters. Like she matters. I tell myself to breathe.
This is Raff’s night. Josie’s night. The baby’s night. Danae being here shouldn’t mean anything to me.
Except it does.
Because I know her.
Not her name, at least other than seeing it on paper when I looked at her mail.
But I know the intimate details. The way she inhales before she says something she’s trying to be brave about.
I know the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s holding herself together with threads.
I know the way she goes quiet when she’s processing something too big to touch yet.
I know her body, too. The memory comes uninvited, heat flashes sharp, and I have to clench my jaw to keep it from showing on my face.
Get it together.
Justice clings to Raff, and I look away when my chest tightens. I don’t belong in the center of this moment. I never did. I’m an outside observer. Support of sorts. But this isn’t the life I can have, can touch.
Danae catches me watching, and her gaze doesn’t soften this time. It holds me at arm’s length, all boundaries and unsaid things.
Good. That’s safer. She needs to keep her distance from me and men like me.
The evening unfolds in small pieces. Quiet chaos. Bottles clinking. Whispers. A house learning its new rhythm.
I keep busy in the shadows, simply hanging around in case they need a run to the store for some forgotten item or if Raff wants me to fire up the grill to make some food. We all basically signed up to take different shifts being nearby so Raff doesn’t actually have to leave his woman for a bit.
When Raff takes Justice outside, I stay inside. When Josie finally heads to bed, I drift toward the kitchen under the excuse of grabbing water. Danae is already there, wiping down the counter like she’s been doing it her whole life.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say before I can stop myself.
She glances at me sideways. “I know.”
But she keeps wiping. I lean against the counter across from her, careful not to crowd her space. “You flew in fast.”
She nods. “As soon as I got the call.”
“From Arkansas just hopped on a plane?”
Her jaw tightens just enough for me to notice. “Yes.”
There’s something in that. Distance. Effort. Commitment.
“Josie’s lucky,” I say.
“She is,” Danae agrees. “And so is the baby.”
Silence stretches. Not comfortable. Not hostile either. Just heavy with unsaid words.
“So,” I say quietly. “Small world.”
She lets out a breath that sounds like a laugh without humor. “You have no idea.”
I want to ask a hundred questions. What are you doing here?
How long are you staying? Did you think about me when you came?
Did you know this is where I’m from? She saw my cut.
That’s why she calls me Miles, my road-name.
Did she recognize the Hellions insignia and come here for that?
She has a nickname for Josie. Are they friends?
The more I think the more questions come to mind.
I ask none of them. Because she didn’t ask for this either.
Raff and Justice come back inside, breaking the tension clean in half.
Danae moves immediately, back into her role, back into usefulness.
I watch her do it, admiring it more than I should.
Eventually, I make my excuses and head out.
The night air hits me like a reset button, but it doesn’t clear her from my head.
It makes her louder. I sit in my truck for a long minute before starting it, hands gripping the steering wheel like it’s the only thing keeping me anchored.
She’s here. In my town. In my circle. And I don’t know what the hell that means.
Going home feels wrong because I am putting distance between me and her.
It’s necessary, but it damn sure doesn’t feel right.
I don’t sleep much. Every time I close my eyes, I see her standing in Raff’s living room, suitcase by the wall like she planned to stay.
Like she planned to exist in the same air as me again.
By morning, my thoughts are a mess. I tell myself it doesn’t matter.
She’s here for Josie. She’ll leave. This doesn’t touch me unless I let it.
But by the time I hear through the grapevine that she’s staying at the house, helping out, settling in like she’s part of the damn furniture, I know I’m lying to myself. Because I want to see her again.
Not in the way I usually want things. Not physical. Not reckless. More than anything, the scariest thing of all … knowing she’s here makes me want to stay put.
When I stop by later that afternoon under the pretense of dropping off groceries Raff asked for, I don’t pretend it’s coincidence. Danae answers the door. She looks tired. Real tired. Hair pulled back, no makeup, sleeves rolled up like she’s been working nonstop.
And she still knocks the breath out of me. “Hey,” I greet casually.
“Hey,” she replies.
We stand there a beat too long.
She steps aside. “Come in.”
The house smells like clean laundry and something warm baking. Home. It makes something ache in my chest that I don’t have a name for.
“She’s asleep,” Danae says, nodding toward the bedroom. “Both of them.”
“Justice?”
“At school. Raff went to pick him up.”
Of course he did. She’s already slotted herself into the rhythm. I set the groceries on the counter and begin shuffling around the kitchen to put the stuff away.
“You didn’t have to do all this.”
She looks at me then. Really looks, actually studying me so I tell the truth. “I wanted to.”
Silence again. But this one’s different. Less sharp. More fragile. “I didn’t expect to see you,” she says finally.
“I didn’t expect to see you either,” I answer with the same respect of the truth she gave to me.
Her lips press together. “Funny how that works.”
I hesitate, then take the risk. “That night—”
She lifts a hand. Not angry. Just firm. “Don’t.”
I stop immediately.
“I’m not pretending it didn’t happen,” she adds, quieter now. “I just can’t unpack it right now.”
I swallow. “Okay.”