Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Romeo
The clubhouse was quiet by nine-thirty Thursday night. Most of the brothers were either out or had disappeared into their rooms, and I’d been stretched across my bed pretending I might eventually find enough motivation to get up when my phone lit with Fiona’s name.
Ma Belle: Do you ever think about the night we met?
I smiled before I finished reading.
Think about it?
There wasn’t a day since December when some piece of that night hadn’t found its way back into my head. Sometimes it was the first moment I saw her standing beside Josie. Other times it was the sound of her laugh after I kissed her hand.
Mostly, I remembered those silver eyes looking at me while she asked a question no girl her age should’ve had enough pain behind her to ask.
Me: Every day.
Her response came immediately.
Ma Belle: Every day?
Me: Every single one.
I could picture her in Virginia with her phone in her hands, probably curled beneath a blanket even though it was summer because Fiona treated blankets like a basic human right regardless of the weather.
Ma Belle: What do you remember?
I didn’t have to think about the answer.
Me: You asking whether girls like you got their happily ever after.
Every time I saw those dots—waiting for a response—I imagined her looking away, blushing.
Ma Belle: I was embarrassed after I said that.
My smile disappeared. I remembered that too. The way she’d looked down afterward as if wanting something good had exposed too much.
Me: You shouldn’t have been.
Ma Belle: I think I was hoping you’d say yes.
Me: I did.
Ma Belle: You said mine was waiting.
My thumb rested against the edge of the screen.
I’d meant every word that night.
The only thing I’d left out was that the bastard waiting for her had been sitting right beside her.
Me: He is.
Ma Belle: He?
I laughed.
Me: Should I have said she?
Ma Belle: You’re not as funny as you think you are
I was fucking hilarious. I was still smiling when her next message appeared.
Ma Belle: What if I already found him?
Every trace of humor left me, and I sat straighter against the headboard and read it again.
What if I already found him?
There were only so many ways to interpret that after months of what had been happening between us, and for once, I didn’t try to invent another one.
She meant me.
At least I fucking hoped she did.
Fiona had taught me that certainty on my end didn’t mean I got to put words into her mouth. If she wanted to tell me, I wanted to hear her say it because she’d chosen to.
Me: Then he’s the luckiest bastard alive.
Her answer took longer.
Ma Belle: What if he’s too stubborn to notice?
I smiled slowly. Well, hell. Maybe she was getting tired of subtle.
Me: Then maybe you should give him a reason to notice.
I stared at the screen while the three dots appeared.
Ma Belle: I plan to
My heart kicked hard against my ribs.
There were any number of responses I could’ve sent to that.
Every one of them would’ve pushed.
So I gave her the only one that didn’t.
Me: Good.
The phone stayed quiet for almost a minute before another message came through.
Ma Belle: Romeo?
I frowned.
Romeo.
Fiona used Jasper when she was comfortable. Romeo usually appeared when something became too real and she needed the road name between us.
Me: Yes, Cher?
Ma Belle: Nothing.
I stared at the word. Whatever had been behind that Romeo mattered. I also knew better than to chase it.
Me: One day you’re going to finish that sentence.
Ma Belle: Maybe
Me: I’ll wait.
I lowered the phone and let my head fall back against the wall.
Waiting used to feel like the hardest part of this whole thing. Now it was becoming strangely easy.
Not because I wanted her any less. If anything, I wanted her more. But each time Fiona came closer on her own, it felt better than anything I could’ve dragged out of her.
What if I already found him?
I closed my eyes.
She was getting there.
And so help me, God, I was going to let her.
Three nights later, I’d been staring at the ceiling long enough to start considering whether I should get up and find something productive to do when my phone buzzed against my chest.
Ma Belle: Can I tell you something?
Every lazy thought disappeared.
Me: Always.
The three dots appeared, vanished, then came back. I waited without touching the keyboard.
Ma Belle: It’s complicated.
I smiled faintly. Complicated didn’t scare me. My entire life had existed somewhere between complicated and completely fucked.
Me: I’m good with complicated.
Ma Belle: You say that now.
Me: I’ll say it tomorrow too.
That wasn’t charm. It wasn’t even confidence. If Fiona told me something tomorrow that changed what I knew about her past, it wouldn’t erase everything I’d learned about who she was now.
Her next message came slowly.
Ma Belle: What if it changes how you see me?
I sat forward.
There it was.
Whatever she’d almost told me before, whatever secret had been sitting behind half a dozen conversations lately, Fiona believed it had the power to change my opinion of her.
That bothered me more than not knowing what it was.
Me: That would take a lot.
Ma Belle: You don’t know that.
Me: I know you.
I did.
Not everything, not every story.
But I knew how she treated Granny when she thought nobody noticed. I knew she loved Charlie enough that his name softened her entire voice. I knew she wanted to become a social worker because somebody had once stood beside her and she wanted to be that person for someone else.
Whatever happened before I knew her had helped shape those things.
It hadn’t erased them.
Ma Belle: Not everything.
Me: Then tell me the rest.
The dots appeared and disappeared so many times I finally put the phone down beside me and forced myself not to type anything else.
Eventually, the answer came.
Ma Belle: I can’t do it by text.
Me: Then call me.
Ma Belle: Not yet.
The disappointment was immediate, but it wasn’t anger. Fiona had been moving toward something for weeks. If she’d gotten this close and still couldn’t say it, pushing wouldn’t make the truth easier. It would only make me another person who’d decided her boundaries mattered less than what I wanted.
Me: All right.
Ma Belle: You’re not going to push?
Me: No.
Ma Belle: Why not?
I leaned my head against the wall.
The first answer that came to mind was because I loved her.
I didn’t type it.
Fiona wasn’t ready for that word. Hell, I wasn’t even sure I was ready to hand it to her through a phone screen and let three dots decide my entire fucking future.
Me: Because when you tell me, I want it to be because you’re ready, not because I cornered you.
Her answer came almost immediately.
Ma Belle: You make it very hard not to love you
I stopped breathing. For a few seconds, the room seemed too fucking quiet. I read the sentence once, then again, although the words didn’t change.
You make it very hard not to love you.
Not I love you.
Not quite.
But close enough that every muscle in my body tightened as if she’d whispered the words against my mouth.
Me: Fiona.
That was all I trusted myself to type.
If I let my hands move any farther, she was going to get the truth before either of us was ready for it.
Her answer came a moment later.
Ma Belle: Goodnight, Jasper.
I groaned.
Me: That was cruel.
Ma Belle: I learned from you
I stared at the screen, half frustrated and half impressed.
She wasn’t wrong.
I’d spent months giving Fiona enough to let her know what I wanted without ever laying the whole thing at her feet. Apparently, she’d been paying attention.
The conversation ended there.
I put the phone on the nightstand and scrubbed both hands over my face, but the words stayed in front of me even with my eyes closed.
You make it very hard not to love you.
I wanted to hear her say it.
Not because I needed the reassurance—I’d known what Fiona was to me from the beginning. I wanted the moment she stopped fighting herself.
The thought of her looking at me and finally saying those words pulled every other image I’d spent months keeping under control right along with it.
I shifted against the bed as my body reacted.
“Fuck.”
This wasn’t new. Wanting Fiona had been a low-grade form of torture for months. Usually, I could redirect it. Take a shower. Work. Go ride until my head cleared.
Tonight, her words had gotten too far under my skin.
My hand moved to the button of my jeans.
I hesitated for exactly one second before giving up on the war in my mind.
The zipper sounded loud in the quiet room as I freed myself and wrapped my hand around my cock. The first stroke dragged a rough breath from my chest, and I closed my eyes.
Fiona filled the darkness immediately.
Not some faceless fantasy built around a body.
Her.
Those silver eyes watching me. The slight crease between her brows when she was trying to work out what I meant. The way I envisioned her mouth curved right before she typed something meant to annoy me.
I imagined finally standing close enough that neither of us had a screen to hide behind. Her hand at the back of my neck. Her breath warm against my mouth.
You make it very hard not to love you.
My grip tightened.
I wanted to hear the rest of that sentence with her looking straight at me.
I wanted her to say my name without using it as a wall between us. Wanted to kiss her until she forgot why she’d ever needed one.
My hand moved faster, desire tightening low in my body while every thought narrowed to Fiona.
What she’d feel like against me.
What sound she’d make if I kissed the place beneath her ear.
Whether she’d hold on or push me harder once she finally stopped being afraid of wanting me.
Months of restraint lived inside every image, making each one sharper.
When release finally hit, it came hard enough to pull her name from me.
“Fiona.”
I stayed slumped against the headboard for several seconds afterward, catching my breath before reaching for the towel beside the bed and cleaning myself up.
The room felt particularly quiet once I was done.
Her phone remained dark on the nightstand.
Goodnight, Jasper.
I laughed softly.
The woman knew exactly what she’d done. I picked up the phone and read her earlier message one more time.
You make it very hard not to love you.
For months, I’d thought the waiting would eventually break me.
Maybe I’d been wrong.
There was something almost addictive about watching Fiona arrive at each realization on her own.
Every step belonged to her. Every flirtation that went a little farther.
Every question she finally risked asking.
Every piece of herself she offered because she’d decided I was safe enough to receive it.
Whatever secret she was still afraid to tell me would come the same way.
When she was ready.
I plugged in the phone and settled beneath the blankets.
Fiona might not have told me she loved me tonight.
But she’d gotten close enough that sleep was probably fucked for another few hours.
I could live with that.