Chapter 8
Rook
One second, he was staring at Avery like she was the only thing in the damn building, and the next, he was outside, the cold air hitting him like a slap. His pulse was still hammering. His jaw ached from clenching it. His hands shook with leftover adrenaline.
He’d told another man she wasn’t interested.
He’d stepped in like he had any right.
He hated himself for it.
He hated how natural it felt.
He hated how much he cared.
By the time he reached the clubhouse, he was a storm barely held together by leather and willpower.
He shoved the door open.
The familiar scent hit him first; motor oil, leather, cigarette smoke, and the faint sweetness of whatever cheap air freshener the sweetbutts had hung up this week. Music thumped low from the speakers. Pool balls clacked. Laughter echoed from the back hallway.
All of it stopped the second he walked in.
Stone stood near the bar, expression unreadable. Grim leaned against the wall, smirk fading when he saw Rook’s face. Havoc paused mid-throw at the dart target. Ledger set down his book, eyes narrowing behind his glasses.
Prospects froze like they’d been caught stealing.
And Fish, sitting in his usual chair, whiskey glass in hand, lifted his gaze first.
Rook didn’t look at any of them. He headed straight for the bar. Grabbing a beer from the ice bucket on the bar top.
Stone followed.
Stone didn’t look up from the table. “Start talking.”
Rook’s jaw flexed. “Not happening.”
Stone finally lifted his eyes, lethal in their calm. “I wasn’t asking.”
Rook slammed the bottle down, glass rattling against wood. “She doesn’t get to walk in and flip my whole damn world upside down.”
Havoc let out a low whistle. “Oh yeah. He’s spiraling.”
Grim bumped into him. “Shut it. Man’s about to detonate.”
Ledger didn’t even blink. “Correction: he already did.”
Stone ignored all of them, gaze locked on Rook. “What went down?”
Rook dragged a hand through his hair. “Some asshole hit on her.”
Havoc’s eyebrows shot up. “And you… what? Growled at him?”
Rook glared, picking up his beer again. “I told him she wasn’t interested.”
Havoc whooped. “Oh, he’s gone. He’s so gone.”
Ledger nodded. “You don’t get that possessive over someone you’re done with.”
Rook snapped, “Shut up, all of you.”
Stone didn’t flinch. “You care.”
“It doesn’t matter.” He popped the cap off the beer.
“It does.”
Rook turned away, pacing, taking a swing from the cool beer in his hand. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I shouldn’t have stepped in. I shouldn’t…”
“You shouldn’t lie to yourself,” Stone said quietly.
Rook froze.
Stone stepped closer, voice steady. “You’ve been holding this in for seven years. You think it’s not gonna blow up in your face?”
Noah swallowed hard. “I don’t want to feel this.”
“Too late,” Grim muttered.
Havoc nodded. “Way too late.”
Ledger added, “Irreversibly late.”
Stone ignored them. “Go cool off.”
Rook didn’t argue.
Leaving his full beer on the top of the bar, he headed down the hallway, boots heavy against the floor, and pushed into his room. He shut the door behind him and leaned against it, breathing hard.
Silence wrapped around him.
His room was simple: bed, dresser, a few photos, his cut hanging on the back of a chair. The faint hum of the clubhouse filtered through the walls, mixed with the distant rumble of bikes outside and the metallic tang of oil clinging to his skin from the ride.
He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, breath coming hard and uneven.
He dragged both hands over his face, trying to steady his breathing, but something on the nightstand caught his eye.
A thin strip of worn leather.
For a second, he didn’t move.
Then his chest tightened, breath stalling as he reached for it.
The bracelet was small, simple — dark brown leather braided loosely, the ends tied in a knot that had frayed over the years. Avery had made it when they were kids, sitting cross-legged on the bakery floor, tongue poking out in concentration as she tried to get the braid even.
She’d handed it to him with a shy little smile.
“So you don’t forget me when you’re off doing boy things.”
He’d laughed. He’d promised he wouldn’t. He’d slipped it on and never took it off.
Not until the night she left.
He’d taken it off then, not to get rid of it, but because wearing it hurt too damn much. He’d shoved it in a drawer, told himself he’d throw it away.
He never did.
Now, holding it again, the years collapsed in on him. The leather was soft from age, warm from his hand, familiar in a way that made something deep in his chest twist hard.
He closed his eyes, jaw locking.
He should’ve tossed it. He should’ve let it go. He should’ve let her go.
But he hadn’t.
He couldn’t.
His thumb traced the braid, slow and unsteady.
The knot she’d tied was still there, crooked, too loose on one side.
He remembered teasing her about it. He remembered her rolling her eyes and telling him to shut up.
He remembered her leaning into him, shoulder brushing his, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He remembered everything.
A sharp breath punched out of him, rough and uneven.
He’d spent seven years pretending he didn’t miss her. Pretending he didn’t think about her. Pretending he didn’t still feel that empty space where she used to fit.
But this bracelet, this stupid simple piece of leather, was proof he’d never stopped carrying her.
Never stopped wanting her.
Never stopped hurting.
He pressed the bracelet to his forehead, eyes squeezed shut, breath shaking.
The room felt too small, too warm, too full of the ghost of her. His pulse throbbed in his throat, in his chest, low in his stomach — a restless, hungry ache he hadn’t felt in years.
Avery’s face burned behind his eyelids.
The way she’d looked at him in the grocery store: flushed, furious, caught between shoving him away or pulling him closer.
The way her tank top clung to her curves, the soft sway of her hips when she walked, the stubborn tilt of her chin.
The way her eyes sparked when she was angry.
God, he’d forgotten how beautiful she was when she argued back.
He dragged a hand over his face, groaning.
She wasn’t the girl he used to know. She was all woman now, soft in ways that made his chest ache, strong in ways that made his pulse jump.
And he felt every inch of it.
He leaned back on the mattress, staring at the ceiling, breath unsteady. Heat curled low in his stomach, sharp and insistent. His body reacted before his mind could catch up, a tight pull of want that made him grit his teeth.
He shouldn’t be thinking about her like this.
He shouldn’t be remembering the way she used to laugh, the way she used to lean into him without thinking, the way she used to look at him like he was hers.
He shouldn’t be imagining the warmth of her skin, the softness of her breath against his throat, the way she’d feel pressed against him.
But he was.
He always had.
He turned onto his side, jaw clenched, heart pounding hard enough to hurt. The memory of her scent, warm and familiar, wrapped around him like a vice. His body tightened, heat rolling through him in slow, relentless waves.
He cursed under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair.
Wanting her felt dangerous. Wanting her felt inevitable.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to breathe past the ache, past the hunger, past the way his body reacted just thinking her name.
But the images wouldn’t stop: Avery close, Avery soft, Avery angry and beautiful and right there in front of him, looking at him like she remembered everything they’d been and everything they’d almost become.
He shouldn’t want her like this. He shouldn’t let himself feel this. He shouldn’t let seven years of buried longing claw its way to the surface.
But it was too late.
It had been too late the second she walked back into his life.
He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling, chest rising and falling in uneven pulls. The room felt thick with the echo of her, her voice, her scent, her heat, and he couldn’t outrun it. Couldn’t outrun her.
Avery Brooks was back.
And no matter how hard he tried to fight it, something inside him had already cracked open, something he couldn’t shove back down.
He wasn’t sure he could stop it this time.
He wasn’t sure he wanted to.