Chapter 24
Avery
Avery woke slowly, drifting up from sleep like rising through warm honey.
The room was still, wrapped in that soft, early-morning quiet that felt almost sacred.
Warmth pooled around her, the kind that seeped into her bones and made her want to sink deeper into the mattress.
The sheets smelled faintly like cedar and smoke — like him — and the pillow beneath her cheek held the lingering heat of his body.
Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the low hum of the clubhouse waking up: a door closing, muted footsteps, the faint clatter of someone in the kitchen.
But here, in this small pocket of morning light and warmth, everything felt suspended. Safe. Whole.
Last night drifted back to her in soft, blurred pieces — the way he’d touched her like she was something breakable, the way he’d held her like he’d been waiting years to breathe again.
She’d fallen asleep with her head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and for the first time in a long time, her body hadn’t been tense.
She hadn’t been bracing for something to go wrong.
She hadn’t been shrinking or apologizing or trying to make herself small.
She’d felt… wanted. Safe. Seen.
The kind of safety she didn’t realize she’d been starving for until he wrapped his arms around her and everything inside her finally went quiet.
The memory softened, fading into the warmth pressed against her now.
The first thing she felt was heat. The second was strength. The third was Rook’s breath against the back of her neck, warm and steady.
His arm was wrapped around her waist, heavy and protective, his hand splayed over her stomach like he’d spent the entire night making sure she didn’t drift even an inch away.
She shifted slightly, and his grip tightened instinctively.
A low, sleepy rumble vibrated against her spine. “Don’t move yet.”
Avery stilled, her breath catching at the rough edge in his voice. He pressed his forehead lightly between her shoulder blades, exhaling like he’d been holding that breath all night. His arm tightened around her waist, not possessive, grounding. Like he needed the contact as much as she did.
For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. Just breathed her in, slow and steady, like he was memorizing the shape of her against him.
When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than she’d ever heard it. “I didn’t sleep much,” he murmured. “Kept waking up to make sure you were still here.”
Avery’s chest pulled tight. “Noah…”
He shook his head against her back, a small, almost embarrassed motion. “Didn’t want you seeing the mess in my head. Didn’t want you knowing how hard it hit me when you fell asleep on me.”
She reached down, brushing her fingers over the back of his hand where it rested on her stomach. “You don’t have to hide from me.”
She shifted in his arms, turning slowly until she could see his face. “You’ve been up awhile.”
He murmured, voice rough with sleep. “Didn’t want to stop holding you.”
His hair was mussed, his eyes soft and warm, his expression unguarded in a way she’d never seen before. He looked at her like she was something he’d dreamed about for years and finally got to touch.
“Morning,” she whispered.
He brushed a thumb across her cheek, slow and reverent. “You look like trouble.”
She laughed softly. “I feel like trouble.”
His eyes darkened, heat flickering there. “Yeah. I know.”
Her cheeks warmed. Last night had been intimate in a way that left her chest full and her body humming. She’d let him in. He’d held her like she was something sacred.
Rook’s gaze softened. “You okay?”
She nodded. “Better than okay.”
Rook shifted just enough to nuzzle the curve of her neck, his stubble brushing her skin in a way that made warmth bloom low in her stomach. “You’re warm,” he muttered, voice still thick with sleep. “And soft. And you smell like my sheets.”
She laughed quietly. “I smell like your detergent.”
“No,” he said, tightening his hold like he was trying to fuse her to him. “You smell like you. And I like it.”
Avery felt her cheeks heat. “You’re very talkative this morning.”
“Don’t get used to it,” he grumbled, but there was a smile in his voice. “It’s a temporary condition. Caused by you being in my bed.”
She rolled her eyes, even as her heart fluttered. “You’re impossible.”
“Mm.” He brushed his lips against her shoulder, lazy and warm. “And you’re comfortable. So don’t move.”
He exhaled, a long, relieved breath, and pulled her closer until her forehead rested against his collarbone. His hand slid up her back, fingers tracing slow, soothing lines.
“You scared me last night,” he admitted quietly. “Not because of the Reapers. Because I thought… if I touched you wrong, if I pushed too far… you’d run.”
Avery lifted her head, meeting his eyes. “I’m not running.”
He swallowed hard. “Say it again.”
“I’m not running, Noah.”
Emotion flickered across his face, raw, unguarded, overwhelming.
He cupped her face with both hands, his thumbs brushing her cheeks. “You have no idea what that does to me.”
She leaned into his touch. “Then show me.”
He kissed her.
Slow. Deep. Morning-soft and night-hot all at once.
Her fingers curled against his shoulder, pulling him closer. His hand slid into her hair, holding her gently but firmly, like he needed the anchor.
When they finally broke apart, they were both breathing a little harder.
Noah rested his forehead against hers. “I could get used to waking up like this.”
Avery smiled. “Me too.”
He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, fingertips lingering at her jaw. “You hungry?”
“Starving.”
He smirked. “Good. I’ll make you something.”
She blinked. “You’re volunteering?”
“For you? Yeah.”
Her heart did a ridiculous little flip.
He kissed her once more, soft, lingering, then rolled out of bed, pulling on a shirt. Avery sat up, the blanket slipping down her shoulders, under her breasts, and Rook froze mid-movement.
His eyes darkened.
“You’re gonna kill me,” he muttered.
She flushed. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said, voice low. “Just… stay right there for a second. I need to breathe.”
She laughed, and he shook his head, smiling like he couldn’t believe she was real.
He was halfway to the door when his phone buzzed on the nightstand.
He glanced at the screen.
His entire body went still.
Avery’s smile faded. “Noah?”
He answered the call. “Yeah?”
Stone’s voice was loud enough Avery could hear it from across the room.
“Rook. Church. Now.”
Rook’s jaw tightened. “What happened?”
“Reapers,” Stone said. “We’ve got movement. And intel.”
Avery’s stomach dropped.
Noah’s voice went low, dangerous. “I’ll be there in five.”
He hung up.
For a moment, he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared at the floor like he was trying to hold two worlds together with his bare hands.
Avery stood slowly. “Go. I’ll be okay.”
A muscle jumped in his jaw, the shift from Noah to Rook happening so fast it almost hurt to watch.
The warmth from moments ago drained out of his expression, replaced by something sharper, colder, carved from instinct and responsibility.
But beneath it — just for a heartbeat — she saw the crack he couldn’t hide.
He dragged a hand over his face, exhaling hard. “Feels like I’m being split in half,” he said quietly. “You make everything go still… then a call like that reminds me the world’s still burning.”
Avery’s chest tightened. He wasn’t talking about fear. He was talking about her, about the way loving her and protecting her pulled him in two directions at once.
She stepped closer, touching his arm. “Noah…”
He didn’t look at her yet. Couldn’t. His breath came slow and controlled, like he was wrestling himself back into the man he needed to be.
He looked up sharply. “You stay here. Door locked. Don’t open it for anyone but me or Stone.”
She nodded. “I promise.”
He crossed the room in three long strides and cupped her face, kissing her hard and full of everything he didn’t have time to say.
When he pulled back, his voice was rough. “I’ll come back to you.”
“I know,” she whispered.
He kissed her forehead, grabbed his cut, and headed for the door.
Just before he stepped out, he looked back at her, hair messy and wrapped in his blanket, standing in the middle of his room like she belonged there.
Emotion hit him so hard he had to grip the doorframe.
“Aves?”
“Yeah?”
His voice was barely a whisper. “Don’t disappear on me.”
She smiled softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He nodded once, sharp, determined, and left.
The door clicked shut.
And Avery realized something:
She wasn’t just in Rook’s room. She was in his life. And she wasn’t leaving.