Chapter 8
EIGHT
SCARLETT
The last week has been a whirlwind, but for the first time since I came home, I actually feel useful. I completely took over the charity run.
After that night in the compound when I suggested switching to the old fairgrounds, no one pushed back.
In fact, they handed me the reins. Now I’m the one coordinating everything, vendors, volunteers, sponsors, scheduling, permits, the works.
It’s the kind of detailed, chaotic logistics I used to handle in my old life, except this time it actually matters.
This isn’t some rich people’s networking event.
This is for the kids’ hospital. For the club. For my family.
I’ve been at the compound almost every day, laptop open, phone glued to my ear, barking orders like I was born for it. And I’m loving every second.
I enlisted Tessa, Hadley, and Erica immediately, and they dragged in all the old ladies too.
The girls have been absolute beasts, Tessa’s been handling the food trucks like a pro, Hadley’s running the vendor confirmations, and Erica’s been a wizard with social media and getting the word out.
The old ladies have taken over decorations and the kids’ zone.
Together we’ve turned a total disaster into something that might actually be really good.
I’m standing in the middle of the compound’s main room now, marker in hand, going over the final layout on a giant whiteboard when Rook walks in.
He’s been around a lot over the last week, not that I’m keeping track.
A few days have passed since dinner at my parents’ house, and the tension between Rook and me has only gotten worse. We’re still avoiding being alone together, but every time we’re in the same room the air crackles like it’s about to storm.
I’m standing in the middle of the compound’s main room, marker in hand, going over the final layout on the giant whiteboard when he walks in. His eyes find me immediately. They always do lately.
He’s got grease on his shirt from working on bikes, sleeves rolled up over those stupidly strong forearms. He looks good. Annoyingly good.
“Are you still here?” he asks, voice low as he comes closer.
“Obviously.” I cap the marker and turn to face him. “We’ve got the final walkthrough tomorrow. Everything has to be perfect.”
He leans against the table, arms crossed, watching me. “You’ve basically taken over the whole thing. The old ladies are calling you General Scarlett now.”
I can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips. “Someone had to. You boys were about to have a riot on your hands.”
Rook’s gaze lingers on me a little too long. There’s something different in it lately, less judgment, more heat. More respect. It makes it hard to remember why I was so pissed at him in the first place.
“You’re good at this,” he says quietly. Almost like it surprises him.
I shrug, trying to play it cool even though the compliment lands warm in my chest. “I told you. This used to be my thing. It feels good to be useful again.”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just watches me work. The silence stretches until it feels too heavy.
Before I can stop myself, I ask, “Why are you staring?”
Rook pushes off the table and steps closer. “Because I’m trying to figure you out.”
I turn to face him fully. We’re close now. Too close. “What’s there to figure out?”
“You.” His voice drops. “One minute you’re this polished city girl who walked away from everything here.
The next you’re running a charity event like you never left.
You’re good with the old ladies. Good with logistics.
Good with the prospects when they get out of line.
” He shakes his head, almost frustrated. “I didn’t expect that.”
I lift my chin. “Because you had me pegged as some spoiled princess who only came running home because her rich boyfriend cheated?”
He doesn’t flinch. “Yeah. I did.” His eyes hold mine. “I was wrong about that part.”
The admission hits me harder than I want it to. For a second we just stand there, the argument from the other day hanging between us but feeling… different now. Less sharp. More like two people circling something they both know is dangerous.
“You’re still an asshole for saying it the way you did,” I mutter.
A slow, dangerous smirk curves his mouth. “You’re still bossy as hell when you’re in charge.”
“You like it.” The words slip out before I can stop them. His eyes darken instantly.
“Yeah,” he says, voice rough. “Maybe I do.” The air between us thickens. He steps even closer, close enough that I can smell everything that makes him, him. My heart is hammering.
“Rook…” I start, not sure if I’m warning him or asking for something else.
His hand comes up slowly, fingers brushing a stray piece of hair behind my ear. The touch is light, but it sends heat rushing through me. “Tell me to back off,” he murmurs, eyes dropping to my mouth.
I don’t. Instead I fist my hands in his shirt and pull him down as his mouth crashes into mine.
Something snaps. One second we’re staring at each other, the next his hand is cupping the back of my neck and his mouth crashes down on mine.
The kiss is desperate, hungry, weeks of tension exploding all at once.
There’s nothing gentle about it. It’s all teeth and heat and raw need.
I drop the marker and fist my hands in his shirt, pulling him closer as I kiss him back just as fiercely.
Rook groans against my mouth, backing me up until my hips hit the edge of the table. One of his hands slides down to grip my waist, fingers digging in like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. I bite his bottom lip and he makes this low, rough sound that goes straight through me.
I shove away from him so hard the table scrapes across the floor with a loud screech.
My chest is heaving. My hands won’t stop shaking. My lips feel swollen and hot, like they still belong to him. “Oh my God,” I choke out, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. “What the hell did we just do?”
I press both hands over my mouth, eyes wide, staring at him like he’s a bomb that just went off. My heart is hammering so violently I feel sick.
Rook looks wrecked, chest rising and falling fast, eyes dark and wild, one hand still half-reaching toward me like he can’t decide whether to pull me back in or let me go. “Scarlett—”
“No.” I back up until I hit the wall behind me. “That shouldn’t have happened. It can’t happen, not again.”
Panic is flooding through me now, fast and ugly.
I slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the cold floor, knees pulled tight to my chest. My breathing is shallow, almost gasping.
“I just got home,” I whisper, voice cracking.
“I’m trying to get my life together. I’m rebuilding something here with my family, with the club, with this charity thing…
and I go and kiss you? You’re basically my dad’s son. This is so fucked up.”
Tears burn behind my eyes. I squeeze them shut but I can still feel him.
Still taste him. Still remember exactly how desperately I kissed him back.
“I’m such an idiot,” I say, the words breaking.
“I finally get my family back and the first thing I do is risk blowing it all up. What is wrong with me?”
I press my forehead against my knees, trying to make myself small. Trying to disappear from the reality of what I just did.
Rook crouches down a few feet away. I can feel him watching me, but he doesn’t come closer. “I know,” he says, voice low and rough. “This is a goddamn mess.”
I laugh, but it comes out watery and broken.
“A mess? This is catastrophic. My dad would lose his mind. The club… everything. And I just… I wanted it. I wanted you to kiss me and I kissed you back like I’ve been thinking about it for weeks and—” I cut myself off, horrified that I admitted it out loud.
I push myself up on shaky legs, refusing to look at him. “I need to go home.”
I grab my keys off the table and head for the door, needing air, distance, and to get the hell away from the way he’s looking at me like he wants to pull me back in and never let go.
“Scarlett.” His voice stops me at the doorway.
I turn and find him right there, close enough that I can feel the heat rolling off him, but he doesn’t touch me. “I’m following you home,” he tells me.
I want to argue and scream at him. More than anything, what I really want is to turn around and kiss him again just to shut everything else up. I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
His eyes flash with frustration. “This isn’t about fucking babysitting. Someone’s already been tailing you and your dad. I’m not letting you ride home alone.”
We stare each other down. The tension between us is thick enough to choke on, anger, want, guilt, all tangled together. “Fine,” I snap. “Follow me if it makes you feel better. But this—” I gesture between us, “—doesn’t change anything. That kiss was a mistake.”
Rook’s jaw flexes. For a second I think he’s going to argue, maybe even kiss me again just to prove me wrong. Instead he steps back, giving me the smallest bit of space. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, princess.”
The frustration in his voice mirrors my own. I turn and walk out before I do something stupid like kiss him again.
He follows me out. The entire ride home I’m hyper-aware of his headlight in my mirrors. Steady. Unshakable. Every time I glance back, he’s there. Close enough to protect me. Far enough to give me the illusion of space.
When I pull into my parents’ driveway and kill the engine, he stops at the end of the drive but doesn’t leave. He sits on his bike, watching as I climb off and head for the front door.
I pause on the porch, keys in hand, and look back at him. He’s still there. Arms crossed over his chest, eyes locked on me like he’s memorizing every move I make. I should go inside. I should slam the door and pretend none of this happened.
Instead I stand there for a long moment, the night air cool against my flushed skin, feeling the weight of everything unsaid between us. Rook doesn’t move. He doesn’t say anything. He just watches me.
Eventually I push open the front door and step inside, still buzzing from the kiss and the ride home with Rook’s headlight burning in my mirrors the whole way. The house is quiet except for the low murmur of the TV in the living room.
I pause in the doorway when I see Mom and Dad cuddled up on the big sectional, exactly the way they’ve been doing it for as long as I can remember.
Dad’s got one arm wrapped around her shoulders, his big hand resting protectively on her arm.
Mom’s curled into his side with her head on his chest, legs tucked under her.
They’re watching some old Western, the kind Dad loves and Mom pretends to hate but secretly enjoys.
The way he’s holding her… gentle but solid. Like she’s the most precious thing in his world and he’d burn everything down before he let anyone hurt her. It’s everything.
This is what I’ve always wanted. I held on so tight to my relationship with Ethan, convincing myself that if I just worked harder, followed him long enough, sacrificed enough, we’d eventually have this.
The quiet nights. The easy affection. The safety of knowing someone would always choose you. It never happened. Not even close.
I swallow the sudden lump in my throat and walk over to the other side of the couch, dropping down with a tired sigh. The movement catches their attention.
Mom looks over first, her face softening into a warm smile. “Hey, baby girl. You’re home late.”
Dad glances at me too, his arm still securely around Mom. “How’s it going?”
I manage a small smile and yawn, stretching my legs out. “Good.” It’s not entirely a lie. The charity event is coming together and I’m finally starting to feel useful around here. But my lips are still tingling from Rook’s kiss, and my stomach is a mess of want and guilt and fear.