Chapter Eighteen #3
I nod, but my eyes flick to the door where Ayla disappeared, worry etched deep in the lines around my mouth. “Let’s not mention this to her until we have a real plan,” I murmur. “She deserves a night of peace, even if it’s the last one we get.”
Before anyone can answer, Alex’s phone buzzes again. Silence falls as he lifts it, screen glowing in the gathering dusk. One final text pops up:
Bullseye
We head inside and settle into the living room, the energy softer than it’s been in days.
Ayla starts holding her own little fashion show, slipping into outfit after outfit, twirling for us in the middle of the rug—utterly unselfconscious, giggling as she models everything from flirty sundresses to oversized pajama pants.
She’s so open, so carefree in the moment, it’s easy to forget the reality waiting outside these walls.
For a few minutes, we just let her be happy and cheer her on.
But the back of my mind won’t let go of the truth: there’s a bounty on her head, and the world is a lot less safe than this living room feels.
I catch Dean’s eye and reach for his hand, squeezing it tight—a silent agreement.
He’ll keep watch tonight, and I trust him with her more than I trust anyone.
Dean disappears into the kitchen to make dinner—simple, nothing fancy, but it fills the house with warmth.
By the time we eat, Ayla’s changed into pajamas, cheeks pink from laughing so much. I push my food around on my plate, appetite gone, mind racing. She catches me staring, brows raised in concern. “What’s wrong?” she asks quietly.
“Nothing,” I say, forcing a smile. “Just not super hungry. After we eat, Alex and I are heading into town for some things. Anything you need?”
She grins, a little sheepish. “As much as I love smelling like a man, I think I’d like my own shampoo, conditioner, and body wash.”
“Noted,” I promise, offering a real smile this time. We clear the plates, and the normalcy of it all makes me ache a little—for her, for us, for the life we could have if things were different.
Alex and I slip out of the room, and I head to my bedroom to get ready.
I pull on black jeans, lace up my boots, and shrug into a fitted black T-shirt before grabbing my leather jacket and helmet.
I’m taking Dean’s bike tonight. Some fresh air sounds damn good—and a little time on the road never hurt anyone.
“Can we go on a ride first?” Ayla asks, eyes shining with anticipation. I glance at Alex, and he just shrugs with a crooked grin. “Go grab Dean’s helmet and let him know. We’ll bring you back in twenty minutes, promise.”
She darts off and returns a minute later, helmet in hand, now changed into jeans, tennis shoes, and a tight white T-shirt that hugs every curve, with a zip-up hoodie.
When she pulls the helmet on, she’s a vision—nerves and excitement all tangled up, hair tucked away.
I pat the seat behind me. “Climb on, beautiful. Hold on tight.”
Her arms wrap around my waist, and I can feel her laughter vibrate through her chest and into my back as we follow Alex down the winding road, the bike’s engine roaring beneath us.
Winter has settled in, but the roads are finally clear—a thin dusting of snow glitters on the blacktop, and the edges of the woods are turned silver and white.
The air is sharp and cold, carrying the scent of pine, frost, and distant woodsmoke.
The wind whips Ayla’s hair out from under her helmet in wild streams. The open road calls, and I can’t resist showing off—popping the front wheel into the air just to hear her squeal, that sound pure, infectious joy, and it’s music to my ears.
We cruise for a while, the world blurs in a rush of bare trees and a pale winter sky, the sun dipping low and gold as the last of the day’s light fades.
The snow along the roadside glows blue in the shadows, untouched and clean, and every so often, Ayla squeezes me tighter, her laughter carried away on the cold wind.
The chill nips at our knuckles, but the thrill of speed and the warmth of her pressed to my back make it feel like freedom—just us, the road, and the bite of winter.
I know I’ll replay this memory on every bad day to come: the feeling of her arms around me, the way she laughs without restraint, the way everything feels bright and alive even in the midst of the cold.
When we finally pull back into the drive, the sky is streaked with winter dusk, and the world is hushed beneath its thin blanket of snow.
Ayla peels off her helmet, shaking out her hair, cheeks flushed red from the cold, eyes sparkling with life.
She’s grinning like she’s on top of the world.
I reach over to smooth a strand behind her ear, my hand lingering just a second longer, the intimacy of the gesture making my chest ache.
“See you soon, gorgeous,” I tease, dropping a quick kiss to her cheek.
She lingers for a heartbeat, her lips brushing my jaw in return, before Alex calls for me and we head off into the dusk, leaving her glowing in the pale, icy twilight.