Chapter Seventeen
Britta
I felt different.
Not in a dramatic, the-world-shifted-on-its-axis kind of way. Just… different.
Like something inside me had clicked into place overnight, and now everything felt just a little more solid. A little more certain.
Even with everything going on. Even with The Ledger and the bar and my brother being… well, my brother.
There was still something steady sitting in my chest.
And his name was Swift.
I leaned over the counter, carefully pouring the foam onto my coffee, watching it swirl into something that looked way fancier than it had any right to be.
My shoulder twinged slightly, but not enough to stop me.
The doctor had been right.
I was healing.
Fast.
Which meant I could get back to my life.
Or at least try to.
I grabbed Swift’s mug next, pouring his black coffee the way he liked it: simple, no nonsense, just like him.
The bathroom door clicked open behind me.
I didn’t turn.
I didn’t need to. I could feel him—the heat of him and his presence.
And then, warm arms slid around my waist, pulling me back against a solid wall of muscle. I let out a soft breath as my back met his chest, my body instantly relaxing into him like it knew exactly where it belonged.
“Morning, sugar,” he murmured against my neck.
His voice was rough and sleepy, still thick with everything from last night.
“Morning,” I whispered.
His lips brushed my skin. Slow. Hot. Deliberate.
I tilted my head back, giving him more without even thinking about it. “Mm,” I breathed as he pressed another kiss just below my ear.
His grip tightened slightly around my waist, pulling me closer. “You smell like coffee and trouble,” he muttered.
I smiled, leaning further back into him. “I feel like trouble.”
He huffed out a quiet laugh against my skin, then kissed me again—lower this time, and slower.
My fingers tightened around the edge of the counter. “I could start my mornings like this all the time,” I said softly.
“Yeah?” he asked, his voice dropping.
“Yeah.”
His hand slid just slightly higher on my waist, his mouth trailing back up my neck. “I could get used to that,” he murmured.
The air shifted.
Just like that.
The kind of shift that made my stomach flutter and my skin heat all over again.
His lips found that spot just under my ear again, and I let out a soft sound I didn’t even try to hide. “Swift…”
“Yeah, sugar,” he said, already knowing.
I turned in his arms, my hands coming up to his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin under my palms.
He was shirtless and that, yeah, that was perfect.
My eyes flicked up to his, dark and focused. They were locked on me like I was the only thing in the room.
“Coffee’s gonna get cold,” I murmured, even though I made no move to step away.
He glanced at the mug, then back at me. “Not worried about the coffee.”
“Of course you’re not.”
His mouth curved slightly, then he kissed me. Slow at first, like he was giving me a chance to stop him, but I didn’t.
Not even a little.
My fingers curled into him as I kissed him back, the warmth from a few seconds ago sparking back to life instantly.
“Swift…” I whispered against his mouth.
“Yeah,” he breathed.
His hands moved again, pulling me closer, and I felt that same pull from last night starting to build all over again.
A knock sounded at the door.
We both froze for half a second.
Then he groaned softly against my lips.
“Ignore it,” I said immediately.
He didn’t argue and didn’t hesitate. His mouth was back on mine, deeper this time, as his hand slid up my back, and the kiss picked up right where it left off.
Another knock.
Louder.
I didn’t care.
Neither did he.
Until he went completely still. Everything about him shifted in an instant.
One second he was all heat and want, and the next? Cold, sharp, and alert. He spun me around, putting himself in front of me so fast it made my head spin.
“Swift?”
He didn’t answer.
He moved to the drawer, yanked it open, and pulled out a gun.
My heart jumped into my throat.
“What—?” Had that been there this whole time? Did I now have a gun drawer?
The front door opened, and suddenly everything made sense and no sense all at the same time.
Swift lifted the gun, and I leaned slightly to the side, peeking over his shoulder.
Tyson stood in the doorway with his hands in the air and his eyes wide. “Jesus Christ, man, it’s just me.”
“You got some fucking balls just waltzing in here,” Swift growled.
“Damn, Britta, call off your biker.”
“Tyson!” I snapped. “What the heck are you doing here?”
“I knocked on the damn door, Britta,” he shot back. “I was just checking to make sure you were okay.”
“Try knocking more than once,” Swift muttered. He lowered the gun but didn’t exactly relax, tucking it into the waistband of his jeans like it belonged there.
Tyson eyed it. “I knocked twice, and where the hell did you pull that thing out of?”
“I’m always ready,” Swift said flatly.
That’s when it hit me.
He was shirtless. I was in an oversized sleep shirt. And Tyson was very much aware of both of those things.
His gaze moved between us.
Slow.
Judging.
“Gotta say,” he muttered, “I am not surprised at all.”
Swift just grunted and turned back toward the counter, grabbing the coffee I’d made him like this was just another normal morning. “I guess that’s what happens when you just waltz into people’s apartments,” he said. “You might see something you don’t want to.”
I rolled my eyes and stepped toward Tyson. “Did you just get off work?”
“Yeah,” he said, still watching Swift like he was trying to decide if he liked him or not. “I just wanted to check on you.”
“She’s good,” Swift said.
Tyson’s eyes snapped to him. “I thought I’d make sure with my own eyes.”
I stepped in before that could turn into something else. “I’m good, Tyson. I went to the doctor, got the stitches out, and he said I’m healing. I even started back at the bar yesterday.”
“Already?” he asked. There it was. Protective brother mode.
“Yes,” I said. “But I’m taking it easy. You know me; I can’t just sit around.”
Before he could respond—
“Hello!”
I groaned.
“Oh, Christ,” Swift grumbled.
I leaned to the side and there she was.
My mom stood in the doorway like she’d just walked into Sunday brunch instead of… whatever this was.
“Mom?” I said.
She smiled brightly. “Tyson called and said I should come over for breakfast before work. I thought it was a great idea.”
I slowly turned my head toward Tyson. “Maybe a good idea you should have run by me first?”
He shrugged. “How was I supposed to know you were going to be…” He waved a hand between me and Swift.
“Oh!” my mom gasped.
Yeah, she noticed. Of course she did.
Swift didn’t even blink. “Good morning, Ms. First,” he drawled.
“Swift,” she said, smiling like this was exactly what she expected. “Nice to see my daughter finally came to her senses.”
“Mom!”
Tyson looked horrified. “You’re okay with this?”
She shrugged. “He’ll keep her safe and not play games with her, Tyson.”
“Games?” Tyson scoffed. “He’s a biker. He probably has ten girls all over town.”
Swift chuckled. “You and those stereotypes,” he said. “You might want to get those out of your head.”
Tyson crossed his arms. “Oh yeah?”
Swift took a sip of his coffee, then looked straight at him. “The only game I plan on playing is making sure Britta stays mine.”
The room went still.
Whoa. That was a declaration I was not at all prepared for.
My mom clapped her hands once. “Well, that’s all I need to hear. Now, who’s making breakfast? I make a mean omelet.”
Swift pushed off the counter. “I’ll get the eggs out for you.”
She beamed and walked right into the kitchen with him like they’d been doing this for years.
Tyson just stood there, still processing, irritated, and still my brother.
I looked at him. “You staying for breakfast?”
He grunted, then walked over and dropped onto the couch.
Well, that was progress.
I exhaled slowly, glancing toward the kitchen where Swift was already moving around like he belonged there.
And somehow? It didn’t feel weird. Not even a little. It felt…right.
And that? That might have been the craziest part of all.