3. Doc
DOC
Rory Lane stood in my kitchen making coffee in one of my t-shirts, her hair still damp from the shower.
Day four, and I was dying by inches.
Not from PTSD or nightmares or the shaking hands that plagued me in the dark. From this—her bare legs, the way the cotton clung to curves she tried to hide, the smell of my soap on her skin because she'd used my shower.
"Good morning," she said, smiling like she hadn't just walked through my apartment wearing nothing but my shirt and sunshine.
"Morning." I grabbed my own mug, needing something to do with my hands before I did something reckless like pull her against me and find out if her mouth was as soft as it looked.
Four days of this. Four days of her scent on my sheets, her laugh in my space, her daughter treating me like I was something other than broken.
"Doc!" Luna barreled into the kitchen, Mr. Hops dangling from one hand. "Mr. Hops is sick. He needs a checkup!"
I crouched down to her level, accepting the worn stuffed bunny with the seriousness it deserved. "What seems to be the problem?"
"His ear hurts. And his tummy." Luna pointed to various parts of Mr. Hops' anatomy. "Can you fix him?"
"Let me see." I examined the bunny with the same care I'd use on a real patient, aware of Rory watching from the counter. "Hmm. Looks like he needs medicine and lots of rest."
"What kind of medicine?"
"Hugs. And maybe some pancakes for his human."
Luna giggled, throwing her arms around my neck. "You're the best doctor ever!"
The trust in that hug nearly broke me. This kid who'd been running from a cop who used his badge like a weapon, who flinched at raised voices, who'd probably seen too much in her four years—she trusted me completely.
I glanced up at Rory and found her watching us with tears in her eyes.
Fuck. I was in so deep I couldn't see daylight anymore.
"Pancakes coming up," I managed, standing and handing Mr. Hops back to Luna. "But first, you need to wash your hands."
Luna scampered off to the bathroom, leaving me alone with Rory in the kitchen that suddenly felt too small.
"You're good with her," Rory said quietly.
"She's easy to be good with."
"Still. Matt never—" She cut herself off, shaking her head. "Thank you. For everything."
"Stop thanking me."
"I can't." She moved closer, standing near enough that warmth radiated from her skin. "You've given us more than a safe place. You've given us...this. Normal. I forgot what normal felt like."
Normal. There was nothing normal about the way I wanted her. Nothing normal about how she'd invaded every corner of my life in four days and made me want things I had no right wanting.
She bent to pick up one of Luna's toys from the floor—a plastic cup Luna had been using for Mr. Hops' "water"—and the shirt rode up, exposing the curve of her ass and a strip of skin at her lower back.
I had to leave the room.
"I should go check inventory at the clinic," I said, my voice rougher than intended. Staying here was dangerous. Watching her in my kitchen making coffee in my shirt while her daughter played in the next room felt like a future I couldn't have.
"Oh. Okay." Disappointment flickered across her face before she hid it. "Luna and I can—"
"Stay here. Make yourself at home." The words came out too rough. "I'll be back for lunch."
I left before I did something stupid.
The clinic was quiet. I threw myself into organizing supplies that didn't need organizing, checking equipment that was already checked, doing anything to keep from thinking about Rory in my apartment.
It didn't work.
My hands shook as I inventoried the drug cabinet.
Not from PTSD, but from pure sexual frustration mixed with the bone-deep certainty that I was the wrong man for her.
She needed someone whole. Someone without nightmares and shaking hands and a medical discharge that said I was too damaged for service.
The clinic door opened. Rory stood there, Luna's hand in hers.
“My phone." She held it out. "It’s ringing. I didn't answer but..”I don’t know what do do.”
Her phone rang again before she finished. She pulled it from her pocket, glanced at the screen, and went pale.
"Matt," she whispered.
Every protective instinct I had roared to life. "Give it to me."
She handed it over without argument. I answered, my voice flat and cold. "She's done. Stop calling."
Silence. Then: "Who the fuck is this?"
"Someone who respects the word no."
"Listen to me very carefully." Matt's voice dripped with controlled rage, the kind that meant he was used to people obeying him. "That's my wife—"
"Ex-wife."
"—and my daughter, and this little game is over. Tell Rory she has twenty-four hours to come home before I make her life very difficult."
"You threatening her?"
"I'm promising her. I'll find her. I always do. And when I do—"
"Try it." My words came out lethal, the same tone I'd used on insurgents who thought they could intimidate me. "See what happens. You come near her or that little girl, and you'll learn real quick what happens to men who hurt women."
"You don't know who you're fucking with—"
"Neither do you." I hung up. Crushed the phone in my hand, plastic cracking, screen shattering. Rory needed a new number anyway. One Matt didn't have.
"Doc—" Rory's voice shook.
"He won't stop," she whispered. "He never stops. I've changed numbers three times and he always finds me. Uses his cop resources, his connections, his—"
"He's a coward." I pulled her close, wrapping my arms around her. Luna pressed against both of us, silent and scared. "Men like him are bullies who only function when they have power over someone. He's got no jurisdiction here. No power. And he sure as hell doesn't have you anymore."
She fit against me like she was designed to be there. Her curves aligned with my body, her head tucking under my chin like she belonged there.
"How do you know he'll stop?" Her words muffled against my chest.
"Because I'll make him stop." The promise came out fierce. "He comes near you or Luna, and he'll wish he hadn't."
She pulled back enough to look up at me. "You can't fight a cop."
"Watch me."
Her hands fisted in my shirt. "I don't want you getting hurt because of me."
"Too late. Already in this." The admission cost me, but it was true. "You're not alone anymore, Rory. You've got me. You've got the club. And we protect our own."
"I'm not—"
"You are." I cupped her face, thumbs stroking her cheekbones. "You're mine to protect. Both of you. That's not up for debate."
The words shifted something in her expression. "Yours?"
Fuck. Too much truth. But I couldn't take it back now.
"Yeah," I said. "Mine."
Luna crashed at seven-fifteen, worn out from an afternoon of playing while Rory and I pretended the Matt situation wasn't hanging over us like a blade.
I tucked her into my bed—their bed now, I guessed—and came back to find Rory on the couch, staring at nothing.
"Hey." I sat beside her, close but not touching. "You okay?"
"I don't know." She turned to face me. "I haven't felt safe in so long. Then you—you make me feel like maybe I can stop running. Maybe I can stay somewhere. And then Matt calls and reminds me that—"
"He's got no power here."
"He's a cop, Doc. He'll find a way—"
"Let him try." I took her hand, lacing our fingers together. "Pope's already making calls. We'll have Matt's employment record by tomorrow, find out what kind of cop he really is.”
"You'd do that?"
"I'd do worse for you." The words escaped before I could stop them. "I'd do anything for you."
Her breath hitched. "Doc—"
"Cole." My name felt foreign on my tongue. "When it's just us, call me Cole."
"Cole." She tested it, and the sound did things to my chest. "What about you? Do you feel safe?"
The question caught me off-guard. "What?"
"You protect everyone. You take care of Luna and me, you run the clinic, you help the brothers. But who takes care of you? Who makes you feel safe?"
No one. Not since Afghanistan. Not since the nightmares started and my hands started shaking and the Army decided I was too damaged to keep.
"I'm fine."
"Liar." She touched my face, her palm warm against my jaw. "I see you, Cole. I see the way your hands shake when you think no one's looking. The way you check the locks three times before bed. The way you—"
I kissed her.
Her mouth was right there, her hand on my face, her eyes stripping me bare, and the truth would break me wide open if I let it.
She made a soft sound—surprise or surrender—and then she was kissing me back. Tentative at first, testing, learning. Then hungry when I opened for her, when my tongue stroked against hers and she melted into me.
The kiss hit like lightning, her mouth soft and eager against mine. Years of touch-starvation meeting six months of running, both of us taking what we'd been denied too long.
Her hands slid into my hair, gripping tight, while mine found her waist and pulled her closer until there was no space between us. The kiss deepened, turned desperate. My fingers tangled in the silk of her hair, her nails scraped against my scalp, and every nerve ending in my body came alive.
I pulled back before I took it too far, both of us breathing hard. Her lips were swollen, her eyes dazed.
"Sorry," I managed. "I shouldn't have—"
"Don't." Her fingers tightened in my hair. "Don't apologize. Don't take it back."
"Rory—"
"I want this." Her words came fierce. "I want you. Not just the protection or the safety. You. All of you. The nightmares and the shaking hands and whatever else you think makes you not enough."
"I'm too damaged—"
"You're not." She kissed me again, softer this time. "You're the strongest man I've ever met. You're gentle with my daughter. You're protecting us from my ex. You make me feel things I haven't felt in years." She pulled back, meeting my gaze. "Stay with me. Not just tonight. Stay for this. For us."
"I'm already yours." The confession tore out of me. "Have been since the first night. I just didn't think I had the right—"
"You have the right." She straddled my lap, and my hands went to her hips automatically. "You have me, if you want me."
"Want you?" I nearly laughed. "I've been dying wanting you."
"Then stop dying." She kissed me again, deeper this time. "Live. With us. For us."
"Okay." The word felt like surrender and victory all at once. "Okay."
She smiled against my mouth.
My hands slid under her shirt, finding bare skin, warm and soft. "You're stuck with me now."
"Good." She rolled her hips, and I groaned. "Because I'm not letting you go."
We kissed until Luna called out from the bedroom, some nightmare I couldn't protect her from. Rory pulled away reluctantly, but I held her hand a moment longer.
"This changes things," I said.
"I know." She squeezed my fingers. "Is that okay?"
"More than okay." I let her go, watched her pad toward the bedroom to comfort her daughter. "It's everything."
And for the first time in three years, my hands didn't shake when I stood alone in my living room.
Because I wasn't alone anymore.
I had them.
And I'd burn the world down before I let anyone take them from me.