Chapter Twenty-Three
THE HOUSE WAS too still.
Even with the kids asleep in the room behind me, even with the faint hum of pipes in the walls, the quiet pressed in heavy. I couldn’t rest. Couldn’t close my eyes without seeing fire behind my lids.
So I rose carefully, making sure not to wake them, and padded barefoot down the hall.
That’s when I saw him.
Zeke.
He was sitting with his back braced against the front door, knees bent, gun resting loose in his hand.
His head tipped forward, shadows carving sharp lines across his face.
He looked carved from stone, but his eyes…
his eyes weren’t here. They were somewhere else.
Somewhere far away, and whatever he was seeing, it wasn’t good.
His jaw was clenched tight, breath rough in a way that didn’t fit the silence.
I knew that look. I knew what it meant to live with ghosts you couldn’t shake.
“Zeke,” I whispered, afraid to startle him.
His gaze snapped up, sharp at first, then softened when he saw me. He gave a quick shake of his head. “Just makin’ sure,” he muttered.
He said everything was fine after coming back inside, but I knew better. I should’ve gone back to bed. Should’ve let him sit there and fight whatever demons kept him guarding the dark. But I couldn’t.
I crossed the room, each step creaking on the old wood until I was right in front of him. Then, without thinking, I sank down beside him, curling my knees up, my shoulder brushing his arm.
For a moment, he didn’t move. Just studied me like he was waiting for me to flinch. Then, slowly, he shifted, slid an arm around me, and pulled me closer.
The weight of it—his arm, his body, his heat—steadied me in a way nothing else ever had. His chest was solid at my side, his heartbeat even and unbothered, like he was anchoring me without even trying. And for the first time since I ran safety wasn’t the first thing on my mind.
It was the hard muscle under my cheek when I leaned against him. The warmth of his thigh brushing mine. The scent of leather and cologne clinging to his cut, threaded with something that was just him—male, clean, steady.
Heat climbed my neck. Not from fear. Not from shame. From something new. Something I didn’t have a name for, but my body did.
It was terrifying. And it was… good.
My fingers itched where they rested on my knees, wanting to reach for him. To trace the line of muscle under his sleeve. To learn what it felt like to touch because I wanted it, instead of duty.
I stayed still, though. Just let the wanting hum through me, quiet, secret, mine.
He didn’t say a word, and neither did I. The silence didn’t feel like a trap this time. It felt like a blanket, wrapping us both in something I didn’t know how to name.
I let my eyes close, head pressed to his shoulder, and for the first time in years I didn’t fall asleep waiting for footsteps. Didn’t brace for fire.
I just let myself be held.
***
THE MORNING LIGHT came soft, filtering through thin curtains, brushing pale gold across the floorboards.
I stirred slow, caught between sleep and waking, until the steady weight under my cheek pulled me back into myself.
Zeke.
I was still curled against him, his arm heavy across my shoulders, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that felt unshakable. He hadn’t moved all night—or if he had, he’d shifted with me, keeping me close, never breaking the hold.
For a long time I just lay there, listening to the steady thud of his heart. It was nothing like the nights I’d known before.
This was different.
I wanted to keep hold. Wanted to stay.
That terrified me so much.
I’d never woken in a man’s arms without dread coiled in my gut. I’d never let myself notice the cut of a jawline in the light, or the way muscle stretched beneath a shirt when a man shifted. Those things had never mattered. My only thoughts were always how soon I’d be allowed to leave.
But now…
Now my chest ached with something I couldn’t name. Longing, maybe. Want.
I lifted my head, careful not to wake him. His face was turned toward the window, silver hair catching the light, lashes shadowing eyes I’d learned could burn and soothe in the same breath.
He looked younger in sleep. Not softer—Zeke would never be soft—but freer, like some of the weight he carried had loosened in the night.
I wanted to touch him. My hand hovered, inches from his stomach, from the muscle I knew was underneath. Just one brush, one proof he was real. But I stopped myself, fingers curling into my palm instead.
Because want was dangerous.
And yet… I stayed there, letting myself feel it anyway. The danger. The temptation. The pull that explained why women risked sin and fire for men not chosen for them.
His lashes flickered.
Zeke stirred, arm tightening instinctively around me like his body wasn’t ready to let go. His eyes opened slow, pale blue catching the morning light. For a moment, he just looked at me, gaze steady, unreadable. Then one corner of his mouth curved—small, tired, but real.
“Mornin’, darlin’,” he rasped, voice rough with sleep, thick with that southern drawl.
Heat rushed to my face. I ducked my head, suddenly too aware of how close I was. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t.” His voice was soft, the kind that made the air feel heavier. “Ain’t a bad thing to open my eyes to.”
I froze, breath caught between disbelief and something warmer, something dangerously close to hope.
His hand brushed the edge of my hair, tucking a strand behind my ear like it was nothing. Like it was everything. “You sleep okay?”
It should have been simple. But the way he asked, like he really wanted to know, knocked something loose in me. “Yes,” I whispered. “For the first time in my life.”
His gaze held mine, probing and gentle all at once. I felt myself leaning in without meaning to, drawn by the heat of him, by the safety and the danger wrapped in one. For a breath, I thought he might meet me there.
Then an engine cut through the quiet.
Zeke stiffened, head turning toward the window. Boots crunched on gravel outside. He muttered low and eased away, careful, before pushing to his feet.
I sat up slow, pulse racing.
He pulled the curtain back just enough to glance out, shoulders easing when he saw who it was.
“Hunter,” he said, and the name was both relief and business.
A knock followed a moment later. Zeke opened the door, and a young man stood there, tall, lean, leather cut stiff with a fresh prospect patch.
“You’re on time,” Zeke said, clapping him once on the shoulder. “Don’t get distracted. Nobody gets near this place while I’m gone, you hear?”
“Yeah, I got you,” Hunter said quickly, eyes flicking past Zeke to me, curiosity burning behind them.
Zeke shut the door behind him, gaze finding me. For a moment, it was quiet again, the weight of what almost happened still hanging in the space between us.
“I gotta head back to the clubhouse,” he said. “Hunter’ll keep watch. You and the kids don’t wander past the yard.”
I nodded, fingers twisting in my lap, heart still pounding from his closeness. From his words. From the way he hadn’t let go until the very last second.
I wanted to believe he meant it. That what I felt wasn’t just mine alone. But want and truth had never lived in the same place for me.