Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75547 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75547 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
I take a hard right after the bridge, into a stretch of road that winds through marsh and open fields. It’s quiet out here—no traffic, no houses, just us and the hum of the motor. When I finally slow, it’s because I need air that isn’t moving a hundred miles an hour.
We pull into a gravel turnout overlooking the sound. I kill the engine, kick the stand. The sudden silence roars in my ears. Kristen slips off the back, pulls her helmet free, hair spilling around her shoulders in the low light. She’s flushed from the ride, eyes bright, lips parted like she’s been grinning behind the visor the whole time.
She steps closer, rests a hand on my chest. “You were wound so tight in there. I can feel it.”
I catch her wrist, hold it, because I need something solid. “He had no right questioning you.”
Her brow furrows. “Kellum, he’s your brother. Of course he did. That’s what family does. They look out for you.”
“I don’t need him doubting my judgment.” My voice comes out sharper than I mean. I run a hand over my jaw, try again. “I wouldn’t have brought you there if it wasn’t serious. He should know that.”
“He does,” she says gently. “He just needed to hear it from me too.”
The words dig under my ribs. I don’t know how to explain that it’s not about trust in her, it’s about me never having to defend a choice like this before.
I look out at the water, dark and endless. “I don’t know how to do this,” I admit, the words rough like they don’t want to leave my throat.
She waits. Doesn’t fill the silence. Just waits.
I drag in a breath. “I’ve never felt like this before. I’ve never brought anyone in, never cared what the hell they thought about me after the night was done. But you—” I break off, shake my head. “Kristen, I love you. And I don’t know what to do with that.”
The air stills. My heart hammers hard enough I swear she can hear it. For a second, I think I’ve ruined it, said too much, tipped us into a place we can’t climb out of.
Then she smiles. Small at first, then wide, lighting her whole face. She slides both arms around my waist, presses her forehead to my chest.
“You don’t do anything with it,” she whispers. “You hold it. You hold me. And we treasure each other.” She tips her head back, eyes steady on mine. “Because I’m in love with you too.”
The ground tilts under me. Not in a bad way—in the way you know you’ve been walking crooked your whole damn life and suddenly someone sets you straight.
I cup her face, kiss her slow, deep, every ounce of what I can’t put into words poured into the press of my mouth against hers. She answers with that same certainty, like she’s been waiting for me to catch up.
When we break apart, I rest my forehead against hers, breathing her in. “Say it again,” I murmur, needing it like air.
“I love you,” she says without hesitation. “I love you, Kellum Perchton.”
The mixed emotions that have been riding me since the clubhouse breaks apart like smoke in wind. What’s left is fire, but a different kind—the kind that warms instead of burns.
I kiss her again, harder this time, lifting her off her feet, spinning her once in the gravel just to hear her laugh. She’s mine. And she chooses me in return. That truth is louder than anything else.
When I set her down, I jerk my chin at the bike. “Let’s go home.”
Her smile curves into something soft and dangerous. “Home sounds perfect.”
We don’t talk much on the way back. We don’t need to. The road understands what was said at the water and keeps its mouth shut about it, just lays out the miles and lets us ride them. By the time we turn onto our street, the sun’s gone low and long; the houses have that soft-edged look that makes everything feel closer than it is.
The camera blinks like a tiny heartbeat over the door. I kill the engine and the silence that follows isn’t awkward or heavy. It’s comfortable.
She slides off the back, helmet tucked to her hip, eyes on me like she can’t figure out how to stop smiling and doesn’t want to. I take her hand, because I don’t know what else to do with all this.
Inside, the house smells like what it always smells like—lemon cleaner, old coffee a little burned in the pot, something warm that’s just us. The map watches from the wall, planting a seed in my mind. One day soon, we’ll begin filling the map with the trips we take together. I want to show her the world my way. I toss my keys in the dish. Cut on the chair and home feels more right than every before.