Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Salemburg has never felt like enough before. It’s a place I come back to, not a place I stay for. A waypoint between rides. A dot on the map I circle until the road calls louder than everything else.
Now the road is quiet. And it scares the hell out of me.
I’m at Honey’s Hot Rods when Raff finally calls me on it. We’re elbow-deep in an engine, grease smeared across our hands, music low in the background. It should feel normal.
It doesn’t.
“You gonna explain,” Raff says casually, not looking up, “why you’ve turned into a damn regular guy?”
I snort. “What?”
“You heard me.” He straightens, wiping his hands on a rag, eyes sharp and knowing. “You’ve been circling Salemburg like you’re afraid to leave it. Fuckin’ Smoke offered you an out and you didn’t take it.”
I shrug, keeping my focus on the engine. “Got stuff to do.”
Raff huffs a laugh. “Bullshit.”
I glance at him, irritated. “You always this nosy, or is fatherhood already turning you into one of those guys?”
He grins. “Nah. I just know you.”
That lands heavier than I expect. “You’ve been talking for weeks about getting back on the road,” he continues. “Long ride. No timeline. Same speech you always give when you’re getting itchy.” His gaze doesn’t leave my face now. “Then suddenly, nothing. You’re here. Every day. You’re over at my place more than you ever before. My kids are cute, they ain’t that cute, brother.”
I stiffen. “I’m helping.”
“With groceries?” he asks dryly. “With holding the baby for five minutes and then hovering like you’re waiting for something?”
I open my mouth, then close it again.
Raff’s eyes narrow just a touch. “What changed?”
I don’t answer right away. Because the answer is sitting right there between us, loud as hell. Danae.
He follows my silence like a breadcrumb trail. “Oh,” he says slowly. “There are two women in my house and one is off limits as fuck because she is mine. As for the other one, Miles, she’s family.”
I shoot him a look. “Don’t.”
He lifts his hands. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re about to,” I mutter.
Raff leans against the workbench, studying me like I’m a problem he’s trying to solve. “You gonna tell me why you suddenly want to be at my house all the time? Just admit it.”
I grind my teeth. “I don’t want to be at your house.”
He arches a brow. “You want to be around someone at my house.”
That’s it. That’s the line that cracks something open in me. I step back from the engine, dragging a hand through my hair. “This isn’t what you think.”
“Then tell me what it is,” Raff shares, not unkindly, but pressing for more.
I stare at the concrete floor, at the oil stains and scuff marks, anything but his face. “I didn’t plan this.”
Raff’s quiet for a moment. “Did you plan to stop wanting to ride?” That makes my head snap up. “Because,” he goes on, voice steady, “I’ve known you a long time, brother. And I’ve never seen you like this.”
“Like what?” I snap.
“Rooted,” he states simply. “Finally without a reason to run, but you aren’t at ease with it like you should be. What’s got you all knotted up, brother?”
The word hits me square in the chest. Rooted. I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. Because the truth is sitting there, undeniable and uncomfortable. Having Danae in Salemburg makes me want to be in Salemburg. Not out of obligation. Not because I’m stuck. But because for the first time, staying doesn’t feel like giving something up. The urge to ride—the constant hum that’s always lived in my bones—is muted. Not gone. Just calm. Like it’s waiting instead of clawing. I’ve never felt this before.
Raff watches it dawn on me in real time, and something like satisfaction flickers in his eyes. “There it is.”
“Shut up,” I mutter, but there’s no heat behind it.
He smiles. “You care about her. But I don’t know why.”
I scoff. “You don’t know anything about any of this.”
“I know enough,” he states calmly calculated almost. “You don’t hover unless it matters. And you don’t stay unless something’s anchoring you.”
That word again. Anchor. I swallow hard. “I don’t know what this is to even begin to explain it but yes, something is different inside me. There I said it. You happy now, Papa Bear?”
Raff shrugs. “You don’t have to admit to shit. Just don’t pretend it’s nothing.”
I nod once, sharp and reluctant. “I’m not pretending.”
“Good,” he says. “Because whatever this is, it’s the first thing I’ve ever seen slow you down.”
He claps me on the shoulder and turns back to the engine, conversation clearly over in his mind. I stand there a moment longer, heart pounding, the truth settling into me like a weight and a relief all at once. I don’t want to leave town.
Not yet. Not while Danae is here, moving through my life without meaning to, quieting something in me I never knew how to still.