But out loud I say, “I’ll think about it.”
“Fair enough.” He nods, accepting. “But tonight, stay over. Save yourself the drive. Plus, I just bought this incredible imported ice cream, Italian, aged in bourbon barrels, costs more than it should, and I’m breaking into it tonight. You can help me demolish it.”
Despite everything, the emotional exhaustion and fear and confusion, I smile. “Tempting me with ice cream?”
“Solid strategy, right?”
I look at this huge Alpha who spent the evening defending me to my terrible relatives, who stayed close when I was drowning, who sees me struggling and doesn’t run away.
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “For tonight. For everything. I’ll think about moving in. I promise.” I twist my hands together.“But I want to visit Scot’s uncle in the morning. Super early so I can catch him. I don’t have my car here, and I need to see him before he’s fully poisoned against me. Last chance to convince him to sell me the business instead of his nephew.”
“I’ll drive you,” Noel answers. “And I’ll come with you. Feel better having backup in case Scot shows up. Chris told us what a jackass he is.”
Warmth spreads through my chest, unfurling like sunlight. “That might be nice, actually.”
“Perfect.” He starts the truck, and the engine rumbles to life. “Ice cream awaits. And trust me, it’s worth staying for.”
We pull away from the curb, and I’m watching him as he drives. The streetlights play across his face, highlighting his cheekbones, the strong line of his jaw, the way his hair falls past his shoulders.
He’s so different from anyone I’ve ever known. Dangerous and gentle all at once.
“So,” I say, needing to fill the comfortable silence. “Have you always wanted to be a bounty hunter?”
His jaw tightens slightly, just a small tell. “No. Actually almost quit early on.”
“What happened?”
He’s quiet for a moment, and I watch him gather his thoughts. “One of my first jobs. I was twenty-one, stupid, thought I could handle anything alone. Went after a target who seemed low-risk, small-time fraud, nothing violent in his history. Should’ve been easy.”
“But it wasn’t.”
His hands grip the wheel tighter, knuckles going white. “I found him at a gas station outside Denver. Thought I’d just walk up, explain the situation, bring him in peacefully. But he panicked. Pulled a gun I didn’t know he had. Started shooting.”
My stomach drops. “Oh, shit.”
“There was a clerk working the night shift. Woman, maybe forty-five. She was restocking cigarettes behind the counter.” His voice goes flat, emotionless in a way that means he’s likely feeling too much. “He shot her. Three times. She died before the ambulance arrived, and I blamed myself for years. Thought if I’d waited for backup, if I’d approached differently, if I’d been better at my job, she’d still be alive.”
Without thinking, I reach over and place my hand on his thigh. The muscle flexes under my touch, solid and warm and real. “That’s not your fault,” I say firmly. “You didn’t pull the trigger. You didn’t make him bring a gun. You didn’t force him to shoot.”
“Took me a long time to believe that.” He glances at me, and there’s old pain in his eyes, scars that haven’t fully healed. “Kane finally talked me down. We’d already started working together, and he spent weeks drilling it into my head that I can’t control what other people do. I can only control my own actions, my own choices. I can’t take responsibility for someone else’s decision to kill.”
“It sounds like Kane saved you.”
“He did. He and Chris both.” The tension in his shoulders eases slightly as he talks. “They convinced me not to walk away. Told me I could either quit and let the guilt win, or I could channel it into something better. Use it as motivation to save as many people as possible. Honor her death by preventing others.”
“It’s good you stayed,” I say.
“Yeah. We changed everything about how we work, always go in teams now, never take unnecessary risks, plan every detail before moving. And in the last few years, we’ve brought back over two hundred targets. Helped put away some really dangerous people. Made the world safer, even if it’s just a little bit.”
“That’s incredible.” I squeeze his thigh gently, wanting him to feel supported the way he’s been supporting me. “You should be proud of what you’ve built.”
“I am. Mostly.” He covers my hand with his, threading our fingers together, and the simple gesture has my heart stuttering. “But I still think about her sometimes. Wonder what her life would’ve been like. If she had kids, grandkids, dreams she never got to live.”
“That’s what makes you good at what you do,” I say. “You care. You remember. You don’t treat people like statistics.”
We’re quiet for a moment, just the sound of the truck and the heater running, our hands linked on his leg.
“So when did ice cream become your rebellion?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood.
