My chest tightens immediately, something low and instinctive pulling beneath my sternum like a warning. I don’t let it reach my face. I keep my expression neutral, keeping my eyes on him.
“Waiting for something she thought she couldn’t have,” he says. “Stubborn girl.”
That lands somewhere under my ribs, mostly because I know exactly what he means and have no idea whether he’s letting me off the leash or telling me not to pull on it. He pauses, and then something shifts in his expression. Not quite a smile. More like the memory of one. “She gets it from me.” He holds my gaze for a beat longer than the words require. Long enough that I understand this isn’t casual conversation. This is an assessment. A man measuring another man and deciding whether he’s worth the risk.
I feel the weight of that settle across my shoulders like something physical.
Not an accusation.
Anexpectation.
Then he turns and starts back toward the door.
I don’t respond.
There’s nothing I could say that wouldn’t sound smaller than what just passed between us. And Jonas McClane strikes me as the kind of man who doesn’t need reassurance once he’s made a decision.
He’s already said what he came to say.
The rest is mine to live up to.
He reaches the door, opens it, and, before he steps inside, looks back once and nods.
Slowly.
As if something has been confirmed—I just can’t tell what.
Holy shit.
***
Later that evening, I drive to Millie’s house.
I’ve been telling myself since I left the clubhouse that this is a straightforward visit. That it’s a professional conversation about a security arrangement. That I’m going because Sin made the call, I said yes in Chapel, and the arrangement needs to be communicated to Millie because she’s the person the arrangement exists to protect.
I’ve been telling myself that for four hours.
I park on the street and sit there for exactly three seconds, hands still on the wheel, engine ticking as it cools. Any longer than that and it starts turning into hesitation, and hesitation is a luxury I don’t get to indulge.
I step out into the night.
The air out here is colder than it was in town, carrying that dry Nevada stillness that lets every sound travel too far across the dark. Gravel crunches beneath my boots while I cross the yard toward the house, the porch light already burning, waiting for me before I even made the drive out here.
I take the steps two at a time, while the porch boards creak once under my weight.
I knock twice, trying not to sound too fucking nervous.
Jonas opens the door, dressed in a dark shirt, unhurried, unusually calm. His expression gives away nothing and everything simultaneously, which seems to be a characteristic he’s passed directly to his daughter.
“Will,” he states.
“Mr. McClane,” I say, regretting it instantly.
He furrows his brows, huffing at me. “I was Jonas today, kid. What’s with the formality tonight, because if you’re trying to impress me, it’s just fucking weird.” He stands aside to let me in without ceremony.
Running my fingers through my hair, I shrug. “I honestly dunno why I said that.”
Jonas smirks, but only a little, just enough for me to notice. “Come inside. And stop being an idiot.”
