I close his door and walk down the short hall toward Rogue's bedroom because I'm going to brush my own teeth.
A glance into the bedroom on my way past. The drawer of his nightstand is half-open.
Not all the way. Half-open.
My feet stop in the doorway. The drawer doesn't move, and I don't approach it.
One second longer than I should—and then I keep walking down the hall to the bathroom.
I brush my teeth.
The woman in the small mirror above the sink looks like a woman who has been *ready* for something her whole life and didn't know what. Bare throat. Hair down.
Back in the hall, I walk past the bedroom doorway again.
The drawer is still half-open. My eyes stay on the floor as I pass it.
The front room is dark when I get to it. Diesel is on the rug. I curl up next to him for a few minutes before bed.
His old breathing settles me the way it's started to over these last few days.
Rogue comes in late. His boots cross the porch boards, the bolt turns, the screen door closes soft.
He doesn't turn the light on. I'm in his bed in his t-shirt with my head against the pillow.
He undresses in the dark, slides in next to me and his hand goes to my hip.
His mouth presses against the top of my head. "You still awake, baby?"
"Yeah."
"Sleep, baby. Tomorrow's gonna be a long day."
I close my eyes.
The hum of the cabin settles around us. Diesel's breathing through the wall. Nash's small sleep-noises from the spare room.
Rogue's hand is warm on my hip.
There's a ring in his nightstand drawer.
The shape of it is already in my hands from the way he was holding it.
And tomorrow, whatever else is coming—the firm, the fight, the men on the gates—there is also going to be a question from a man I love.
I already know what my answer is.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Rogue
I wake up before her.
The light through the slats is grey and just starting to turn, and Hadley's curled against my side with her cheek on my chest and her hand flat on my stomach when I look down at her.
For days now I've woken up with her against me.
Days, and I'm still not used to it.
