Page 19 of My Protective Biker

I close my eyes and let sleep pull me under, safe in the circle of his arm.

Chapter 6 — Roan

I wake to morning light and the weight of someone else in my bed for the first time in twenty years.

Carina is curled into my right side, head on my chest, one arm across my stomach. Her blonde hair spreads across my pillow and her breathing is deep and even.

She's still in the jeans and t-shirt from last night, and I can see the full curve of her body even through the clothes, the way the fabric pulls tight across her hip where my hand is resting.

My shoulder aches, dull and constant, but manageable.

I lie there watching her sleep and thinking about last night. About her showing up at four in the morning with steady hands and a calm voice. About the way she knelt on my bathroom floor and treated a gunshot wound without flinching. About how I let her.

That's the part that keeps circling back. I let her take care of me.

For years I've been the person who handles things. Who doesn't need help. Who carries the weight alone because that's what keeping Zoe safe required.

And last night I sat on the edge of my bathtub and let this woman I've known for three days clean blood off my skin and irrigate a bullet wound and bandage me back together.

Didn't push her away. Didn't insist I could handle it myself. Didn't default to the self-sufficiency that's been my operating system since I was twenty-two.

I just let her do it.

And it didn't make me weak. Didn't make me vulnerable in a way that felt dangerous.

It made me want more of it.

I shift slowly and catch sight of the note on my nightstand. Zoe's handwriting, the paper folded once. I reach for it, trying not to wake Carina.

Dad - Went to the clubhouse around 6:30. Need to be with Sydney and the others. I'm okay, just processing. Back later. Love you. - Z

I set it down and look at Carina again. Still asleep. Still here.

I want her here every morning. Want her showing up when things go wrong. Want to stop carrying everything alone.

The wanting is clear and immediate and I'm done pretending it's not.

She stirs, makes a small sound.

Her eyes open, dark green and unfocused until she blinks and they clear. She sees me and her expression goes soft before she seems to remember where we are and why.

"Hey," I say quietly.

"Hey." Her voice is rough with sleep. "How's your shoulder?"

"Manageable."

She sits up and I miss her weight immediately. She reaches over and pulls the neck of my t-shirt aside to check the bandaging, her fingers warm against my skin.

I watch her face while she examines her work from last night.

"No bleeding through," she says after a moment. "That's good."

"You do good work."

She meets my eyes and I see the awareness register between us. We're on my bed in morning light, her hands on my skin, and the intimacy of it is impossible to ignore.

"Zoe left a note," I tell her. "Went to the clubhouse around six-thirty. She's with the other women."