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“I…okay,” I manage. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.” His hand finds mine beneath the blanket, fingers warm as they curl around my palm. “We’ll leave in an hour. That should give you enough time to shower and change.”
He leans down to nuzzle my cheek. “Finish your food. I’ll clean up while you get ready.”
As he heads back toward the kitchen, I reach for my fork, and my hand trembles.
He moves through my kitchen as if he belongs there, calm and steady and terrifyingly real.
Somewhere between the body on my kitchen floor and waking up to him preparing me breakfast, something inside me shifted.
Because for the first time in my life, being alone scares me more than getting caught.
15
Orien’s hand settles on the small of my back as he guides me through the entrance to the Blue Note, the touch light enough to appear casual to anyone watching, but grounding all the same.
I feel it everywhere.
The bruises across my ribs protest every breath after last night’s fight, hidden beneath my sweater and jacket, but the one along my jaw had been impossible to conceal. I’d pulled on a black turtleneck before leaving the apartment, hoping the raised collar and dim lighting would disguise most of the damage, but the purple shadow still creeps above the fabric near the hinge of my jaw.
The lounge is quieter than usual this early, with only a scattering of regulars occupying booths and bar stools while staff move through opening routines.
As we enter, Ghost straightens in his chair as his attention snags on the bruise, and concern crosses his face.
Orien’s thumb brushes once along my spine before he guides me to one of the wall booths. “I’ve got some things to handle in the back.”
“Go work,” I tell him. “I’ll be fine here.”
Orien steps closer and tips my chin up with two fingers. His eyes track over the bruise with an angry flare of his nostrils before he leans down and kisses me.
When he pulls back, his mouth brushes my jaw, avoiding the bruise. “I’ll have Ghost bring you some water. You need to hydrate.”
As I settle into the booth, Orien stops at the table where Ghost sits and speaks to him for a moment before he disappears through the secured door to the back rooms.
Ghost rises and comes to my table. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Nothing to worry about.”
“Whiskey sour?”
“I’m completely predictable, aren’t I?”
The corners of his lips twitch, and he returns to the bar. Ice rattles as he builds the drink, while around us, the Blue Note settles into its daytime rhythm. Two regulars argue quietly over a chessboard near the window while Angel wipes down tables.
Ghost returns and sets a whiskey sour on the table, along with a tall glass of water.
I huff at the water. Orien refused to leave the apartment until I put down a liter of the stuff. At this point, I’m going to be running back and forth from the bathroom, if I don’t float away first.
“Don’t ignore basic survival needs,” Ghost says dryly. “And if you need painkillers, ask Angel. He has the good stuff.”
The Omega, who backs Ghost up behind the bar in the evenings, casts me a saucy wink. Based on what I’ve heard, the fragile-looking Omega used to ride with a biker gang, and after his Alpha bit the dust, Rowan took him in.
Now, I wonder what kind of good painkillers he’d give me if I asked.
Before I can respond, Ghost returns to his table, where the Blue Note ledger sits open.
As soon as he sits back down, Angel scurries over. He leans close, speaks briefly, and waits for Ghost to note it down in the ledger.
