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It’s a strange kind of double life, watching Ava on the screen, seeing her go about her day. She’s beautiful, full of life, and she’s got this strength about her that I find ridiculously hot. She’s Ace’s sister, and yet, she’s also her own woman.
I find myself drawn to her, wanting to know more about her. But I keep reminding myself that this isn’t about me or my feelings. This is about keeping a promise to a brother I lost, about keeping his sister safe.
So, I watch and wait, keeping a careful eye on Ava’s daily life. I ensure her safety while respecting Ace’s wishes to keep her separate from the dangerous world of the MC. It’s a delicate dance, one I’m determined to master for the sake of the promise I made to Ace.
As the days pass, an unexpected conflict emerges within me. Each stolen glimpse of Ava, each mundane detail I learn about her, pulls me in. I find myself drawn to her laughter, her resilience, her tenacity. I find myself drawn to her. But there’s a line that I can’t cross, a barrier I’ve placed between us. I’ve made a promise to protect her, not to be the one from whom she needs protection.
Late at night, in the quiet solitude of my room, I watch her on the screen, living her life oblivious to my gaze. It’s in these moments that the depth of my feelings for her threatens to overwhelm me. But I have to remind myself that this isn’t about me. It’s about her safety, her life.
My role as her protector is clear, but the emotions stirring within me are anything but. I feel a connection to Ava, a pull that I can’t ignore. And yet, I know I must. For her sake. For Ace’s. Because the last thing Ava needs is to get entangled with a man like me—a man steeped in danger and tied to a life that could put her at risk.Wouldput her at risk.
I can’t quite explain why I’ve let this go so far. Sure, Ace asked me to look out for Ava, but I know he didn’t intend for me to spend every waking minute watching her from a distance, virtually shadowing her. It’s become a fixation that I can’t shake, one that goes beyond my promise to a fallen friend. The lines between duty and desire are blurring, and I’m left questioning my own motivations.
As much as I want to be a part of her life, to be there for her in a way that goes beyond my promise to Ace, I must maintain an emotional distance. It’s a tormenting dichotomy, a constant battle between my heart and my duty.
As I watch Ava from afar, a nagging doubt creeps into my mind. Can I truly keep her safe? The dangers that surround the Cascade Reapers MC are many, and they are real. And yet, I’m committed to this path. I’ve made a promise, and I intend to keep it, no matter the cost.
CHAPTER2
Ava
The shrill ringof my alarm cuts through the early morning silence. I groan, resisting the urge to bury my head under the pillows. I’ve got a long shift at the hospital today, and the last thing I need is to be late. With a sigh, I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed, my feet hitting the cool hardwood floor of my apartment.
My morning routine is a well-rehearsed dance. I shuffle into the bathroom and stare at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes are heavy with sleep, and my dark hair is a wild mess. I smile at my disheveled appearance before turning on the shower. The hot water is a welcome wake-up call, the steam wrapping around me like a comforting hug.
I dress in my scrubs, the familiar blue fabric offering a sense of normalcy. After the loss of Ace, I’ve clung to my routine. The predictability, the control—it helps keep the grief at bay, at least for a little while.
As I brush my hair and sweep on a coat of mascara, my thoughts drift to Ace. He was always the adventurous one, the wild child. I was the quiet, studious one, happy to bury my nose in a book while he ran wild with his friends. But despite our differences, we were close. His death, it changed everything. It tore a hole in my life, a void that nothing can fill.
I used to patch up Ace and his friends after their reckless adventures, which is how I met Brick—but since he never managed to get himself into the kind of trouble that required stitches, I only saw him in passing. They’d show up in the middle of the night, bruised and bloody, and I’d roll my eyes and grab my medical kit. I complained about it then, but now, I’d give anything for one more unexpected visit from my brother.
Instead, I have a stalker who’s showing no signs he intends to leave me alone. Brick has always been an enigma, a vague curiosity to me. I wonder what Brick is doing now. Is he thinking of Ace, too? I shake the thought away. I have a long day ahead of me, and I can’t afford to dwell on the past. I don’t see Brick anywhere now, and as I climb into my car and pull out of the parking lot, I resolve to focus on the present, on the work that keeps me grounded and gives me a sense of purpose.
The hospital is a hive of activity when I arrive, the staff bustling about as they prepare for the day ahead. I slip into my role with ease, my professionalism a shield that protects me from the emotional turmoil simmering beneath the surface. I love my job, the way it allows me to help others, to make a difference in their lives. But there are moments when the walls I’ve built around my heart crack and crumble, especially when I’m reminded of Ace and the life he lost too soon.
Despite the occasional emotional setback, I’m dedicated to my work. The other nurses appreciate my commitment, and my patients often express their gratitude for my empathy and care. These moments of connection, these glimpses into the lives of others, they’re what makes my job worthwhile. They’re what helps me get through the day, despite the grief that lingers in the shadows.
When my shift finally ends, I head to a local community center for a support group meeting. It’s a place where people like me, those who’ve experienced loss, can come together and share their stories. It’s a safe space, a sanctuary where grief is understood and shared. Or at least it should be. To me, it feels hollow.
The void that I feel at these gatherings isn’t because of the people. They’re kind and caring, all grappling with their own heartaches. The emptiness comes from the necessary secrecy that shrouds Ace’s death. I can’t share with them the truth of his life, of the club he belonged to, the outlaw world he thrived in. How do I explain that my big brother, my protector, was a member of a biker gang? How do I express the complex mixture of fear and respect I felt about the way he lived his life?
I look around the room at the others, sharing their stories of loss, of cancer, of accidents, of age. Their losses are no less significant than mine, but they are different. They haven’t lost a brother to a life outside the law. They haven’t experienced the sudden, violent absence of someone who would have moved heaven and earth to protect them.
Each time I attend these meetings, I hope that sharing my pain, even just the sanitized version of it, will help. But each time, I leave feeling more isolated. Their empathetic nods and encouraging words, though well-meaning, only reinforce the gulf between us. They can’t truly understand my grief because I can’t reveal it, and that’s not their fault.
* * *
Back home, I sink into the comfort of my couch, surrounded by the silence that comes with living alone. It’s in these quiet moments especially that my mind begins to wander.
Ace and I were close, despite our differences, and his loss is a wound that I can’t imagine ever not feeling fresh and raw. His association with the MC was always a point of contention between us, the danger it presented a stark contrast to the safety and stability I sought in my life. But I knew they were his family just as much as I was.
Lost in my thoughts of Ace, I think for a second that the sound of a motorcycle engine is in my head, but then I come to my senses. I storm over to the window, pull back the curtain, and sure enough, there’s a Harley pulling to a sloppy stop outside my apartment building. A surge of annoyance courses through me, and I stride out of my apartment and down the stairs, my heart pounding in my chest like a drum.
As I reach the street, my gaze lands on the large figure leaning against the bike. Brick. The president of the MC, my brother’s closest friend. His presence is large and undeniable, his aura of danger and authority almost palpable.
“Brick,” I call out, making my way toward him. My voice sounds steady, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions swirling within me. “What are you doing here?”
He looks up at the sound of his name, something like shame etching lines into his rugged face. “Ava...” His voice trails off, his blue eyes meeting mine. There’s something in his gaze, a flicker of something I can’t quite place. Guilt?
