Page 12 of Heron's Flame

“I guess it would make sense if it did.”

“Check in with Eagle Eye. He’s been looking into a commune he found in Ohio. It might be a lead.”

“I hope so.”

Crow pushed off the desk. “Make it right with her before tomorrow. I don’t need you distracted or Bella’s spa day filled with drama. You feel me?”

“Yeah, Pres, I do.”

I left his office with a purpose, determined to make this right with Rebel.

Chapter 4 Rebel

“You okay?” Bella asked as I dropped into the seat across from her.

“Yeah.” I wasn’t. Not really.

I thought I moved beyond the fear and anxiety. I believed I had healed from some of the heartache and trauma Paul brought into my life, but maybe I hadn’t.

Heron didn’t do anything wrong. Sure, he was a bit over the top with his behavior on occasion. I didn’t like that he forced that shirt on me, and I intended to tell him as soon as possible, but I knew he would listen to me. He respected me. Heron was nothing like Paul.

So why did my heart race so fast it felt like it would beat through my chest? Why did I freeze in fear when I wasn’t afraid of Heron? This reaction didn’t make sense. I felt embarrassed, foolish, and like a freak.

“Rebel, it’s okay not to be okay.”

Bree’s soft voice soothed the worry I felt. “I know.”

“Do you? Because I’ve lost my shit quite a few times at The Roost. It’s entertaining.”

I snickered but knew it had to have been awful for her. “Trauma does weird things to us.”

“It does,” she agreed. “So let it out. Don’t hold it in. Scream into your pillow or rage at the sky. I did. Don’t let it get to a point where it explodes from you. Take my advice. It’s exhausting to fight it.”

I supposed she understood and had a point. “I should talk to Heron.” Of all the people I knew at The Roost, he was the one I felt would understand. It should have been Bree.

She gave me a knowing smile. “I think so. Don’t worry. We’re still your bitch besties.”

A laugh shook free, and I realized I needed to talk to someone because I was trying to wrestle all the shit from my past and force it into a box where it couldn’t get out, but that only made it worse. “Damn straight.”

I looked down at the shirt covering my bikini and the bold palm tree design. Black and white. Soft fabric. It smelled like Heron—sandalwood, leather, and bourbon.

Heron liked to wear shirts with loud prints that buttoned down the front, although he always wore them open over a tee or A-shirt. He rolled the sleeves above his biceps, which always drew my eye because of the bulging muscle. They hung loose but still managed to hug his tall, athletic frame.

Heron isn’t Paul, I repeated in my head.

Not five minutes later, Heron left Crow’s office and walked toward us. He cleared his throat as he approached. “Rebel, can we talk?”

I nodded. “Sure.”

“Someplace private,” he added.

“My room.” I thought it was wiser than choosing his.

“Lead the way.”

I rose from my seat, heading down the hall and up to the second-floor guest room that had become my little haven since my arrival at The Roost. He walked beside me in silence until we reached my door, and I used the key from the lanyard I wore around my neck. I usually carried a purse but left it behind when I decided to lounge in the sun.

Heron followed me inside once I unlocked the door and shut it behind us. He didn’t sit on my bed. Instead, he sat at the small table in one of two chairs. I took the one across from him.

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