Page 31 of Hellbent
Silence falls over the table.
I can feel Jake’s knee bump against mine under the table. A silent reassurance.
I exhale slowly, meeting Ryder’s stare with a confidence I don’t entirely feel. “I’m not bringing trouble with me. I’ve been here a week. No one’s come looking or anything.”
“Yet.” The word lands sharply.
Jake finally speaks, voice firm but gentle. “No reason to think anyone will. You’re here, and you stay as long as you need. End of story.”
Ryder doesn’t respond, but his expression remains unconvinced, like he’s not finished with the conversation, even if he’s done speaking.
I nod, pretending that ends it, but I don’t miss the inherent warning.You better not bring trouble.
And hopefully I won’t.
I don’t think I will.
I swallow the last of my beer, trying to act unaffected.
When Wyatt pushes back his chair and starts gathering plates, Jake’s pinky brushes against mine under the table. A barely-there touch. A silent question.
Then he stretches, throwing an arm around the back of my chair. “You could crash here tonight,” he suggests casually.
It’s a simple offer, but I don’t miss the way Ryder’s eyes narrow slightly. Or the way Wyatt straightens, shaking his head before I can even consider it.
“Nah,” Wyatt says, finality in his voice. “It’s already late. I’ll take her back now.”
I hesitate. Just for a second. Because I want to stay. But Wyatt’s already standing, pulling on his coat, and I sense hisdisapproval. It means something to me that he cares about me, and I don’t want to disappoint him.
Jake huffs a quiet laugh, not exactly surprised. “All right, old man, you act like I was suggesting something scandalous.”
“That’s exactly what you’re doing,” Wyatt counters. Then to me: “C’mon, kid. Get your coat.”
Jake leans back in his chair, hands lifted in surrender, but there’s a spark of something mischievous in his eyes when he glances at me. “Looks like Dad’s making the call.”
Wyatt ignores him, already heading for the door.
I hesitate again, glancing at Ryder, arms crossed over his chest. There’s something…satisfied in his gaze. Like he approves of Wyatt shutting this down.
I don’t fully understand the dynamics here yet.
I stand, slipping into Ryder’s coat and my helmet. Wyatt holds the door open and I step through it into the freezing cold February night, Ryder’s words echoing ominously in my mind.
Unless luck had nothing to do with it.
I don’t believe in fate. But I know a warning when I hear one. I guess Ryder and I didn’t make as much headway today as I thought.
CHAPTER EIGHT
WYATT AND I ride back in silence to the garage. I rest my cheek against his shoulder, sinking into the comfort of his warmth and strength. The cold air whips past—a sharp contrast to the reassuring shelter of his broad back, the sure rhythm of his body anchoring me as we slice through the dark.
I’m not ready to call it a night. I’m not tired in the least. My mind is still tangled up in Jake.
That deep, wrecked groan when he came inside me. The way he missed me all day.
I bite my lip against the heat creeping up my neck, my fingers curling just a little tighter against Wyatt’s jacket.
The garage looms out of the dark, windows black, the lot empty. We coast over the gravel, tires crunching as we approach the side door. When we get close, a motion light clicks on, throwing a pale cone of light across the snow-dusted ground. Wyatt parks, kills the engine, and we both swing off.
