Page 67 of Diesel
“I’m scared,” I admit. His arms tighten around me before he drops a kiss into my hair.
“Nothing will touch you, firefly.”
It’s a vow, but it’s not one I expect him to keep. Things happen in war and tomorrow is never guaranteed in a life built on blood and ash.
I trail my fingers over the ink covering his chest. “We’ve never had a family before.”
“You scared of what it means to have people in our corner?” It’s an innocent question, but it lands like an anvil.
“Maybe a little. We don’t exactly have the best track history with people.” My heart feels heavy, that lump in my stomach a boulder now. I hate thinking about the past.
“Hey… firefly?”
He doesn’t push me to answer right away, and I give my thoughts a moment to pull together. Words carry weight. They can wound, destroy, and uplift. So, I choose them carefully.
“I just… this isn’t how I thought things would turn out when I left our apartment.”
He stills, processing. Then he sighs. “Me neither.”
An hour later, we finally peel ourselves out of bed and head to the main room. There’s a dull rumble of noise as we get closer, voices. He clutches my hand like I’m the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.
There are brothers crammed into the room. There are guns, knives, and weapons everywhere I look. I squeeze Zane’s hand, and he tucks me closer, like he can shield me from the reality of what we’re facing.
The girls are clustered together around one table. Maylie’s pale, her son fussing in her arms. There are dark smudges under her eyes, as if she didn’t sleep last night. Dayna is sitting in Dash’s lap, despite his injuries, his hand resting on her belly, over their unborn baby. There’s no Toby or Ivy this morning. No Seren either.
I hesitate, unsure if I should join them, but Dayna waves to the empty seat between her and Maylie. “Sit. There’s food and coffee. I mean, I say coffee in the loosest sense of the word. It tastes like desperation.”
“Grab a croissant or two,” Maylie says. “Before Dash finishes them off. He’s already had three.”
Dash glares at her. “Snitches get stitches, May.”
She shoots him a look that could level cities. “I have postpartum rage. Try it.”
I peer down at the takeout bags on the table. There’s anassortment of breakfast stuff as well as a pot of coffee too and a bowl of fruit that looks untouched.
I sit, and Zane hovers behind me like a guardian angel wrapped in leather and violence. I don’t reach for anything, unsure if I want to. My anxiety is making me nauseous.
Zane leans over me and places a pastry in front of me. “Eat, firefly.”
“Bossy,” I mutter, but I try—for him. He has enough to worry about without me adding to his pile.
“Brother,” Dash greets.
Zane narrows his eyes on him, then blunt as stone, he mutters, “You look like shit.”
Dash grunts, reaching carefully for the mug on the table. The hand on Dayna’s bump doesn’t move, like that sign of their future is the only thing keeping him sane.
“Morning to you too,” he says, deadpan. “I got your sauce.”
We both follow his movement as he reaches for the sriracha and drops it on the table in front of us. Warmth blooms inside me. Zane shifts a fraction behind me. It’s such a subtle move no one else will have noticed, but I do. That small gesture means everything to him.
No one’s ever cared about him outside of me.
Zane clears his throat. “Thought you said it was an abomination.”
Dash shrugs one shoulder, sipping his coffee. “It’s a full crime against tastebuds, but you like it.”
You like it…
