Page 70 of Chasing Shelter (Sparrow Falls #5)

KYE

I’d gotten good at fighting off triggers to my temper over the years, learning to deal with the monster that lived inside me. But some things were always a tripwire: someone harming those more vulnerable than them, anyone hurting an animal, and Fallon.

Nothing could send my temper flying quicker than someone messing with Sparrow.

I wasn’t an idiot. I saw how Fal’s so-called coworker looked at her. The way he’d always looked at her. The only one who seemed oblivious to it was Fallon.

But he was getting bolder. Like the way he’d been hovering over her, guarding her like a precious toy he didn’t want any of the other kids to play with. Or how his gaze wasn’t on her computer screen but down her shirt.

My hands fisted, the ink on my skin rippling with the move. It took everything I had not to let my temper grab hold. I didn’t have room for fuckups. Not with my history.

It didn’t matter that it was a juvenile record; it still had the potential to bring the hammer down if I took a wrong step.

Assault. An illegal fight ring. Getting mixed up with what the courts called organized crime .

It didn’t matter that I’d had my reasons at the time; they were all black marks on my record. And on my soul.

Noah made a startled sound and whirled around. “I’m not looking at her cleavage.”

I simply stared back at him, unmoving.

Fallon sighed—the weary kind that said she didn’t know what to do with me. “Ignore him. His overprotectiveness knows no bounds.”

“Not sure that’s what it is,” Noah muttered, returning to his desk.

I eased a bit as his distance from Fallon grew.

It wasn’t that I didn’t know that Fal would meet someone someday.

Fall in love. Truly move on with her life in a way that was more than a handful of dates here and there.

It would kill me, but I’d be happy if the man was truly worthy of her.

Because she deserved all the good things this world had to offer.

“Kyler,” Fallon said, arching a brow as she swung her chair around. “What are you doing here?”

My dick twitched at the use of my formal name.

I lived for those moments. The way they reminded me of what had almost been.

Of the few fleeting seconds she’d been mine.

Even if she only said it now if I was in trouble.

Sometimes, I wondered if I purposely pissed her off just so she would call me Kyler.

I lifted a bag with The Mix Up in teal lettering across it. “Thought you might need more than sugar to get through the day.”

Fallon’s expression softened. She unfolded from the desk chair as a smile tugged at her mouth. “Tell me it’s the spinach and artichoke grilled cheese.”

“Not gonna go out of my way to bring you lunch and do you dirty.”

Her lips twitched. “I can always count on you.”

She could. Always. It didn’t matter if she needed me in the middle of the night or from a million miles away. I’d be there.

“Picnic tables?” I asked, knowing it was her preferred lunch spot, even when it was freezing.

“Yup.” She shrugged on her jacket, pulling acres of blond hair from under the collar.

My fingers twitched, dying to reach out and tangle in the strands, every part of me so damn attuned to Fallon’s beauty.

It was the kind that only grew the longer you looked at her.

The way the curve of her smile turned her mouth into a perfect bow I wanted to tug on with my teeth.

How the deep blue of her eyes turned stormy with any heightened emotion—good or bad.

And her shape—how she fit perfectly against me any time I dared to wrap an arm around her.

Fuck.

I shoved all of that down like I always did and headed outside.

The November temperatures hovered in the mid-forties, but it was cold enough that I’d opted for my truck instead of my bike today. At least Central Oregon had the sun to take the edge off.

Fallon took a deep breath as we headed for one of the picnic tables. “Smells like snow.”

“Bite your tongue.”

She laughed as she settled on one of the benches, and the sound rattled around in my empty chest, making itself at home there. “You never were one for the white stuff,” she said, pulling her jacket tighter.

“People think it’s all enchanting, but it’s really just a cold, wet, broken bone waiting to happen.”

One side of Fallon’s mouth kicked up. “Okay, Grinch.”

I opened the bag and pulled out her sandwich, drink, and a few cookies. “I am not a grinch. Christmas movies? Hell, yes. Especially Die Hard .”

Fallon rolled her eyes. “ Die Hard is not a Christmas movie.”

“Then Little Women isn’t either,” I challenged.

Fallon unwrapped her sandwich. “You fight dirty.”

“I’m also a fan of Christmas cookies, presents, and forced time off work,” I continued.

“Okay, okay. You’re Santa’s secret elf. Happy?”

“Been called a lot of things. Can’t say Santa’s secret elf has been one of them.”

Fallon grinned. “A supersized elf?”

I grunted and pulled out my turkey sandwich. “So, how’s everything going?”

Fallon eyed me carefully. “Is that what this is about? A checkup?”

I shrugged, but the truth was I’d always check on her. Until we were old and gray and cursing at kids to get off our lawns. “You’ve been pushing pretty hard.”

“You’re one to talk,” she muttered.

I grinned. “Work hard, play hard.”

That had a scowl twisting her lips. “I do not need to know about your extracurricular activities.”

A sour sensation swept through my gut, but it was better this way: letting Fallon believe countless women were warming my bed, when the truth was the damn thing was as frigid as the Arctic tundra.

“You’re not answering my question,” I pressed.

Fallon took a bite of her sandwich, buying time. “I just have a larger-than-normal caseload.”

“How many?”

She moved to take another bite, but I caught her wrist, stilling the motion. The feel of Fallon’s skin scalded me the way it always did, leaving beautiful burns in its wake. “How many, Fal?”

“Thirty-two,” she whispered.

I cursed. “You’re going to work yourself into the ground.”

A little fire entered those deep blue eyes, darkening the irises and turning them to glittering sapphires. “I know what I can handle.”

“Do you? Or are you just willing to hurt yourself for the sake of others?”

That fire burned brighter. “They’re worth it, and you damn well know it. Nothing’s more important than making sure they have someplace safe to rest while their worlds are upended.”

“ You’re more important. How many kids can you help if you end up in the hospital from exhaustion?”

Hurt flickered in Fallon’s eyes. “I’m not weak.”

Hell.

I set my sandwich down and did something I rarely allowed myself to do anymore. I curled my pinky around hers and squeezed. “The last thing I think you are is weak, Sparrow. But we miss you. Your family misses you.”

If anything happened to her, I wouldn’t survive it. And I knew all too well how much vile cruelty and violence lived in the world—just as I knew that Fallon placed herself right in the middle of it, time after time.

My truck rumbled to a stop in my parking spot outside Blackheart Ink.

Everything about it was black on black on black.

The wood facade of the building on the outskirts of Sparrow Falls had been stained a shadowy tone that Shep hadn’t been all that sure about at the time.

But my contractor brother had used the color on several renovation projects and new builds since.

The sign for the shop was a matte black you could only see in certain light.

Jericho said it was moronic not to have a sign you could read easily, but I thought it added to the mystique of the place.

And I’d been right. After an article in The New York Times titled The New Face of Ink came out, business in my little corner of the world exploded.

The fact that it felt like a secret speakeasy with a hidden name only added to the allure.

I hated the attention that article—and subsequent ones—had brought, but I didn’t hate the resulting cash.

Lines of ink, tools, and even apparel meant I was more than comfortable.

And when I discovered I had a penchant for the stock market, that comfort had grown to a sum I’d never spend in this lifetime.

It was so far from what I’d grown up in and with, and something my so-called father never would’ve believed.

Climbing out of my truck, I slammed the door and headed toward Blackheart.

I flexed my hand, my pinky still tingling from where it had been linked with Fal’s.

I wanted to burn it into my flesh forever—and forget it at the same time.

I shoved the battle for supremacy down and tried to focus on what came next.

Walking past a row of vehicles, I cracked my neck: Penelope’s bright-pink Caddy, Bear’s and Jericho’s bikes, and a couple others I didn’t recognize. A bell jingled as I opened the front door, and Bear looked up from the reception desk.

The grizzly grandpa of a biker grinned at me. “Runnin’ a little late, boss man. Get distracted with Miss Fal?”

I scowled at him. “You look like you need more work to do.”

He leaned back in his chair and patted his leg, which had a prosthetic for its lower half. “I dunno. Feels like snow. You know my leg acts up when it snows.”

I scoffed. “You could take on a two-ton grizzly in a snowstorm and still bring us cookies.”

“Don’t forget the cookies,” Jericho called from one of the tattoo chairs, where he was inking some delicate lotus flowers on a very attractive redhead.

Jericho had been with me since the day I opened my doors.

Together, we’d managed to extricate ourselves from the Reapers’ hold—and I had Trace to thank for that.

He’d put enough fear into the motorcycle club for them to steer clear.

Having law enforcement permanently parked outside their clubhouse wasn’t exactly ideal.

And they’d wanted it gone badly enough to free us and end the underground fights.