Page 46 of Claimed By My Biker Daddies

The sheets are clean in that hotel way, but the quilt over them is handmade and heavy and looks like it remembers summers.

There is a glass of water on the nightstand and a phone charger waiting.

I do not remember mentioning that I forgot mine.

“Room service,” Deacon says, placing two ibuprofen next to the water as if he is not the man who just helped me forget what time is.

“Your bedside manner is concerningly good,” I tell him, slipping under the quilt. “What do you charge.”

“Unclear,” he says, and tucks the edge near my shoulder like he is building an exact border.

Cruz smooths the hair at my temple then kisses the exact spot. “Sleep,” he says. “If the storm knocks the power, we will handle it. You will not wake to cold.”

Roman stands at the foot of the bed with his hands in his pockets, deciding how to say a thing without making it heavy.

He looks at the window and the snow, then at me. “You are safe here,” he says finally.

The words land. Not like a net. Like a floor.

“Thank you.” My voice is not steady. I do not care.

They turn out the light like men who know the room now belongs to me.

I hear their steps retreat down the hall, then dip back toward the kitchen, then settle somewhere near the fire. I can picture them without opening my eyes.

Deacon checking the latch twice.

Cruz adjusting a damp log.

Roman taking the chair that faces both door and window, listening to the storm, keeping watch without needing to say who for.

I sleep like a person who has been seen and fed and tucked in by people who intend to keep doing it.

My body hums gently.

My mind curls around itself and quiets.

The phone wakes me before the light does.

It vibrates across the nightstand with the insistence of a gnat you cannot swat.

For a second I think it is the alarm I set last week and forgot to delete.

Then I see the numbers.

Twenty-six texts.

Four missed calls.

One new voicemail.

The time is a little after five.

The room is still blue with early winter.

The house sleeps like a large animal that has decided it likes us.

I do not want to look.