Page 44 of Desert Sky (RB MC #4)
SKYE
I wasn’t nervous. At least, that’s what I told myself when I stood in front of my closet, chewing the inside of my cheek and holding up outfit after outfit like I was auditioning for The Bachelor.
This wasn’t about sex. This wasn’t about reclaiming JD just to prove something to Evie.
It was about reminding him that we were more than just heat and heartbreak. That we had fun once. That we laughed. That our love used to breathe free and wild like a mustang running through canyon winds.
So I picked dark wash jeans, a cute olive-green tank that made my shoulders look good, and a flannel shirt to tie around my waist. I’d asked Siri—yes, literally asked Siri—for “fun, unconventional date ideas in Santa Fe,” and after some back-and-forth scrolling, I landed on one that screamed us : An off-road Jeep tour through Diablo Canyon.
I told JD to wear boots and something he wouldn’t mind getting dirty. He sent back a suspicious thumbs-up emoji and “You better not be dragging me to a goat yoga class.”
When I pulled up to his place, he was already outside leaning against his black pickup, arms crossed, in a white tee, black jeans, boots, and a backwards ball cap. My heartbeat skipped so hard I swear it nearly caused arrhythmia.
“You driving?” he asked, grinning with that lazy charm that used to undo me in seconds.
I jangled the keys. “Yup, hop in.”
He raised a brow and got into my used pickup without another word. I swear, even the way he buckled his seatbelt oozed masculinity.
Regan had Jackson for the day—God help them both—and JD was still twitchy about it, double-checking his phone like every five minutes in the beginning.
I told him we were going off-grid for a few hours and to trust Regan.
“She’s a certified badass,” I reminded him.
“She once told off a cartel lieutenant for calling her ‘ mami ’.”
He chuckled and finally settled into his seat. “All right, babe. Show me what you got.”
I drove us up north, outside of Santa Fe, past twisted pinon trees and dusty ranch fences until we reached Diablo Canyon. Our guide, a sun-wrinkled man named Rory with more tattoos than teeth, met us with a grin and a cooler of water bottles.
“You’ll follow me out in your Jeep for about ten miles,” Rory said. “Then you’re on foot for the slot canyon. Scenic overlook’s ahead after that. Perfect for photos... or whatever else couples do.”
JD coughed. “Just here for the view, man.”
I didn’t miss the flicker of heat in his glance.
The Jeep bounced over rocks and arroyos. I gripped the roll bar and laughed when JD reached across to steady me, his big hand warm on my thigh. The sun beat down, but the wind whipped our hair as we climbed higher. It felt like an adventure, like something real—like us, before life got messy.
At one point, we reached the petroglyph wall. JD stood silently in front of the ancient carvings—spirals, hands, arrows—etched into stone older than sin.
“This feels like we’re time traveling,” I said.
He looked at me. “I remember this... we used to chase stars, not consequences.”
My throat tightened.
We hiked the slot canyon hand-in-hand. He didn’t say much, but his fingers curled protectively around mine like they remembered how to fit. At the overlook, we found a flat rock to sit on, legs dangling over a wide expanse of burnt gold desert dotted with brush and rusted mountains in the distance.
“You planned this?” he asked, nudging my shoulder.
“I wanted you to see I’m more than just apologies and mistakes.”
He turned his face toward mine, the shadow of his jaw dark and rough, the glint of his eyes unreadable. “You always were.”
Silence wrapped around us, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind that said maybe—just maybe—there was still a future here. Something not yet ruined.
“Wanna know the real reason I chose this place?” I asked.
He raised a brow.
“Because it’s where the lost things echo. They say sounds don’t die out here, they just bounce around until someone listens.”
His breath caught. “Then let’s listen, Red.”
I nodded .
We didn’t kiss. Not yet. But the tension curled like smoke between us.
And I knew—I just knew—something was changing.
Out in the wild, where broken hearts come to breathe again.
The sky was blushing orange and mauve when we reached the ridge. Wind stirred my hair as I laid out the picnic spread on a flat sandstone ledge that looked out over the endless horizon. I’d packed carefully—classy but unfussy, just like I hoped this new version of us could be.
A snackle box charcuterie, two frosty bottles of craft beer tucked beside sparkling water, and thick, juicy burgers I’d grilled myself that morning and wrapped tight in foil.
JD watched me with his arms crossed, leaning back against the rock, a faint smile tugging at his lips like he didn’t quite believe I was real.
“You really packed all this?”
I grinned. “I told you I had layers.”
He dropped down beside me, cracking open one of the beers. “You’ve always had layers. I just didn’t take enough time to peel 'em back the right way.”
We ate in a comfortable quiet. Crickets chirped, and in the distance, a hawk soared over the rust-colored cliffs. When the last bite was gone, JD stretched out, boot heels crossed, the canyon wind ruffling his shirt.
“So,” he said, “North Carolina. Was it good to you?”
I hesitated, tracing the rim of my water bottle. “It wasn’t easy. But... yeah. I built a life. Got a two-year degree, became an office manager, and worked hard. I saved up a small nest egg for Jackson. ”
He turned to face me fully, eyes narrowing with something between admiration and ache. “You did all that alone.”
“Not totally alone. Malik and Gram helped. But I never wanted your money, JD.”
“I know,” he said softly. “But for the record—Jackson and you will never have to worry again.”
A hot blush rose in my cheeks. “That’s not why I?—”
He shook his head. “Don’t. I said I know.”
The awkward silence that followed only broke when I pulled out a small bag of chocolate-covered almonds. “I also learned how to garden. Like, full-on tomatoes, zucchini, even damn peaches in containers. And I got addicted to this word game on my phone. Word Blocks. I’m pretty sure I’m a genius.”
JD let out a low laugh. “Skye Northport. Queen of fruit and puzzles.”
I shrugged playfully. “Jackson and I went to New England one Christmas. I wanted him to touch snow. Taste it. We made snowmen. I got frostbite. It was perfect.”
His smile faded, the shadows in his face deepening. “My mother told me the truth. About me. How I’m not even a Northport by blood.”
I reached over and covered his hand with mine. “JD...”
“She told me like it was nothing. Like throwing a drink in my face. I wasn’t angry because I wasn’t part of that legacy—I was angry because all that time I spent trying to please her, to fit in, it was a lie.”
“Do you want to find him?” I asked gently. “Your birth father?”
He nodded once. “Already hired a PI. But turns out, he was Creed MC. Long gone. Maybe dead. Doesn’t matter. The Royal Bastards are my family now. This double life I lead—button-down by day, crime by night—it fits. ”
The wind lifted, catching the edges of my blouse. JD’s gaze landed on my collarbone, and I felt it—electric and slow-burning.
“You’ve changed,” he murmured. “But... not really. You’re still the girl who saw me before anyone else did.”
“And you’re still the boy who gave me the first home I ever knew.”
He leaned in then, brushing his fingers along my cheek. “You’re my home, Red.”
His kiss was soft at first, reverent. Then his hand curled around the back of my neck, pulling me closer. My breath hitched, and I tasted heat and forgiveness and years of regret on his lips.
“I want slow,” I whispered. “I want late dinners and school drop-offs and a million normal, boring things with you.”
His forehead rested against mine. “We’ll have it. All of it.”
As the sun dipped below the canyon rim, we sat tangled together on that rock, the world hushed around us, and I finally believed we just might get our second chance.