Page 40 of Heat (The Royal HArlots MC, Quebec City-Canada #1)

Chapter Thirty-Nine

The first light of morning filtered through the privacy curtains, casting a golden stripe across the bed.

The world outside was still other than a birdsong in the distance and the soft rustle of wind through trees.

It was the kind of morning that felt suspended, untouched by the chaos waiting on the other side of time.

Diamond shifted beneath the blanket, blinking slowly as sleep loosened its hold. For a moment, she forgot where they were. Then she turned her head and saw Sayer still asleep beside her, his face relaxed, one hand resting near his ribs, the other tucked beneath the pillow.

He looked younger in sleep. Softer. Like the weight he carried had finally loosened its grip for a few short hours.

She slipped quietly out of bed, careful not to wake him. The floor was cool under her bare feet as she padded to the kitchenette. She put together the coffee pot and hit brew, then rummaged for a clean towel and stepped into the small bathroom.

The water was warm—hot, even—and she let it run over her shoulders a moment longer than necessary. Her muscles ached in that dull, worked-too-hard way, but it wasn’t a bad feeling. It was earned. Grounding. She lathered slowly, letting the scent of the soap—something faintly herbal—anchor her.

By the time she stepped out, toweling her hair dry, the RV smelled faintly of brewing coffee. She pulled on a clean T-shirt and soft cotton shorts, then poured herself a mug, holding it in both hands as she leaned against the counter.

Sayer was still sleeping, one leg half-kicked out from under the blanket, his chest rising and falling in an even rhythm. She didn’t wake him. Not yet.

The morning was theirs.

Quiet. Unhurried.

For once, the world could wait.

The rich scent of coffee drifted through the cab, warm and familiar. It crept in slow, nudging Sayer from sleep like a hand smoothing down his spine.

He stirred, blinking against the soft morning light bleeding in through the blinds.

The pain in his side was still there, but dulled, wrapped in the kind of ache that meant rest had done its job.

He turned his head toward the kitchenette and saw her—Diamond—leaning against the counter, her hair damp from a shower, coffee mug tucked between her hands.

She hadn’t noticed him yet.

He watched her for a moment, quietly. There was something about seeing her like this, loose and low and unguarded, that twisted something in his chest. The kind of ache that had nothing to do with injuries.

“Is that for me?” he rasped, voice still thick with sleep.

Diamond looked over her shoulder, one brow lifting, her mouth curving just slightly. “Only if you can make it to the counter without pulling a stitch.”

Sayer grunted, pushing himself upright with one hand. “I’ve done worse for less.”

“I know. I’ve heard the stories.”

She poured him a mug without being asked, then crossed the short space and handed it off. Their fingers brushed as he took it, the heat from the ceramic seeping between their hands.

“Thanks,” he murmured, gaze lingering on her a second longer than it probably should have.

Diamond sat on the edge of the bed while he sipped. They didn’t talk much. Didn’t need to. The quiet between them wasn’t heavy—it just was . Comfortable.

He glanced toward the window. “Place is quiet. Feels weird.”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “But good, weird.”

“Good, weird,” he echoed, and let his head fall back against the wall, eyes closing for just a moment. “We should do this more often. Wake up with coffee. No pipe wielding assholes. No chaos. Just… quiet.”

She looked at him for a long beat, then said softly, “Yeah. We should.”

And for the first time, it felt like maybe— maybe —that was something they could have.

By the time they were both dressed, early morning had slipped into late morning. The sunlight outside had shifted from soft gold to something sharper, more direct. They both knew it was time to get back on the road.

“Teller had my bike moved to the clubhouse,” Sayer said, grunting as he tugged on his boots, careful not to strain his side.

Diamond nodded. She already knew that. She also knew Sayer wanted more than just his bike—he wanted a sit-down with Teller, and she had a feeling it wouldn’t be a friendly one.

“I’ll drop you off there before heading back to Quebec City,” she said, grabbing her jacket off the hook.

Sounded good to him. She didn’t need to know he planned to set his president straight about sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. Once he handled things in Montreal, he’d head to her for real recovery—his kind of recovery. Quiet. Her.

“It’d probably be best if you just headed home,” he added casually. “Let me handle the business with the chapter.”

She studied him for a second, but didn’t push. She had her own responsibilities waiting. “Yeah,” she said with a nod. “I need to get back anyway. Things at the chapter aren’t going to secure themselves.”

They moved around the small space in quiet sync—packing up what little they’d unpacked, doing a final check of disconnecting the hookups, closing cabinets. It was routine, muscle memory, but something about the silence between them felt a little heavier now.

Not bad. Just full.

When she climbed into the driver’s seat, Sayer eased in beside her, shifting carefully, wincing just a little.

Neither of them said what they were really thinking.

That when they split ways at the clubhouse, it might be days—or longer—before they saw each other again.

When they arrived at the Royal Bastards clubhouse in Montreal, Diamond wasn’t convinced things between her and Sayer would go the way either of them wanted.

She didn’t shut down the rig when she parked it in the side lot. The engine idled, a soft hum beneath the tension stretching between them. She just sat there for a moment, hands on the wheel, eyes drifting to Sayer. He stared out the passenger-side window at the clubhouse like it might bite.

“You okay over there?” she asked.

“Yeah,” his voice was quiet, thoughtful. “I guess sitting here won’t get things done, will it?”

“Nope.”

She unbuckled and opened the door, climbing out—not with her usual leap to the ground and boots thudding against pavement, but a slower, quieter departure. Like she was trying to stretch the moment a little longer. Delay the goodbye.

She walked around the front of the truck and met Sayer as he climbed down.

She waited until he closed the door before saying anything.

He stood a full foot taller than her—something that had always made her feel safe wrapped in his arms. Now it made her feel small in the worst way, like she had to tilt her chin just to hold eye contact.

She wanted to grab his face, to kiss him like a parched man drinks water after a week in the sun. But she didn’t.

Instead, he shifted his stance, widening his feet so he didn’t have to bend down to reach her. He kissed her, soft and sure, and for a heartbeat she let herself pretend it was enough.

When he pulled back, he smiled. “See ya when I see ya.”

Diamond echoed him with a steady voice, “See ya when I see ya.”

But it was the way he said it—casual, unfinished—that made her realize he wasn’t any surer than she was about what would happen next.

She gave him her usual smile, the one that didn’t give anything away, and climbed back into the cab. As she pulled away, she didn’t look back. Couldn’t.

She had a two-hour drive ahead of her. Two hours to let her heart quietly break.

After that, she’d put Sayer behind her. Lock him in the same mental box where she kept every other what-if. And maybe—just maybe—enough time would pass and she’d get over the possibility of being his.