Page 26 of Held-

“Up and out,” Brayden says, moving to my side. He reaches past me, his arm brushing mine as he grips the handle. “This way.” He pulls up and out in one smooth motion, and the door swings open. The movement brings him close enough that warmth rolls off him, along with that familiar mix of leather and spice that always unsettles me in the worst—and best—ways.

“Thanks,” I murmur, slipping into the seat before I lose my mind and do something reckless.

He closes the door with a quiet thud and walks back around to his side. I watch him through the windshield, noticing the steady confidence in each step, the certainty in the way he carries himself. It’s a kind of self-assurance I’ve never possessed—not even when I thought I had my life sorted out.

The engine turns over with a rumble that vibrates through the van's worn seats. Brayden adjusts the rearview mirror before he shifts into reverse.

“So,” he says as we pull out of the church parking lot, “warehouse club it is. You ever been to one of those places?”

“Once. With Ethan.” The name slips out before I can stop it, and I immediately wish I could take it back. The last thing I want is to bring up my ex-husband while sitting in a church van with a man who makes my pulse race. “It was...overwhelming.”

“Yeah, they're designed to make you buy shit you don't need in quantities that could feed a small army.” He glances at me sideways. “Good thing we actually need to feed a small army.”

I laugh despite myself. “Four hundred families definitely qualifies.”

We drive in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the familiar streets of San Salona giving way to rural highway. I find myself stealing glances at Brayden as he drives.

His hands rest easily on the wheel, those same hands that helped me with my helmet by the lake, that have probably done things I can't even imagine.

“You're staring,” he says without looking at me, the corner of his mouth lifting in that almost-smile I'm starting to recognize.

Heat creeps up my neck. “Sorry.”

“I didn't say stop.”

That pulls a laugh from me. “Do you practice these lines, or do they just come naturally?”

“Both.” Now he does glance at me, that half-smile playing at his lips.

I turn to look out the window, watching pine trees blur past. “You never told me what you did. After, I mean. When you left San Salona.”

“You really want to know?”

“I wouldn't ask if I didn't.”

He’s quiet for a moment, deciding how much truth to give me. “Bounced around for a while. Construction work, bar security, whatever paid cash. Got into some trouble. Got out of it. Found the club when I was twenty-three.”

“And that changed things?”

“Everything.” The word carries weight—almost a prayer, almost a promise. “For the first time in my life, I belonged somewhere.”

I nod, understanding more than he probably realizes. That hunger to belong, to find your place—I've felt it my whole life, even when surrounded by a community that claimed to embrace me.

“Your turn.”

“What do you want to know exactly?”

“Who are you really, Cece Montgomery? The real you, not the woman you pretend to be.”

I stare out the windshield, watching the white lines of the highway blur past. Who am I really?

“I don't know,” I admit, the honesty surprising even me.

“Bullshit.”

The blunt response makes me turn to look at him. “Excuse me?”

“I said bullshit.” He keeps his eyes on the road, but I can see the intensity in his profile. “The woman who told off the mayor in a crowded coffee shop knows exactly who she is. She's just scared to let her out.”