Page 6 of Hero After Midnight (Gibson Hollow)

Ramsey

B odie sat next to me, flipping a football between his hands like he needed the distraction as he watched some ESPN game rerun on the screen.

But ever since Blair showed up, I’d struggled to focus.

Not because Blair was a vortex of chaos energy, but because I was trying to hear her conversation with Alia.

Or, more properly, trying to keep myself from trying to overhear their conversation and trying to hear it, anyway.

It was impossible not to catch… snippets.

Alia’s voice barely registered—a low, quiet thread I couldn’t make out. But Blair?

“You don’t need a date.” Her retort echoed sharp and bright. “Go as a goddess of vengeance. Let people worship you.”

My jaw tightened.

Worship her?

Jesus. Don’t go there, man.

But my brain didn’t listen. It immediately offered up the image: Alia in that dress—the one I’d caught a glimpse of once when a delivery box had been opened in the wrong room.

Dark purple, sleek and bold in a way that begged for a double take.

Her hair pulled back. Her shoulders bare.

That damn mask with the feathers and metallic edge catching the light while she looked at me like she already knew all my secrets.

Worship her? Yeah. That would be easy.

Too easy.

I shifted on the couch, grinding my molars together like that might force the thought back into whatever hole it crawled out of. Right next to me, Bodie didn’t say a word. Which made me extra aware of how right there he was. How not okay it would be if he ever knew what I was thinking.

I dragged my focus back to the TV, like the scoreboard could erase what I’d just imagined.

Blair meant it as a joke—or actually, maybe not—but the idea of touching Alia, tasting her, had rewired my brain.

God help me.

Blair came striding down the hall like a woman on a mission, one arm looped around the dress and the velvet mask box tucked securely in the other. Alia trailed behind her, sweater sleeves pulled over her hands, hair slightly mussed like they’d already started planning something major.

She didn’t look at me right away—but just before she crossed the threshold into the living room, her gaze flicked up. Met mine.

Not long. Maybe half a second. But it was enough.

There was something soft and steady in her eyes. A pulse of quiet steel under all the shit she was carrying. Like she wasn’t just surviving it. She was choosing not to break.

My chest did something weird and traitorous.

“Emergency fashion summit.” Blair tossed the words over her shoulder with trademark flair. “Don’t wait up.”

The door clicked shut behind them.

“She’s still going to that thing?” Bodie muttered beside me, his voice tight.

I nodded, forcing my voice calm. “Looks like it.”

And damn it, I was proud of her. After everything, after that asshole gutted her pride in public, she wasn’t backing down. That took guts. Fire. But pride wasn’t the only thing twisting in my ribs.

I was worried.

And underneath that—buried deep where it had no business being—was the raw, hungry want I’d spent years trying to strangle quiet.

The part of me that didn’t want to keep my distance.

That wanted to be the one walking in with her, matching tux and tie to her dress, her hand resting easy on my arm like she belonged there. With me.

Bodie didn’t say anything right away, but I could feel the shift in him. His shoulders tensed, eyes narrowing like he was already running mental background checks on every guy who might be at that party. His jaw flexed. “Those parties are full of drunk frat guys and half-assed security.”

Yeah. He was thinking the same thing I was.

Who was going to be watching her back?

Bodie scrubbed a hand over his face and sat forward, elbows on his knees. “I don’t like her going alone.”

I didn’t answer right away. He wasn’t wrong, but jumping in would blow up in our faces. Alia would take it like we didn’t think she could take care of herself. Worse, we’d probably wreck whatever confidence she was just starting to get back after everything with Barrett the fuckwad.

I kept my voice even. “She can handle herself.”

“She shouldn’t have to!” Bodie scrubbed a hand down his face before continuing in a quieter tone. “That’s not the point. It’s not about her. It’s about everyone else.”

I watched him for a second, weighing the line we were tiptoeing up to. He was worried, but not hovering. Not trying to control her. Just being the kind of brother who’d seen too many things go sideways and knew exactly what kind of entitled assholes showed up to parties like that.

I leaned back against the couch. “So, what are you suggesting?”

He turned toward me, jaw set. “We get into the party.”

“It’s a closed event,” I pointed out, even though I already knew where this was going. “We’re not frat guys. We’re not dates. We’re not even invited.”

Bodie leaned back, arms crossing over his chest like I’d dared him to find a loophole. “It’s a masquerade. You think they’re doing facial recognition at the door?”

I gave him a flat look. “It’s a formal masquerade. We’re gonna stand out if we show up in jeans and attitude.”

He shrugged, like that was barely a speed bump. “So we don’t. We get tuxes.”

I stared at him. “You make that sound like we’ve got them hanging in a closet somewhere.”

“I’ve got a cousin who still owes me from that wedding he bailed on last summer. And you’re roughly the same size.”

I ran a hand over my jaw, feeling the edges of my resistance starting to give. “Okay. And the masks?”

That grin spread over his face—mischief and determination all rolled into one. “You leave that to me.”

Of course. I should’ve known. I suspected he’d go to exactly the same source Alia had used. And why wouldn’t he? Gibson Hollow was only an hour and a half away. If anybody had the hookup, it would be Bodie’s Uncle Dee.

Still, the weight in my chest hadn’t gone anywhere. “I don’t know about this, man.” I looked toward the front door, where Alia had disappeared not five minutes ago. “I don’t think she’d want us there.”

“We’re not gonna crash it.” Bodie sat forward again. “We’re not gonna interfere. Just shadows, that’s it. Watch her back. Make sure she doesn’t have to deal with some creep while she’s trying to enjoy herself.”

He said it like it was obvious. Like it was a mission.

And I hated how much I wanted to say yes.

I wanted to say it was about protection. That I only wanted to keep an eye out, play quiet backup in case the night threw her into the orbit of some beer-soaked asshole with zero respect for boundaries.

And, sure, that was part of it. But it wasn’t the whole story.

The truth lodged sharp in my throat, unwanted and undeniable: I didn’t want to be there just to keep her safe.

I wanted to see her.

In the dress. In the mask. In that glow I’d only caught glimpses of—never mine, never meant for me—but still enough to keep me hooked. I wanted to watch her walk into that ballroom like it belonged to her. Like she belonged there, not on the sidelines where the world always tried to tuck her.

She deserved her Cinderella moment, and I wanted to be the one at her side. Her arm looped through mine, her voice soft near my ear, her smile something I could steal without guilt.

But that wasn’t on the table. Not with Bodie sitting five feet away. Not with the years between us and all the unspoken rules that came with them.

If I couldn’t be the guy who got to worship her in the way Blair—loud and unrepentant—had thrown into the air like a dare, then maybe I could be the guy who made sure no one unworthy tried.

Even if it wrecked me a little.

I nodded once, leaned into the part of the truth I could say out loud.

“Fine.” I blew out a slow breath. “But we stay out of the way. If she catches us hovering, she’ll kill us both.”

Bodie didn’t even blink. “Deal.”

We bumped fists, quiet and sure, no victory whoops or posturing. Merely a silent agreement sealed in the space between worry and something like devotion.

Then I reached for my drink, took a long pull, and stared at the front door like I could still see her silhouette beyond it.

She had no idea we were coming.

And if we did it right, she never would.