Page 10 of Hot as Hell (Royal Bastards MC, Montreal, Canada #2)

Chapter Eight

Hemlock had found himself torn. He’d spent the better part of the night wondering what would be best for Charlie: should he let her sleep alone, or should he stay close in case she needed anything?

His reasoning was simple enough, if she were in the spare bedroom, he wouldn’t hear her if something happened.

But, if she slept in his room, he could keep an eye on her, make sure she was comfortable, and step in if she needed anything during the night.

Standing at the top of the stairs, Hemlock hesitated.

His eyes flicked first to the spare bedroom, where the door was ajar, the room bathed in a dim light from the hall.

Then his gaze turned right, to his own room.

It was quieter there. More intimate. And though the room felt vast, it suddenly felt too empty with the thought of her being so far away.

Without a second thought, he chose right.

The decision settled in him like a quiet relief, but it was a relief laced with complexity.

Hemlock didn’t know exactly what would happen tonight, or how things might shift between them after this choice, but the need to be near her—the quiet instinct to provide some kind of security, some kind of presence—was stronger than his hesitation.

He made his way to the room, his steps steady but slower than usual, as though trying to catch his breath before the door was opened. The soft creak of the floorboards underfoot seemed louder than it should have been, but maybe that was just his nerves.

Walking towards his room, the weight of Charlie in his arms grounding Hemlock in a strange, comforting way. He had expected her to protest, she hadn’t. He felt a protective instinct coil tightly around his chest.

Carefully, he laid her down on his bed, the soft rustling of the covers barely audible.

He pulled the blankets up around her, making sure she was tucked in, her body curling instinctively into the warmth.

For a long moment, he stood there, watching her, before he finally left to shower and get ready for bed.

As Hemlock turned to leave the room, the soft glow of the nightlight cast a warm, almost ethereal hue over Charlie’s sleeping form.

His hand lingered on the doorframe for a moment, his mind spinning with thoughts he couldn’t quite put into words.

There was a peace in the way she slept—calm, still—and it soothed something inside of him, something he hadn’t even realized had been restless.

The protective instinct still clung to him, tight and steady, like a quiet hum in his chest. He could’ve stayed there, watching her all night, but he knew he needed to step back.

With a slow exhale, he left her resting, and headed into the bathroom. The door clicked shut behind him. Crossing the room he turned on the shower and stripped. The cool water of the shower would give him a moment to center himself.

As the water cascaded over him, Hemlock’s thoughts wandered.

He hadn’t expected her to be so trusting, not after everything that had happened.

Her lack of protest had caught him off guard, but he found himself grateful for it in a way he didn’t fully understand.

Was it trust? Or maybe just the exhaustion of the day?

Either way, it didn’t matter. The moment of connection, fragile as it might be, felt significant.

When he stepped out of the shower, the cold air hit his skin like a rush of clarity. He dressed quickly, moving with the practiced ease of someone who’d done this routine a thousand times. But tonight felt different. Every motion, every step, was threaded with something quieter, more deliberate.

Hemlock walked back into his room. It wasn’t late, but it felt later somehow. The world outside was still, as if holding its breath. Stepping closer he found the bed as still as he had left it. The room smelled faintly of clean linen, a touch of lavender from the detergent.

Charlie hadn’t moved much, her face soft in the dim light. He paused, just for a moment, to let his gaze settle on her. Slipping into bed quietly, he laid back resting his head on the pillow, his skin still warm from the shower.

The moonlight slanted through the curtains, casting an eerie glow over the room.

Hemlock lay there, his body stiff and tense, unable to find any rest. His thoughts raced, spiraling around concerns for Charlie.

He couldn’t shake the image of her shifting restlessly beside him—so small, so fragile in the vulnerable state of sleep.

He glanced over at her, watching the rise and fall of her chest with every shallow breath.

Even in the quiet darkness her discomfort seemed palpable.

He wondered if the nightmares were getting worse, or if some deeper fear had taken root inside her.

Maybe it was the strain from their last encounter, the wounds they’d both taken, the weight of everything unresolved.

A muffled groan escaped Charlie’s lips, followed by a soft whimper, and Hemlock’s heart clenched.

Without thinking, his hand reached out, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead, his fingers cool against her fevered skin.

His thumb gently traced her temple, a silent gesture of comfort he hoped would reach her even in her dreams.

“Charlie...” he whispered under his breath, his voice thick with concern, though he knew she wouldn’t hear him. He wanted to wake her, to ask if she was in pain or if she needed something, but he feared it would only make things worse.

The night had been a restless one for Hemlock.

Between Charlie’s soft moans of discomfort and her constant tossing and turning, he barely managed to sleep.

Every small shift or sound from her had him wide awake, his senses on high alert.

She was so vulnerable in her sleep, and the thought she might be in pain, or something else might be wrong, kept him tethered to the edge of consciousness. He could never quite drift off fully.

Then, something unexpected happened. Charlie, still asleep, seemed to seek him out.

She turned and snuggled into his side, her small form curling closer to him instinctively.

The weight of her against him, the soft heat of her body, stirred something deep inside him—an awareness he wasn’t prepared for.

The moment was simple, yet it felt like everything at once: her warmth, her proximity, the way she fit perfectly against him. He could feel the steady rise and fall of her breathing as her head rested against his chest.

When he finally managed to pull himself out of bed, the quiet of the morning was almost jarring after the tension of the night. He stumbled downstairs and into the kitchen, still half-dazed, and poured himself a cup of coffee. Leaning against the counter he sipped the dark brew.

The quiet of the house seemed so much more pronounced without the faint sounds of Charlie’s distress.

While he waited for her to come downstairs, he busied himself by picking up around the kitchen.

The tasks were small, simple, but they kept his mind occupied.

The clink of dishes and the soft rustle of towels as he wiped down counters became his focus.

As he stood there waiting for her to appear, a strange sort of anticipation curled in his stomach.

He wasn’t sure what exactly it was, maybe just the quiet hope she’d be feeling better today, or perhaps the unspoken desire to keep her close, to make sure she was alright.

Either way, he found himself looking at the stairs, waiting for her to make her way down.

Turning on the faucet, he poured the bitter coffee down the drain and rinsed the cup, setting it aside on the drying rack.

The sound of soft footfalls echoed down the stairs, grabbing Hemlock’s attention.

He hadn’t realized how much he’d been waiting for her to appear, but the moment he heard her coming, a quiet relief washed over him.

Charlie emerged at the bottom of the stairs, her movements slow and with a slight hesitation in her steps.

The dark circles under her eyes were a silent testament to her restless night.

It was clear she hadn’t gotten much sleep either.

She looked up at him, and their eyes met for a moment. “Can I make you some breakfast or a cup of coffee?” Hemlock asked, his voice quiet, careful. He had a habit of wanting to take care of people, but he didn’t want to overstep. Still, offering felt natural.

Charlie gave him a soft, almost weary smile and shook her head. “I’m good. Thank you.”

He nodded, not pressing further. However, he couldn’t ignore the subtle tension in her shoulders, the way her body seemed to move with an effort that was a little too visible. Clearly, she was experiencing more pain. “If you’re ready, we can head to the clinic,” he said, his tone gentle but steady.

Charlie exhaled a breath that sounded more like a sigh than anything else. “Sounds good.”

Holding out his hand he waited for her to head towards the front door.

Grabbing his car keys he followed Charlie outside.

His bike sat next to his car and work truck for the detail company.

Even though he knew Charlie could ride like a pro, she was in pain.

He wasn’t to add insult to injury by putting her on the back of the bike causing her more discomfort by hitting bumps and avoiding potholes.

He’d done that the evening before, which he would bet added to the pain she suffered.

Opening the passenger side door, he waited for her to climb in before shutting the door and walking to the driver’s side. Sliding behind the wheel, Hemlock glanced over at Charlie. “How bad’s the pain this morning?” he asked.

Charlie hesitated for a moment, her gaze flicking to her hands as she took a breath. Then with a quiet almost defeated tone, she answered, “About the same.”

Hemlock’s hands tightened briefly around the steering wheel as he spoke again, “We’ll be at the clinic shortly. I’ve already called Razor and he’s going to meet us there.”

Charlie wanted nothing more than to be her normal, cheerful self, to offer that easy smile she’d always given without thinking.

But the pain in her face this morning was too much to ignore, each movement sending sharp, electric streaks through her temples, making the effort to smile impossible.

She had barely slept, between the never-ending ache in her face and the strange, unsettling dream that had haunted her sleep, she was exhausted.

It always seemed to come when she was on the verge of sleep, drawing her into a place where she couldn’t find any relief.

And when it wasn’t the dream keeping her awake, it was the warmth of Hemlock’s body beside hers.

Every inch of her body was in tune with his.

The way he moved in the bed, the slow rise and fall of his chest as he slept, the quiet murmur of his breath. It made for a very long night.

“Okay,” she finally replied.

Hemlock pulled out of the driveway, his hands gripping the wheel tightly.

The engine hummed steadily as he navigated the quiet road toward the clinic.

The air between him and Charlie was thick with unspoken thoughts.

He stole a quick glance at her from the corner of his eye, watching her profile in the dim morning light filtering through the car’s windows.

Her face was pale, drawn tight with fatigue showing, and though she was trying to mask it, he could see the subtle shifts in her expression.

The way she winced when the car hit a bump in the road, told him she was holding the pain inside.