Page 10

Pirate

I woke up to quiet.

Not the soft kind, not the peaceful kind. The kind that makes every nerve sit up and pay attention.

Something wasn’t right.

My hand moved instinctively, reaching for warmth beside me—but all I felt were tangled sheets and the cool dip of an empty mattress. I jackknifed up, and my chest tightened before my brain could fully catch up.

Saylor wasn’t in bed.

The blanket was still messy next to me, sheets twisted, her pillow slightly indented where her head had rested. She hadn’t been gone long, but she was gone.

My eyes darted to the bathroom. The door was open. The light was off.

“Shit,” I muttered, and threw the covers off.

I swung my legs out of bed and pulled on the nearest pair of jeans, and didn’t bother with a shirt or even shoes. My heart was beating too fast.

I left the room and jogged down the hallway. My bare feet slapped against the old hardwood floors. My stomach twisted the closer I got to the common room. It was early, barely dawn from the look of the pale blue light stretching across the floor. I didn’t see anyone at first, and that only made it worse.

Yarder stood by the back door with a steaming mug of coffee in his hand and one brow already raised before I could get a word out. “Chill,” he called casually like he hadn’t just seen me come charging in like my world was ending.

“She’s gone,” I said, breathless, and scanned the room like maybe she’d just be curled up on the couch or perched on the counter.

Yarder jerked his chin toward the back door. “No, she’s out back. Playing with Harley and Davidson.”

I didn’t respond. I moved to the door.

Saylor sat in the dewy grass in one of my old hoodies, bare-legged, with Harley draped across her lap like a spoiled lapdog despite being seventy pounds of pure muscle. She tossed a faded red ball across the yard, and Davidson took off like a rocket with his tail wagging and tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.

He brought it back to her, and she laughed—soft and sweet. She scratched his ears and told him he was a good boy like it was the best part of her morning. Maybe it was.

I didn’t move. Didn’t speak. I just watched her and let the fear drain out of me with every wag of those damn dogs’ tails.

She was safe.

Yarder moved beside me. The steam from his coffee rose in lazy swirls and curled around his face as he took a sip.

“You good now?” he asked with a small grin playing on his lips.

I exhaled and nodded. “I thought something happened to her.”

He nodded and took another slow sip of his coffee. “Been there, man. The feeling sucks. I barely knew Poppy when the garage fucking blew up, but even then… I knew. I knew I’d do anything to keep her safe.”

I looked out at Saylor again. Her fingers were buried in Harley’s fur now, and Davidson was curled up next to her like he didn’t have a care in the world. She glanced toward the clubhouse for a moment, but she hadn’t seen me yet. Her face was soft. Relaxed. Beautiful.

“I really don’t know her,” I said, my voice low. “Not really. But it’s like…” I trailed off, unsure how to say it.

Yarder didn’t press me.

“It’s like you’re gonna die if something happens to her,” he finished for me.

I didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah.”

“But…” I rubbed the back of my neck. “I don’t know her. We’ve barely touched. Haven’t even kissed. We’re just starting, but… I’ve got this feeling like she’s mine. Like I’ve already claimed her and the rest is just catching up.”

Yarder looked over at me, his expression solemn now. “Just don’t question it, man. No point in trying to talk yourself out of it when it’s already happened.”

I nodded slowly and watched Saylor toss the ball again, but neither dog got up to chase it. They were content just laying with her.

“But what happened?” I asked. “When did it happen?”

He tipped his head toward the yard. “You found your world, man.”

And damn if that didn’t feel exactly right.

Saylor

Davidson was sprawled out beside me in the grass like a sunbathing prince with his big head resting on my leg. Harley was in my lap, half-curled up and his eyes blinking sleepily every few seconds as I ran my fingers behind his ears. He let out a soft huff of air and shifted closer, practically melting into me.

I smiled as I looked down at them.

I’d always wanted a dog growing up. I used to beg my parents for one every birthday and Christmas. I left pictures of golden retrievers and German shepherds on the fridge like some kids left notes for Santa. But the answer had always been the same: no. Too much work. Too much mess. Too much responsibility.

Then I’d grown up. Moved out. Had my own apartment. My own life.

But I was never home. I worked long hours, traveled for shoots, and edited late into the night. It wouldn’t have been fair to leave a dog waiting, bored and alone, just so I could say I had one. So I didn’t. I loved them from a distance. Pet every dog I passed on the street. Volunteered at shelters when I had time.

And now, sitting out here in the crisp morning air with Harley and Davidson like a pair of oversized, lazy toddlers?

It felt… nice.

Needed.

I chuckled softly to myself. Only a motorcycle club would name their dogs Harley and Davidson. It was too on the nose, and somehow still perfect.

I had woken up a while ago with the sunlight just beginning to peek through the curtains. Pirate had been out cold beside me with one arm tossed above his head and the slow rise and fall of his chest keeping time. I hadn’t wanted to wake him, so I just laid there for a while and stared at the ceiling. I listened to him breathe and tried to wrap my head around the fact that I was here. With him.

Crazy.

Eventually, I slid out of bed and moved slowly and carefully so I didn’t make any noise. I grabbed one of his sweatshirts from the closet and tiptoed to the door. I eased it open and nearly walked face-first into Yarder.

I froze, mid-step, and expected a scolding or a barked order to get my butt back in bed.

Instead, he just gave me a tired smirk and said, “I was on my way to let the boys out. Want some coffee?”

I blinked at him, then nodded. “Uh… yeah. That sounds great.”

“Cool. Head on out. I’ll bring it to you.”

So I came out, let the boys loose, and settled in the grass with them. That had been a while ago. Yarder still hadn’t returned with that coffee.

“I think your dad doesn’t know how to work the coffee maker,” I murmured to Harley and Davidson.

Harley snorted in response—maybe at the sound of my voice, maybe at the insult to his owner. I scratched behind his ears in apology.

The back door creaked open behind me.

I turned, expecting to see Yarder, but it wasn’t him.

Pirate stepped out barefoot with two cups of coffee in his hands.

No shirt. Just a pair of jeans slung low on his hips.

Goddamn.

The man was a walking sin.

His chest was a canvas of ink—tattoos layered and detailed, some bright colors, some just black, but all perfectly Pirate. His arms were the same—sleeved and strong, muscles flexing just from the way he held the mugs. His hair was messy, falling around his face like he’d run his fingers through it half a dozen times, and his eyes were still heavy with sleep.

He walked over, quiet and unhurried like there was no reason to rush.

“Hello,” I called softly.

“Coffee?” he offered, voice rough from sleep.

I nodded quickly. “That would be great. I think I’ve worn out Harley and Davidson enough that they won’t knock it out of my hand.”

He passed me one of the mugs. I wrapped both hands around it and soaked in the warmth.

“You okay?” he asked and watched me as he settled into the chair closest to me.

I nodded. “Better than yesterday. I might need a crane to get me off the ground, but otherwise I’m good.”

He chuckled and stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankle. “I didn’t even hear you get up. I was worried something happened to you.”

“That’s because I didn’t want to wake you. I think I’ve reached my limit on sleep. If I lie down any more, I’m going to turn into a vegetable.”

That earned another laugh from him, low and easy.

“Maybe we can do something today?” I suggested, careful not to sound too eager. I didn’t want to lie around all day again, but I wasn’t exactly looking to go bungee jumping either.

Pirate winced slightly, like he’d been expecting the ask. “Not sure that’s a good idea, baby. With Boone and Gibbs still out there, staying at the clubhouse is the best thing.”

I figured he’d say that.

I glanced around the yard. “Well, I mean, that’s okay. This place is big enough. Surely there’s something we could do here.”

He took a sip of his coffee and looked over at me. His lips tugged into a slow, mischievous grin. “I’m sure I’m gonna regret this.”

“Regret what?” I laughed.

“Let’s see what the ol’ ladies can cook up.”