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CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

I HAD FORGOTTEN what fresh air felt like.

For weeks, my world had been confined to the inside, surrounded by quiet voices and the scent of old wood. Safety had become four walls and the steady presence of Mystic. But outside... outside was different. The air was warm, carrying the scent of pine and distant rain, the roar of motorcycles in the distance, and laughter drifting from the clubhouse behind me.

I gripped the railing, my fingers pressing into the rough wood as I took another step forward. The breeze tugged at my hair, lifting the strands like a whisper, a reminder that I was free . At least, for now.

A shadow moved beside me, solid, steady. I didn’t have to turn to know it was him.

He hadn’t touched me, hadn’t spoken. But I felt him. The weight of his gaze, the silent question in the space between us. He was always there. Watching, waiting—like he knew I might break at any moment. But I wasn’t broken.

Bruised but not broken.

I shifted my grip on the railing, the bandages were off my hands but my grip wasn’t as strong as I would have liked. My body still felt weak at times, but I didn’t let it show. I didn’t want him to see me as fragile.

Slowly, I turned, lifting my gaze to meet his. His eyes that seemed to glow studied me carefully, searching for something. I didn’t know what, but I hoped he saw it all in my gaze.

“I... wanted to feel the air,” I murmured, my voice sounding like a whisper to my ears. The accent that had only faded slightly since I’d come to the United States, now wrapped around the words softly, familiar. “I stay inside too long.”

His lips twitched, just barely. “Fresh air will do you good.”

I let out a slow breath, glancing down at my fingers curled around the wood. “I do not want to be scared anymore.” I don’t know why I said those words.

His jaw ticked, something flashing in his expression—something dark, something dangerous. “You got nothin’ to be scared of here. Not while I’m around.”

Warmth spread through my chest at his words, because I believed him more than anything.

I took a breath, steadying myself, and when I looked up again, I did something I hadn’t done since coming here. I reached out, pressing my palm lightly against his face touching the scars there.

His muscles tensed beneath my touch, but he didn’t pull away.

“How did you get these?” I asked, suddenly wanting to know everything about this man.

“Military,” he replied studying me closely. “Fuckin’ bomb… I woke up lookin’ like a freak.”

“Don’t say that!” I admonished harshly. “You do not look like a freak.” I ran my fingers down along his jawline. “These scars represent the man I’ve come to know, kind and brave.”

I wanted to say more, to tell him that I never saw him as a scarred man. That he meant so much to me. Instead, I let my hand linger, hoping he understood what I couldn’t put into words.

His expression softened—just a flicker, barely there. But I saw it.

A door creaked open behind us. The moment shattered. I pulled my hand away as Brenda and Horse stood in the doorway.

“You ready to head back inside,” he asked, still studying me.

I held his gaze a minute longer before nodding and stepping back toward the clubhouse. My legs felt heavy, my body still recovering, but something inside me felt lighter.

I had stepped outside.

I had reached for him.

And he had let me.