Page 6

B y the time the sun had disappeared behind the trees, casting long shadows across the parking lot, everyone had gone.

Zelda and Wicked had offered to stay, gently insisting they didn’t mind helping her settle in. But Billie Ann had shaken her head with a quiet, tired smile. She appreciated it, but this was something she had to do alone.

She needed to face it. The stillness. The silence.

The fact that the man who’d filled every corner of this place with life and laughter and whiskey-soaked wisdom was gone.

Plus, she hated to cry in front of people.

Davey had always told her never to let anyone see your fear or see you cry.

It made you look weak in front of others.

That stuck with her. He had also said she was an ugly crier.

That thought made her grin, but the grin faded as she stopped in front of the trailer.

She stood there, keys in hand, as the sound of tires faded down the road, and the familiar creak of the trailer steps groaned beneath her boots.

Last night, instead of staying in the trailer, she had stayed in the office inside the bar.

The porch light flickered, just like it always had, and that dumb wind chime made from old spoons still clinked softly in the breeze.

Davey never fixed things unless they were bleeding or on fire. She used to gripe about this, but now she was glad for every untouched, imperfect detail.

Her hand hesitated at the door. Then she pushed it open.

The scent hit her first. Faint tobacco, motor oil, and the clean soap Davey used that somehow always smelled like pine.

She pressed a hand to her chest as emotion surged.

The living room was exactly the same. His boots were still by the door.

His hat hung on the hook he’d carved himself.

A plate with a half-used stick of butter sat on the counter, covered with foil.

It wasn’t just a space. It was him. Frozen in time.

She moved slowly, trailing fingers over worn armrests and picture frames. She stopped at one of her favorites. It was a photo of her, age ten, sitting on Davey’s shoulders at the fair, both of them covered in powdered sugar from too many funnel cakes. His eyes sparkled in that picture.

Her own room was tucked in the back, a tiny thing with light purple paint still clinging to the walls and stickers on the mirror she’d never bothered to scrape off.

It was dusty, untouched since she’d left, but otherwise the same.

Her old quilt, faded with time, still covered the twin bed. A few books lined the shelf above it.

She sat on the edge of the bed, running her fingers over the cover, and her eyes scanning her room as memories flooded her. Davey yelling at her from the tiny kitchen that her food was getting cold. Or hearing him cursing at a baseball game from his favorite worn-out chair.

Feeling the tears clog her throat and burn the back of her eyes, she stood up quickly.

She was afraid that if she started crying, she would never stop.

Suddenly, the thought of Rafe hit her. He was staying in the office above the bar.

A worn-out couch, no shower, a battered mini fridge, and whatever comfort he could scrape together between four walls.

Guilt stirred, followed by something deeper—something softer she didn’t want to name just yet.

Rushing to the small closet, she found a fresh set of sheets, a pillow, and an extra blanket. Bundling them in her arms, she made her way back through the trailer, past the ghost of the life she used to know.

The night had deepened, the chill of it brushing her bare arms as she crossed the lot toward the bar. But before she could step inside, she spotted him.

He was outside, leaning against the railing near the entrance, arms crossed, his head tilted slightly toward the stars like he’d been standing there a while. The light from the nearby lamppost hit his face just right, making him look wild and untamed. Her heart pounded as she stared at him.

She stopped short, her voice caught somewhere between her chest and throat.

He turned slowly, as if he’d known she was coming.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low.

She nodded, swallowing against the lump that still hadn’t gone away since walking into the trailer.

“I brought you some pillows and blankets,” she said, her voice smaller than she wanted it to be. “The office couch isn’t exactly the Ritz.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” she said, meeting his eyes, “but I wanted to.”

Rafe pushed off the railing and took a slow step toward her, the porch light catching the blue of his eyes.

They were the kind of eyes that could turn cold if they needed to—she didn’t doubt that—but right now, they looked anything but.

They were steady, warm, and kind. Yeah, okay, she was infatuated by this man’s eyes.

“Thank you,” he said softly, reaching out to take the blankets from her arms. His fingers brushed hers, rough and warm, and it sent a jolt straight through her chest.

She quickly stepped back, folding her arms as if she needed the barrier.

He didn’t press. Just held the bundle under one arm and tilted his head slightly, studying her in that way he did. It was almost like he could see past her brave face and right into the aching part of her that had been hiding since the moment Davey died.

“I really hope you find out who did this to Davey.” Billie Ann whispered, glancing around.

“I will.” His short, to-the-point answer had her eyes shooting back to his. The confidence in his voice had her believing that he would, in fact, find Davey’s killer.

“Thank you,” she said, then sighed, looking away to gaze around the property and then up to the bar.

The emotions of the day hit her hard and suddenly.

“Everything still smells like him. His boots are still by the door waiting for him to come home. It’s not fair.

I shouldn’t be here.” The tears burned again, sneaking up fast. She blinked up at the sky, trying to fight them off.

She really didn’t know why she just confided that information to him.

Rafe set the covers on the steps, then reached out and pulled her into his arms, and Billie Ann let him. This complete stranger was offering her comfort, which she so desperately needed, and she was going to take it. He didn’t say a word, just held her tightly against his large body.

“He was my home,” she whispered. “No matter where I went, I always knew I could come back to him.”

“You’re not alone, Billie Ann,” he said, voice low. “Not anymore. I meant what I said earlier. You and Davey mattered to Mac and Zelda. Which means you matter to me.”

Billie Ann swallowed hard. The words struck deep, carving into the space where grief resided, where fear and uncertainty had taken root. Even though she had just met him only hours ago, something about this man calmed her.

Bruce’s voice broke the moment from somewhere behind them. “And here I thought I was the emotionally available one.”

Billie let out a laugh that cracked a little at the edges. Rafe smirked.

“I’m just saying,” Bruce continued, leaping onto the railing beside them. “Here I thought I was coming to cheer her up with my wit and humor, but what do I find? Her in another one's arms.”

Billie Ann wiped at her eyes, feeling lighter somehow. Still broken in places, still uncertain—but not alone. Not tonight.

“I’ll let you get settled,” she said softly, stepping back. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“I will.” Rafe’s eyes stayed on hers as she nodded, then turned toward the trailer. He then glanced at Bruce, motioning for him to stay.

“Leave the door open, Billie,” Bruce called out. “I’ll be there in a second.”

“Will do,” Billie Ann called over her shoulder, then slipped through the door.

She stopped just inside, heart thudding. She hadn’t meant to listen in. It wasn’t like her to spy, but her instincts kicked in the second she walked away. Something told her this was a conversation she needed to hear.

The porch behind her was dim, the kind of still that made your skin prickle. She stayed quiet, listening.

“What’s up?” Bruce asked, his voice casual.

“What do you know about the Crow Shifters here?” Rafe’s tone was different now, low and serious.

Billie Ann held her breath. She didn’t know what she was expecting, but this definitely wasn’t just a friendly conversation.

Bruce let out a soft huff. “Other than the fact that they can literally shit bomb your ass in mid-flight? They’re alright. Weird as hell, but not dangerous. Why? You think they had something to do with Davey?”

“I don’t know,” Rafe said, and there was something tight and controlled in the way he said it. “But I’m not ruling anyone out.”

Billie Ann’s stomach twisted.

“Who’s their Alpha?” Rafe asked.

“Jack Crow,” Bruce replied after a beat. “Real pain in the ass. Power-hungry, got a temper, and thinks he's smarter than everyone. But I don’t see him going after Davey. I mean, yeah, Jack’s an asshole, but Davey was respected around here.”

That tugged at Billie Ann’s heart. Davey had kept to himself, but people had liked him. He was solid. Honest. The kind of man who helped when no one else did.

“But if you think Jack’s involved,” Bruce added, his voice dropping, “you better be ready to come at him smart. He doesn’t react well to accusations, and he sure as hell won’t hand over answers just because you ask nicely.”

Rafe let out a quiet sigh, frustration bleeding through. “This doesn’t feel random, Bruce. It feels… personal.”

There was a long pause.

“Then maybe it is. As long as I’ve known you, I’ve never known you to be wrong.” Bruce finally said. “Glad you could make it. Billie Ann deserves to know who killed her stepdaddy.”

“Yes, she does.” Rafe agreed.

Billie Ann felt the tears fill her eyes again as she made her way deeper into the trailer just before Bruce walked inside. Turning, she quickly went and shut the door with a smile at Bruce. “Thanks for hanging with me tonight.”

“What are friends for?” Bruce made his way toward the chair that had always been Davey’s. “You think he’d mind if I slept in his chair?”

“No, he wouldn’t mind,” Billie said with a sad shake of her head. “Goodnight, Bruce.”

“Night, Billie,” Bruce said as he curled up in Davey’s chair.

Walking into her old bedroom, Billie collapsed on the bed, shoving her face into the pillow, and let the tears overtake her.

She deserved a good cry, but after this she needed to get her shit together.

She had a bar to run. A legacy to protect.

And a lot of Shifters, drunks, and smartass talking animals to wrangle.

And she’d be damned if she failed.