Page 31

STACY

“ W hat’s going on out there?” Erica asks. Her voice cuts through the quiet of the kitchen, sharp with worry.

She doesn’t need to ask—we’re both standing by the window, trying to make sense of the chaos unfolding. Hearing her say it, though, makes it real.

I press my hand against the cool glass, my breath fogging a small circle on the pane.

People are running. Not in panic—but in a strange, energized rush.

They look like some collective frenzy has seized everyone on the street.

Laughter and shouts of joy fill the air.

The sound echoes up and down the road like the town’s been injected with adrenaline.

I focus on the faces. A woman I don’t know spins in the middle of the road, arms raised. Two boys dart past her, fists pumping like they’ve scored the winning touchdown. Words drift up through the partially open window.

“It ends tonight!”

“Let’s get rid of them!”

None of it makes sense. Not the cheering. Not the dancing. Not the words that sound like they belong in a damn war movie.

The growl of an engine cuts through the noise.

I flinch as Ray’s silver pickup tears up the road, dust spinning in its wake.

It screeches to a stop outside the cabin.

He jumps out first, flanked by the other two—those mountain-sized brothers Erica calls the “Brick Houses.” They’ve always looked like walking tanks to me, but right now, they are something else entirely.

They’re not smiling. Unlike the jubilant crowd outside, their faces are hard, drawn. Like men who’ve seen something too heavy to shake. Ray walks in but doesn’t speak. He walks toward me like he’s got all the time in the world, even though it feels like the world is turning upside down.

“You must be in a world of confusion right now,” he says, a hint of a smile ghosting his lips.

His voice is calm. Too calm. It grates against the energy pulsing through the street, too measured in a world that’s gone wild.

I raise an eyebrow, arms folding across my chest instinctively.

“Why would you say that?”

“You just confirmed it,” he replies, and now that small curve is a full-blown smirk. “You’re not so tough to read, Stac.”

I bristle. I hate being predictable, so I don’t answer. Instead, I glance again out the window at the swirling chaos.

“Why is everyone so… thrilled?”

My voice barely carries, but it’s enough. His smile doesn’t fade, but there’s a flicker in his eyes—something darker, buried underneath.

“And why aren’t you?” I add, turning back to him fully.

“Oh, I am,” he says, tone light, but his face stays solemn. “I might not look like it, but trust me—I am. We’re settling our differences with the Mercer pack tonight.”

The words slam home. The Mercer pack.

He says it like it’s a normal thing. Like it’s a friendly poker game and not some savage blood feud. Like “settling differences” won’t involve claws, teeth, and screams. Ray doesn’t even pause.

“By the time we’re done, they’ll wish they never came near us.”

He says it with absolute conviction. Sure of himself. Sure of his pack. Sure of the outcome. I blink, my stomach knotting tighter with every beat.

“So they’re all excited about going to war?” My voice pitches higher, raw with disbelief. “You do realize how completely insane that sounds, right?”

He doesn’t flinch.

“I’m not happy,” he says evenly, eyes locked on mine. “I’m satisfied. There’s a difference. I like that this insanity is finally coming to an end.”

I don’t buy it. I can’t. I shake my head and step back from the window. Suddenly, the distance between us is too small, too charged.

“I don’t get it,” I murmur, folding my arms around myself. “All of you are about to risk your lives. The Mercer pack isn’t a pushover. They’re every bit as strong as you. Maybe even stronger. Why the hell are you all acting like this is something to celebrate ?”

Ray exhales slowly, then takes a single step closer. Not threatening. Not demanding. Just… there. Solid. Grounded.

“Because we’re fighting for something,” he says softly, almost reverent.

Then he leans in, voice dropping even lower.

“Because I’m fighting for everything you see around you... this town... these people... you .”

That last word lands like a punch to the chest. I stare while my heart hammers too fast. My lips part, a breath catching in my throat. I want to say something. Anything. But the weight of his words steals my breath.

He moves before I recover. Wrapping his long, strong arms around my waist. I barely have time to register it before I’m enveloped in him—his scent, his warmth, the press of his chest against mine.

And God, it feels good. Too good.

A soft kiss grazes my temple, and something cracks open. That flutter in my chest turns into a full-on storm, wild and uncontainable. I don’t care that I can’t move my arms in his grip. I melt.

It’s stupid. It’s reckless. It’s dangerous to let myself feel this much, but I can’t deny that I do.

“Bike ride,” he whispers into my ear, voice like velvet. “All the way to New York… when I get back.”

I let out a shaky breath—a quiet huff, half laugh, half sob. “Okay.”

A hundred and thirty miles. I imagine the wind tearing through my hair, sun painting the sky above us, his hand in mine. I can see it. I can feel it. None of it means anything if he doesn’t make it back.

I bury my face against his chest, squeezing my eyes shut. I want to freeze this moment and keep it safe. I want to believe in that stupid road trip dream like a child believing in fairy tales. But the truth doesn’t care about dreams.

There are no guarantees. Not for Ray. Not for anyone going into that fight. Yet there is a flicker of hope that sparks inside me. Tiny and fragile, but alive.

It’s like he’s feeding a fire inside me.

By the way he holds me like I’m the only thing that matters.

By the way he speaks of fighting not for glory or pride—but for us.

I cling to that fire, praying it will be enough to see him through the night.

Because I’ve never wanted anything more than that ride to New York.

With him. Alive. Free.