After a horrible night, Angie felt frozen and numb as she stared at her reflection in the vanity mirror. Embarrassment colored her skin. There was no place left inside to hide. Raw and feeling fragile, she was barely holding on.

Drawing the brush through her hair, she tried to corral her wandering thoughts. They were easier to ignore that way.

Parker strode up to her from behind and took the brush from her hand. “Here. Let me do that.”

Watching his movements in the mirror, she concentrated on his hands—counting the long, slow strokes. She could feel his watchful gaze but kept her field of vision soft and unfocused—if their eyes accidentally met, there’d be nothing.

He used his soothing voice when he spoke. “I thought we might take a drive a little later.”

“Don’t you have to work?” She tilted her head back and bit off a moan when the brush scraping against her scalp made her quiver.

His answer was firm and resolute. “No.”

Totally by reflex, her eyes flew to his. She didn’t tense so much as her senses went on high alert. He held her gaze but continued the slow brushstrokes.

“My priority is you. Us. Nothing else matters. You understand?”

She nodded slightly and bit her lip.

“I’ve already called the Villa and arranged for Vorticé Amore to be exclusively ours for the day.”

A small corner near her shoulder began to thaw out. Another section melted when he added, “I love your hair.”

With a short sigh, she offered a half-smile. “Thank you.”

He ran his fingers through her long mane as he brushed it. She enjoyed the firm grip he kept and would happily sit there all day if he’d keep it up.

They weren’t talking about last night. Part of her was glad—another part confused. She’d dumped an assload of private agony in his lap, but so far, he’d been nothing but a determined gentleman—treating her like a delicate treasure.

His tender loving care kept up. He did everything except breathe for her. An outfit appeared—something she recognized as a personal favorite. Dressing her and doing everything except handing off toilet paper, Parker went about showering her with levels of aftercare that attested to the sort of man he was.

Instead of nonsense talking, they let the silence speak for them. She found it comforting; maybe because after everything she’d said last night, Angie wasn’t sure what words she had left, if any.

In the garage, he led her to the SUV. When she tossed her purse onto the back seat, she saw a guitar case and a ratty duffle bag that seemed vaguely familiar.

On the way out of town, they hit up the Starbucks drive-thru. She listened to him calmly explain their order, taking great pains to stress specifics about her drink. Venti, full strength white iced tea. No liquid cane sugar. Double shaken—said twice for emphasis. Splenda on the side.

When the disembodied voice asked if they’d like anything else, he started as if remembering the nuclear codes and added two butter croissants, warmed.

Watching him had been her secret and not-so-secret guilty pleasure for Angie’s entire life. She didn’t care what he was doing or from what angle she viewed him because Parker Sullivan was always worth the eyeful.

She examined the sweater beneath his leather jacket. It was a deep shade of blue and looked soft. So soft that her fingers itched to touch and find out. The old black jeans he wore clung to his thighs.

His head slowly turned, and she thought for a flashing second she saw vulnerability in his eyes. Reaching for her hand, the one that wore his ring, he kissed it gently before dealing with their order at the window.

Another area around her jaw thawed and almost allowed a smile when he refused to drive away until she was certain the order was correct.

The drive away from town took longer than usual because from what she could figure out, they were on a slow and lazy time schedule. They drove in silence as the miles passed under their wheels.

What her sweet man arranged almost took her from thawed smiles to flat-out giggles when she got a look at the sacred Family Justice spot with the enormous pergola and ever-growing assortment of embellishments.

It was ridiculous how spoiled she was, but she knew it was also no use in denying it. A swanky porta potty was set up next to where they usually parked, and a small travel trailer—the kind that can hook to the back of a truck—held a huge picnic basket, two coolers, and some stacked bins.

The pergola and patio were freshly swept, and she could easily imagine a crew sent out from the Villa to get everything ready. Fresh flowers decorated the hanging vases and extra pillows covered all the patio furniture.

If she ever wondered what it’d be like to be waited on hand and foot, he certainly showed her how it was done. As the day wore on and more and more of her tension eased, she started to understand what he was doing.

He was giving her time. And he was waiting her out. In his nature or a learned skill every lawyer picked up? Didn’t matter ‘cause it was effective.

They ate an amazing lunch. At one point, he’d reached into the basket, pulled out the box with two pieces of pecan pie, and they’d completely inhaled them. He looked for the label, found it, and sneered.

She glanced to see what earned the scowl and bit back a laugh. Whiskey Pete’s. So the Irishman was also a Southern boy with pecans and brown sugar on his hands? Probably pissed Parker right the hell off that he liked the pie.

He made sure she wore a hat and was appropriately lathered in sunscreen before taking her hand and dragging her away from the pergola for a walk. For all his sweet and loving care, there was one thing Parker didn’t understand. Slow walking. Never had and never will. Taking a leisurely stroll drove him nuts, so the times they did go walking quickly turned into an arduous hike.

The rest of her thawed out as he dragged her along. By the time they’d circled back, she finally felt like she was back in her body.

Removing her shoes, she settled on a lounge chair and let the desert take away whatever lingered of last night. Parker sat nearby, strumming his guitar, and peace slowly seeped into her heart.

She’d been right to tell him what lay hidden in her heart. It hurt like hell and opened some old wounds, but Angie knew they had nothing if total honesty wasn’t their foundation.

He sang “Yesterday” with such poignancy that she was sure her beloved angels wept with her. The look on his face as the final notes faded in the air got her moving. She rose from the lounger, went to him, and took the guitar from his hands. Then she sat him on one of the sofas and climbed on his lap. There was no need to say anything.

She felt his chest heave before he wrapped her in his arms. They lingered in each other’s embrace for a long time. She was ready to hear what he had to say. Was ready to face whatever her words triggered.

She caressed his face and lay on his shoulder. He’d speak when he was ready.

* * *

Until she crawled on his lap, he wasn’t sure if they were really going to be okay. Humbled and moved by her rock steady love, he sent a silent prayer heavenward to a God he hoped was paying attention.

When she curled into him, and he could breathe her in, Parker buried his face in her neck and tried not to cry. The past was always going to be a trip wire in their relationship—how could it not? But he wanted her to see it through his eyes. It was time he showed half the balls she did and tell her what those times were like for him.

She hadn’t been alone in her misery.

“You were fourteen, and I was old enough to know better but sense was in short supply that summer.”

Her head lifted, and she looked at him with shock.

“You aren’t the only one with a confession,” he told her.

“Law school had practically killed me, and I was miserable twenty-four seven, so I came home for a few weeks of Mom’s TLC. And then I saw you and pretty much lost my shit.”

Instead of lying on his chest, she sat straight and got comfortable on his lap. Angie needed to see his face while he talked. Having a connection was important to her.

“You wore this insane red one-piece suit straight outta Baywatch. I couldn’t understand what Aunt Ash was thinking letting you prance around in that thing.”

He brushed his fingers up and down her back and thought about the outrageous bathing suit. “Do you remember?”

She colored slightly and looked away.

Tapping her lightly on the nose, he told her, “My confession comes with show and tell.” Carefully shifting so he didn’t do permanent damage to his dick, he went for the duffle bag he’d stashed earlier and released a sigh of relief when it was within easy reach. He put it on her lap and said, “Open it.”

She eyed him with clear questions in her expression. Unzipping the bag, she slid a hand inside and pulled out a shoebox, followed by a large, manila envelope that was stuffed full and had seen better days.

He put the backpack and shoebox aside. From the big envelope, he pulled a picture and flipped it over to read the inscription aloud. “Angel in red ~ Arizona Summer.”

She took the picture and stared at it. He’d studied that damn photo so many times that he had it memorized. Angie laughing—with her hair in a sloppy ponytail. She had braces and blood red nails. The look was cute, girl-next-door, and uncomfortably sexual at the same time.

“Care to guess how often I beat off to that picture?”

The admission was so grossly uncomfortable that he squirmed. He let out a shallow groan when her shocked eyes pinned him to the spot.

“That’s right. You heard me. A grown man jerking off to a fourteen-year-old’s picture. I knew I was screwed a long time before that.” He shrugged. “Knowing it was fucked up and wrong didn’t stop me from loving you.”

She started with the lip biting again, but he didn’t stop her. There was quite a bit more to say.

“I went out with a girl in law school named Angie because saying your name while we had forgettable sex was the only way I could get off.”

Sapphire eyes widened as her expression went from mild shock to total amazement.

“You’ve got the picture, right?”

She nodded jerkily, and her cheeks suffused with color.

He picked up the manila envelope and upended it. Pictures of Angie came spilling out. Some he’d taken and some his mom or Aunt Ash had sent by email. Email he’d promptly printed out.

Snarling, he picked up one of the pictures. “Here’s you going on your first date. I fucked up a legal brief over that little gem ‘cause all I could think of was Joey fucking Rojas putting his smarmy hands on you.”

“How’d you know his name?” she asked incredulously.

“I’m a fucking lawyer, babe. Got the stupid shit’s name out of your mom. He’s damn lucky I didn’t change all his grades online or put his whole family under surveillance for shits and grins.”

He picked through the pile of photographs. “Here’s a good one. Your junior prom.”

“Oh, I remember this,” she murmured. “Mom wouldn’t let me wear a strapless gown.”

Yeah, no shit, and he knew why. His jaw clenched, and she jumped on the telltale movement.

“Was that you?”

He nodded and let the embarrassing memory wash over him. “Lost my mind. Convinced our two moms that with too much skin on display, you were sure to get trafficked.”

“Trafficked?” She scoffed. “Seriously?”

“So while you were drawing hearts around my name, I was acting like a love-sick pervert from thousands of miles away.”

He let his words sink in and sat quietly while she picked through the pictures and came to terms with the fact that he had a veritable day-by-day visual record of her growing up years.

“Open the box.”

Putting the pictures aside, she looked at him and carefully lifted the lid. “Every fucking letter you sent after I went away to college—some of them written in crayon. Postcards, Christmas cards. All of it.”

With a stack of the written stuff clutched in her hands, she crushed the pile over her heart and stared at him.

“I love you, Angie. Have always loved you. At times, I wondered if I was sick for all the feelings I dealt with. Look,” he told her sincerely, “I can’t defend what happened with that woman at the party, and I’m not going to pretend there weren’t plenty of others. Chalk it up to the age difference.”

He took all his Angie mementos and replaced them in the duffle bag. With an enormous inhale, he gathered his thoughts and put one more piece of the puzzle in her hands.

“I was so scared when my dad was in the hospital. Everyone expected me to know what the fuck I was doing, but baby, I was lost. I did need you, Angel. More than I can express. But it all got jumbled up in my head. I was afraid. I thought you’d think I was a pussy because all I wanted to do was feel your arms around me once more. I knew how badly I’d fucked up when you left me, and my dad almost dying felt like karma taking a swing at me for being such a dick.”

Tears welled in her pretty eyes.

“Later, when I found out you were engaged, I lost my shit completely. Alex had to rescue me from myself. If he knew why at the time, he kept it to himself.”

“What does that mean?” she asked. “Rescue you from yourself?”

“Oh.” He scoffed. “Well, let’s see. Hookers,” he admitted with a sick feeling in his stomach. “Booze—lots of it. I’m permanently banned from Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas, and I’m embarrassed to admit Tijuana probably has my picture on a wall. The immigration folks don’t take kindly to naked border crossings.”

“My god, but we’re a sorry pair,” she muttered.

“I denied my feelings, and for that I will suffer for the rest of my life. My denial hurt you, Angel, and right now, my soul is crying out—begging your forgiveness. Please don’t give up on us.”

“I’m not giving up, Parker. Don’t you get it? I’ll never give up. I can’t. You’re in here,” she said as she put his hand over her heart. “You said we must be honest if this would work. I trust you with my life, but that doesn’t mean my love for you hasn’t brought me pain.”

He brushed hair away from her face. “I shouldn’t have used the Dom scenario last night. It wasn’t fair, and I knew that going in. I’m sorry.”

“Are you kidding?” she asked with soft incredulity. “What you did was perfect. I think some part of me knew when you took me back to the playroom and gave me a collar that I’d have to tell you. Eventually. The anniversary just pushed up the timeframe.”

She was an extraordinary creature, his Desert Angel.

“Does that mean you still want to explore that kind of arrangement in our relationship?”

“Yes,” she answered quickly and clearly. “It feels right. It feels complete to me. And I know you have doubts,” she hastily added. “But I’ve thought about what you said, and you’re right. I’ve always been hardwired to put you above anything. There’s a reason you’re the only one who’s been able to control me.”

“I don’t want to control you.”

“You know what I mean.” She snickered. “And yes, you do.”

They looked at each other.

“I want to be the wife you deserve,” she said and put her hand over his mouth when he started to interrupt. “And I can’t be happy unless you’re happy, so if that strips me of my feminist credibility, oh fucking well. I need you to be proud of me, Parker. I need you to push and then be there when I fall. And I need you to know that I will always be there for you—no matter what.”

“Are we okay, baby girl?”

“What do you think?”

He tried not to snigger, but it slipped out anyway. “Care to prove it?”

She laughed for the first time since last night. “Oh, shit. Is this going to be one of those you the big bad Dom and me the mewling sub scenes?”

“Nah,” he teased. “Better than that.”

“Enlighten me—please.”

He picked up the duffle again and reached into an outside zipper pocket. When he held up the sexy sub collar, she gasped. “I have need of my kitten.”

Her eyes blazed with lusty delight. His Angel liked it dirty.

Unclasping the heart lock, he opened the collar and gestured with it. “And you know what being my kitten means, don’t you?”

Naughty Angie Marquez gave him a seductive smirk and asked, “What else do you have in that bag of goodies?”

He grinned. “Carabiners, silk rope, and a bottle of lube.”

“Oh, for god’s sake,” she yelped. “Put the damn collar on. I’m yours to use.”

He fucked with her because it was fun and she liked it. Instead of putting the collar around her neck, he held it open and waited for her to lean into it. Cheap ass power play but he was more than sure it’d get her wet.

After snapping the heart lock shut, he slid it around on her neck until it sat just so. It really did suit her. The thought fired up an idea. Special occasion collars. They could start a collection—each one would hold a special and hopefully filthy memory.

“Purr for me, kitten,” he growled. “Purr for me until my cock makes you scream.”

They’d survived a major hurdle and landed firmly on the other side—standing stronger from the experience. In another month, they’d be married, and maybe then they could put the past where it belonged—in the rearview mirror.

They had a life to live and babies to make. It was time to focus clearly on the future.

* * *

At a stoplight, Heather reached for the insulated tumbler filled with ice water that was her constant companion these days. Taking two quick sips, she put it back in the holder and turned up the volume on the radio just as the light changed.

She sang her heart out on the approach to home. Her current musical obsession was a country song called “A Long and Happy Life.” The lyrics set up camp in her head and played on a loop. Until recently, she’d never heard of a group called Delta Rae, but then again, until Justice happened, country music hadn’t appeared on her playlists very often.

Taking her time as she moved through the heavy evening traffic, Heather was anxious to get home. It hadn’t been a tough day, but she’d made a couple of big decisions—acted on one or two—and now, all she wanted to do was leave it all behind and enjoy some family time.

Family. Just the word could make her sigh.

A year ago, she was slogging through a bitterly cold East Coast winter while trying to figure out her fucked-up life and her relationship with Brody Jensen.

Today, she was thriving under the brilliant Arizona sun, was engaged, had a dog, a daughter, and most surprising of all, she was throwing the reproductive dice. If she and the conservative teacher-turned-scruffy desert rat who was the love of her life could catch a break, there was every likelihood that a baby was in their future.

Making the turn for their development, she got excited thinking about what awaited her at home. Brody had picked Bella up from school—he texted much earlier to let her know. It was an unusual thing for him to do. The canine program kept him more than busy, but her man’s love for the sweet little girl he moved heaven and earth to locate brought out a side of him that she found heartwarming. And sexy.

Glancing at the two clickers on her visor, she punched the first one to open the security gate. At the end of the driveway, she activated the other clicker to open the garage door—and as Brody had taught her, she checked the rearview and side view mirrors. Situational awareness was a new term in her vocabulary, but Brody insisted on it. So did the security chief at Justice who had actually made all the Justice Ladies sit through a security briefing.

Pulling forward, she parked in the garage and remained in the car until the heavy door slid shut. She didn’t mind if the guys thought the women were following orders when each of them did that last thing, but all the girls knew better. They waited and watched to make sure nothing slithered, jumped, or ran into the garage while the door was open. They all did the same thing when pulling out too—wait and watch till the door shut. Angie scared the shit out of their whole crew a few months back when she told them a harrowing story about discovering a snake in the garage at her parents’ house. No thanks. It was Chief Winston who pointed out that the best weapon was their eyes—so eyeballing shit became a standard order for every day.

“Life in the desert,” she muttered aloud.

Reaching across the back seat because she opened the door on the wrong side, Heather stretched her fingers until they hooked around the straps of a brown paper bag filled with books and writing supplies. She’d gotten excited at the Barnes & Noble in Flagstaff when a regular doctor’s visit put her in the area. The kids’ section was a treasure trove of delights, and it was a wonder she hadn’t melted her credit card. Bella would love that she grabbed two copies of the child’s favorite chapter book, The Night Fairy, for the reading room at the Double M.

Brody had read her the story over and over and over. Reading together was one of the first rituals they formed after he claimed her as his daughter. As a result, Bella Mia Jensen had a serious love affair going on with the written word and anything and everything having to do with illustration.

Entering the code on the security pad, she stepped into the house, dropped all her burdens in the little hallway, and brushed off her hands as she turned and walked into the airy, open two-story foyer. Right away, she knew something wasn’t right.

Bella was sitting on the last of the steps that led to the upstairs family area. Georgie was pressed protectively against her side as she calmly stroked his head.

“Hey, sweetie,” she called out. “What are you up to?”

Her little hand motioned to wave Heather closer. She leaned on the stairway balustrade and patted the dog on the head. That was when she saw the back of Brody’s head. He was in the great room, sitting on the sofa, with his back to the front door.

“I took Georgie outside,” Bella informed her matter-of-factly. Caring for her dog was her most important responsibility—something she took quite seriously.

The child glanced toward the great room. “Daddy has an achy head.”

“He has a headache?”

“No,” Bella assured her. She became quite serious and repeated the same words. Carefully. As though she’d been coached. “An achy head.”

George licked her fingers. Heather looked toward Brody. He made a motion with his hand, and she froze. Way back when, during the years they spent together in a PTSD survivor’s group, the members used a hand signal when shit was getting real. In all the time she’d known him, Brody had never needed to use it. She had always been the one with issues and manic behaviors.

She bent down and kissed her daughter’s cheek. “You did good, baby Bella. Thank you for taking care of Daddy till I got home.”

Whispering with six-year-old earnestness, she gave Heather all the further information she needed in one sentence. “When he picked me up at school, Daddy said he needed his girls.”

Heather straightened and considered the options before her. If Brody was having an episode, he wasn’t trying to hide it. Good. She didn’t want to create a false narrative.

But what to do about Bella? She could shoo her upstairs and out of sight, but somehow, that option didn’t feel right. Bella was their daughter. She was a part of what was going on. Blowing sunshine up the kid’s skirt was just plain stupid, and the girl was far too clever and opinionated to put up with being treated like a baby.

Instinct told her to keep everything normal. She extended her hand and said, “Come on then. You can set the table, and then I’ll show you what’s in the bag I left by the door.”

She steered Bella away from the great room and got her set up in the adjoining dining room instead of the smaller family table in the breakfast nook where they usually congregated. “Two napkins,” she reminded her. “And let’s use the blue dishes tonight.”

“Yes!” Bella hooted with a little skipping jump. “I like the blue.”

Kids were so easily distracted that Heather had to chuckle. She’d gotten the hang of the parenting thing pretty quickly. Her mom was hella proud.

“I’m going to go check on Daddy, okay? When you’re finished with the table, will you bring your laundry bag downstairs? We should wash your gym clothes.”

Next to about a million other things, one of Bella’s favorite activities was doing laundry. She loved the whole process. Uncle Drae had even made her a sturdy stepstool for the laundry room so she could help put things in the washer. She also had strong opinions about which detergent they used. You hadn’t experienced life until trapped in the detergent aisle at the store, unscrewing lids and sniffing all the containers while a kindergartener calls the shots.

Heather made sure Bella was fully engaged in her tasks before going to Brody. She came up from behind, announced her approach with a discreet cough, and bent over his head. With her hands on his shoulders, she planted a kiss in his hair.

“I’m here, babe.”

He took one of her hands and rubbed his face into the palm. His grip didn’t feel desperate, but she sensed his upset. Before another moment went by, she asked for what they jokingly referred to as a meter check. A chance to gauge whatever was happening at any given moment.

“On a scale of one to ten …”

He rubbed his face on her hand again and held tight. “Five and a half. Maybe six.” She released the breath she was holding when he added, “Now that you’re here, four.”

“And Bella? Do you want me to ask April and Mark if she can hang out with Amy for a while?”

“No,” he quickly replied. “She’s part of me, and I’m not gonna hide this from her. It was closer to an eight when I picked her up.”

“She helps, doesn’t she?”

“More than she knows.”

“Okay,” Heather drawled. She kept her hands on his shoulders and occasionally hugged him from behind. When he was ready, he’d turn around. She understood what he was doing and willed all the white light and love her heart could produce to surround him.

“Then, dinner it is. Give me thirty minutes and I’ll throw something together.”

“Tacos,” he mumbled. “Can you make tacos?”

Tacos ranked pretty high on the list of comfort foods their quirky family enjoyed. They could get Bella to do almost anything if tacos were the reward.

“For you? Sure. Can I get you anything, babe? No alcohol,” she reminded him.

Alcohol and a PTSD episode might begin as friends, but it was a relationship doomed to failure, and failure was simply not an option.

His head dipped back on the sofa and eyes brimming with torment met hers. “Can you get me two Advil and a little glass of milk?”

Kissing his nose, she smiled into his troubled gaze. “Coming right up.”

Moving calmly was a terrific challenge when what she wanted to do was run around like a maniac. But their deal was that only one of them got to be crazy at a time—so calm was her only option.

She gave Bella an encouraging fist bump when she passed the dining room. With that situation under control, she hastily poured a small tumbler of milk, grabbed the container of pain meds, and hurried back to Brody. He was sitting forward and had his head in his heads.

Shit.

“Here,” she said quietly. He held out one hand. She dropped two tablets into his palm, waited while he popped them in his mouth, and then pressed the small glass into his hand. As he drank the milk, she rubbed his back.

Spying the remote control on the sofa next to Brody, she reached for it and turned on the surround sound to a familiar satellite music station that played soothing soundscapes.

Hovering would only make him tense, so she gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll be right here in the kitchen if you need anything.”

Twenty minutes ticked by in slow motion. The tacos were almost ready to serve and Bella was still upstairs gathering her laundry when he finally moved. She tried to school her expression when a kitchen island stool scraped the floor.

When he sat down, she yanked open the refrigerator, pulled out a big pitcher of herbal iced tea, poured him a glass, and pushed it in front of him. Reflex told her he’d better rehydrate.

They’d spent too much time in therapy together to bother with a setup, so she barely reacted when he started explaining.

“I was deep in the compound this morning, overseeing a training exercise. They fucking used live ammo and ...” His voice dwindled to nothing. Not even a whisper.

Oh, my fucking god, she thought. He walked into a live fire exercise. Goddammit.

He tensed when she rubbed his shoulders, but she didn’t stop. “Did you know what they’d be doing, or were you taken by surprise?”

He grunted. “Had no fucking idea. That shithead Mike is done as far as I’m concerned. Been covering his stupid ass for months. He shoulda been monitoring the pups. I’ve got other shit to do.”

Heather was sure of one thing. If Brody didn’t can the other guy’s ass, she’d make Alex do it. Keeping Brody away from gunfire was rule number one. There was no excuse for what happened today, and when she finished taking care of him, some heads were going to roll.

Now she knew and there was no further reason to discuss it. This totally unexpected episode was the direct result of his exposure to a trigger. The biggest, baddest, most terrifying trigger of them all. Gunfire.

So she moved them away from the darkness and into the light with a complete change of subject.

“I turned over the day-to-day operation at the family center to my team and worked out something smarter with Meghan. I’d rather concentrate on the big picture stuff. Maybe write a few grants or do some targeted fundraising for mental health issues.”

He nodded but didn’t engage.

“And guess what?” She plopped a lid on the pan of cooked taco meat and wiped her hands on a towel. “It turns out that we’re all making some changes. Lacey, Victoria—even Meghan. I think she’s almost got Sophia convinced to step in as the managing director.”

All of a sudden, Brody looked at her and asked, “Would you be upset if I went for a ride?”

“Now?”

“Yeah,” he answered. “Can’t get that sound out of my head. Need to replace it with the wind.”

She went to him. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

Taking his scowling face in her hands, she made him look at her. “We don’t do sorry, and it’s perfectly fine if you need to take the bike out.”

There was no way she would let him leave if he felt bad about putting himself first. Sometimes, a person just had to do what felt right.

“I love you,” he murmured.

“Hey,” she softly chided. “Don’t look so worried. You’ve got this.”

“It’s been a long time,” he muttered darkly.

She ruffled his ridiculous long mane of hair and smirked. “Go on, you. Have your Jax Teller fantasy moment. I’ll save you a couple of tacos.”

“Tell Bella—”

She cut him off. “Don’t worry, sweetie. That girl’s a champ. She knew what to do. I’m so proud of her.”

Slapping her forehead, she muttered, “Oh, damn. I forgot the cheese,” and ran to the refrigerator. When she turned around, he was on top of her.

“I’d be lost without my girls.”

She hugged him tight and shooed him from the kitchen, calling out to him as he walked away. “It was the Tantra lounger, ya know. That’s what sucked me in. Not your ride or die bullshit.”

He was laughing as the door to the smaller garage shut.

“Just another day in paradise,” she said to the empty kitchen.