HAYLEY

I would like to say my life goes on, and I don’t think about Davis, but he’s in my thoughts all the damn time. But weeks go by and he’s not part of my ritual anymore. I miss him. I mean, I was working when he was in my life. Doing his bidding. I shouldn’t miss changing the sheets of a bed he’s just fucked another woman on. What the hell is wrong with me?

But the simple truth is while I changed those sheets, he’d smirk at me, ask me about my day, and I’d ask him about whatever book he was currently reading. He’d tell me. His voice would wash over me, and for a little while I didn’t feel like a grunt. He made me feel like I mattered.

What’s the saying? You can know a person by how they treat someone who can’t do anything for them? And Davis made me feel like my existence wasn’t just welcomed, but required to make his day better.

It’s a stupid sentiment, and maybe I am too, because every door I open, I hold my breath, wishing this time he’ll be in the room.

He never is.

So I start to dig into local politics more, trying to find other ways to help. In the simplest terms, I’ve been burned from wearing a gray hat. Duke, my attorney (it’s still so strange to say that), has told me to avoid any and all activities that could make the FBI swoop in and own me. Given his clientele, I can take his word at face value. He knows the criminal life or even dipping one’s toes into sketchy dealings. That guy has told me to go on the straight and narrow from here on out.

I listen.

And maybe Davis is just in my every thought because I find myself on a DAV site, they are doing a big food drive and need bodies to pack the boxes. I sign up. I think nothing of it. I’m doing my part in any way I can. I’m used to hard physical work, this won’t be any different.

But fate is a funny thing.

On the day of, I show up in jeans, shirt and my work shoes to the address they sent out. It’s a warehouse where they’ve stockpiled canned foods and boxed items with expiration dates far into the future. Other volunteers crowd outside the big metal sliding doors.

Yet my eyes latch onto the man at the very front. He has a thick neck, thicker biceps and stands in way that’s all too familiar—as though every twitch of muscle is reckless and screams look at me.

My heart jackhammers in my chest because I know that body. I know that careless pose. My suspicions are confirmed as I fight my way to the front. Davis is standing in front, the leader from the way everyone looks to him.

It’s been eons since I’ve seen him, yet there he is with his fingertips gripping the top of the metal door, his smirk on full display as he talks to someone who has the same shade of dirty blond hair. Davis is taller, bulkier and simply more handsome.

The fucker.

I’m torn between completely uncharitable thoughts—how fucking dare he be here? When did he start caring about someone other than himself? Screw him for messing up my first legitimate rebellion.

The other side of me, the side that’s worried and has paced because maybe Duke couldn’t untangle Davis from the FBI. Maybe Davis was in a deep, dark hole where no one could find him until he spilled every secret he knew… That side is relieved.

Either way, I try to be invisible in the crowd of volunteers. I should know better. Davis could always see me. He breaks away from the older man and strolls toward me. My shoes become the most interesting thing to look at.

“Hayley,” he says and my body softens, tightens—fuck every cell in my body remembers him.

“You’re here.” I keep my gaze on the ground. I know he can read my thoughts, the bastard.

“I didn’t expect you.”

I sigh and meet his gaze. “I can say the same.”

His gaze is eating me up in slow degrees. “Yeah, I knew someone who kind of inspired me.” There’s a pause. “That’s my dad, over there. I don’t think I’ve seen him smile this much ever.”

I glare at him. He’s not supposed to be this guy. He’s supposed to be the selfish former escort who thinks of no one but himself. He’s not supposed to be here.

“I’m happy to hear that.” I shove my hands into my pockets. “I was trolling for local shit and found this. I figured I could lend a hand.”

“Is that what you’re doing now?”

It doesn’t need to be spelled out. He’s asking me if I’m still wearing my gray hat. “Being here for something official and above board is all I can really do.”

“I’m sorry.” He’s silent for a moment. “No. I’m not. I’m happy to see shit like this matters to you. It means I wasn’t wrong.”

I frown. “What does that mean?”

“I wasn’t wrong to think any way I could help was better than nothing.”

I take in the people around me. It’s about fifty of them. Some are wearing jackets that show support for vets, some actually are vets. My gaze goes to the man that had been talking to Davis. It’s more than a similar build. They have the same blue-green eyes, the same pattern of laugh lines around their mouths.

“I shouldn’t take all the credit,” he says. “I’m not trying to. My dad helped.”

That’s when it hits me. Davis put this whole thing together. He’s not just a volunteer who brought along his father. We’re the reason why there is a need for volunteers. It’s safe to say I’m stunned. Not that he’s capable of this level of planning, but that he would put something like this together.

This is better than any apology he could have uttered. So much better than flowers, or gifts. He couldn’t have known I would trip up on this food drive and he did it anyway. He did this because it mattered to him. I wasn’t invisible to him. He saw me and what I was doing. He wanted to make a difference because of it.

I swallow and think about all the things I want to say to him, everything I want to ask him. My future is still some malformed thing. If my luck holds I’ll be teaching impressionable teens what it means to be a citizen.

But what I know for sure is that I want Davis to be a part of it. It doesn’t take courage to ask, “Can I kiss you right now?”

He grins at me. “Yes.”

I laugh, my heart light for the first time in weeks. “I’ve given you the cold shoulder for weeks and you don’t even hesitate at my question.”

He steps forward, curling his hand on my nape. “For weeks I’ve missed you. There’s been no one to ask me about the books I’ve read. There’s been…no one I can be myself with.”

“Your dad,” I say, taking a shot in the dark.

He smirks and my heart melts. “He’s not you, Hayley. There’s only one you.”

I lift my chin. He kisses me. It’s faint, but potent. I swoon a little, but he’s there to catch me when I do. I don’t know everything that will happen with us in the future. I only know two things: secrets won’t be the end of us. We’ll rebel together.

* * *

Dakota Gray is the author of the Filth series. She’s a longtime romance reader and she’s not ashamed to fangirl over heroes with dirty mouths, dirtier minds and a soft heart.

Gray writes the heroes you shouldn’t take home to mom, sassy heroines and sigh-worthy happily ever afters.

You find her website . You can page or follower her on .

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