Page 58 of Bolt's Flame

“If only I could be sure he didn’t sleep with her,” I replied, feeling even more frustrated than before. “I don’t know why I can’t look past it, but I can’t.”

“Just take it one step at a time,” Brenda said, her voice a soft murmur in the quiet kitchen. “You’re stronger than you think, Fiona. Don’t keep lettin’ others steal the happiness from your life.”

I nodded, the knot in my chest loosening just a little. She was spot on and I couldn’t let fear control me, couldn’t let others dictate my life.

“You know Fiona, sometimes it takes the wrong man to lead you to the right one,” Brenda said as she stood to leave. “Bolt loves you. Don’t throw it away.”

And as I sat there, I knew she was right about everything, and he was telling the truth, and I should listen to him—really listen.

CHAPTER THIRTY

IT WAS LATEwhen I got back to the clubhouse.The humid air had cooled, but it did nothing to chase away the heat of the day’s events or the anger simmering just beneath my skin. I’d been out handling club business, running down leads on Dragon Fire’s whereabouts, and every dead end only added to the frustration gnawing at me.

I pushed through the clubhouse doors, the usual noise of a Friday night fading into the background as I made my way upstairs and down the hall toward my room. A shower to clear my head, and some sleep was in order.

But when I opened the door, I stopped in my tracks.

Fiona was there, lying in my bed, fast asleep.

For a second, I just stood there, staring at her, my heart pounding in my chest. She looked so small, so vulnerable curled up under my blanket, like she’d been worn down to the bone and finally let herself rest. Her hair was splayed across the pillow, her face soft in the lamplight, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe, thinking I was hallucinating from so much time staring at the asphalt.

What the hell was she doing here?

Notthat I was complaining.

I shut the door quietly behind me, careful not to make a sound as I crossed the room. My mind was racing with questions, but I pushed them aside, letting myself just look at her for a moment. God, I wanted her. And seeing her there, in my bed, it stirred something deep inside me, something that I knew would never die.

I wanted to reach out, to touch her, to pull her close and tell her everything I was feeling. But I knew better than to believe that it was that simple. Nothing was simple anymore, not between us.

She stirred then, a soft sigh escaping her lips as her eyes fluttered open. She blinked up at me, confusion flickering across her face as she took in her surroundings, then settled on me.

“Bolt?” she whispered, her voice rough with sleep. “What... what time is it?”

I glanced at the clock on the bedside table. “Late,” I said quietly. “What are you doing here, Fiona?”

She sat up slowly, rubbing a hand over her face as if trying to wake herself up. “I... I wanted to talk to you.”

“Talk to me?” I repeated, still not sure if this was real. “Why?”

She looked down, her fingers twisting the edge of the blanket. “Because I need to know the truth. I need to know what happened that night with Jenny. I want to work this out.”

This was it.

This was the moment I’d been waiting for, the chance to set things right, to explain. But now that it was here, I didn’t know where to start.

“Fiona, I... I don’t know how to make you believe me,” I said, running a hand through my beard, my frustration bleeding into my voice. “All I know is that I didn’t invite her into my room. I didn’t want her there. I took somethin’ for my headache, and the next thing I know, I’m wakin’ up with her beside me. That’s the truth.”

She looked up at me, her eyes searching mine, looking for something—anything—that would tell her I was lying. But I wasn’t. I was telling the truth, as best as I knew it.

“You really don’t remember?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

I shook my head, the memory of that night still a blur in my mind. “No. I don’t. And that scares the hell out of me, because I know it’s not right. I know she set me up, and I’m gonna find a way to prove it. But I need you to believe that I didn’t do anything to hurt you. Not intentionally.”

She was silent for a long moment, her eyes never leaving mine. I could see the conflict in her gaze, the war she was waging inside herself between what she’d seen and what she wanted to believe.

“Fiona, I don’t mean to sound crude, but a man knows when he’s fucked, there should have been smells... the sheets should’ve been...” My words trailed off, feeling awkward having to say this shit out loud to her. “I’m positive my dick never touched her.”

“I want to believe you,” she said finally, her voice trembling. “I want to believe that you didn’t. It’s so hard to let go of that image.”

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