Page 69 of Wild Night

We’re living together.

I’m not sure how that makes me feel. Panic should be setting in, but aside from my thoughts being a jumbled mess of words strung together, I’m not scared-panicked. I’m excited-panicked.

Thrilled, even.

“We’re living together, aren’t we?” I ask on a hiss.

Her eyes widen at the same time her lips curve up into an even bigger smile. She nods her head once. “You really are, and I’m here for it.”

“I think I need a pastry,” I mutter.

She laughs softly. A few moments later, Nathan is strapped into his car seat, and I’m strapped into the passenger seat. Dakota jumps into the driver’s seat and shifts the car intoDrive, then pulls away from the curb.

“Have you really taken in your new town yet?” she asks as she drives down Justin’s street and stops at the four-way stop at the end of his neighborhood.

I almost laugh at her question. Then my brain starts moving a million miles a minute with thoughts that fill it, one after the other, with no breaks in between. Just a running stream of what the fuck I’ve been through.

I don’t think she realizes what actually happened when I was here, before I ran away like an idiot and nearly got myself killed. Definitely got myself in a sticky situation. And ended up under the protection of some kind of mob boss and his motorcycle friends. Who just happened to be the Vicious Reapers and werenice enough to keep me safe, but really didn’t have to. And I could have ended up in an even worse situation.

The stars were definitely aligned, and I’m trying not to take any of it for granted.

“I’ve really only been to the clubhouse, Lainey’s bakery, and Justin’s office,” I say.

She smiles, though she focuses on the windshield and driving. I can tell she’s happy. “You call him Justin,” she whispers. I feel my cheeks tinting pink at her observation.

“He asked me to,” I say.

“I bet he did.”

Instead of driving straight to the bakery, she starts to give me a tour of Thunder Rock. It’s not much of a tour, because it’s really freaking small. It reminds me a lot of Shellgrove, where I lived in California, minus the beach being nearby. Which I’m okay with, because there are mountains.

Lots and lots of gorgeous mountains.

I’m not sad about trading the beach for the mountains. It’s not like I spent a lot of time on the sand anyway. I was busy working and picking the wrong men, which all took a lot of time away from activities like relaxing on the sand.

Maybe I can relax in the fresh mountain air, though, after I get a job of some kind and figure out what this life is going to be like here, of course. And then there’s this relationship. Is it really going to work out?

I feel like I’m just playing with a bunch of different ideas in my head, a bunch of what-ifs on the future, without knowing much of anything and causing myself to stress out about it instead of just enjoying the ride.

Then again, I tried to enjoy the ride the last time, and all it did was get my ass in trouble, so I feel like my questions and panic aren’t necessarily unwarranted, especially since all that stuffjustcame to a head.

When Dakota pulls into a parking spot and shifts the car intoPark, I realize that we’re right in front of the bakery. I also realize that this baby is the best-behaved baby on earth. I’ve been lost inside my own head, and if he’s made even a cooing noise, I haven’t heard a thing.

“You need to tell me what you’re panicking about.”

“What?” I whip my head around, and my eyes find hers. She’s turning slightly, facing me, her eyes focused on me and nowhere else.

“Tell me what you’re panicking about,” she repeats her words, arching a brow as she waits.

I think about lying to her. About telling her that everything is okay, but decide against it. She needs to know the truth, and so I spill everything. Right there in the parking spot in front of Lainey’s bakery, with the scent of fresh-baked goods hitting my nose and causing my stomach to grumble.

And when I say everything. I mean everysinglething. It’s a stream of consciousness, my words spilling out of me without even taking a moment to breathe or think. I know without a doubt that I'm overwhelming her, because I’m overwhelming myself.

But by the time I’m finished with my story, we’re both silently crying. Well, she’s silently crying, while my tears spill down my face as I wrap up my life story. Then I feel her hands reach out, taking mine and squeezing.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“For what?”

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