Page 95 of Dash

“I’m going to take such good care of you both,” he promises.

And for the first time, I let myself believe it.

TWENTY-FIVE

DASH

Dayna sleeps in the taxi.The dark circles under her eyes are stark against her pale skin and I want to erase them. The fact she’s been going through this alone burns through me, but I push those feelings down. Getting angry or frustrated isn’t going to help.

Focus on the present, the future.

When the driver stops outside her place, I pay him and come around to Dayna’s door.

She doesn’t look peaceful. It’s the kind of exhaustion that settles into the bones until the body crashes.

I plan on making sure she sleeps tonight and every night after.

I rub my knuckles along her cheekbone. “Dayna?”

Her eyes flutter then open. There’s a flash of confusion before she locks her gaze on me. “Did I sleep the whole way?”

“And snored.”

She looks offended. “I don’t snore, and if I did, which I’m not saying I did, it was like a kitten.”

“You sounded like a jet engine. Can you walk?”

She arches a brow. “If I say no, are you going to carry me inside like some kind of highborn lady?”

I kiss her forehead. “I’ll carry you anywhere you need.”

“I guess chivalry is still alive and kicking, just in denim and leather, riding motorcycles rather than horses.” I keep my grip on her biceps firm as I help her out of the car. She frowns. “This isn’t my building.”

“It’s mine,” I say.

In the few months we’ve been dating, we’ve never come to my place. It just made more sense to be at hers.

Butthat was before.

Now, Dayna’s carrying our world inside her and someone is trying to kill me. I don’t trust her building security.

I wait for her to argue, but she doesn’t. “You’d better have some top quality snacks,” is all she says.

I keep my wits about me and breathe easier once we’re inside my building. Her gaze is everywhere as we head for the lift.

“You’ve been withholding, Maddox.” I don’t know why, but her calling me by my surname fucking turns me on. “Why in the hell have we been hanging out at my slum flat when you live here?”

And just like that, my good mood vanishes. I can see how she’s tried to make it her own, how she’s tried to create a space that feels like home. “I like your place.”

She arches a brow when I press the button to call the lift. “Now, I know you’re lying. You moan about everything.”

“No, I moaned about the security at the entrance and the fact that the lock on your front door was so shit a love tap would have opened it.” The lift arrives, empty, and I place my hand on the small of her back to guide her inside. “But I like your place. Everything about it is just… you.”

Her smile is real. “It’s home. Or it was.”

“Was?”

“Yeah. Home’s not a place, Dash. It’s your person. You’re my home.”

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