Page 10 of Salvation

I nodded.

“And in all those years, she’s chosen to stay. With you.” Beast took a sip of his whiskey. “That tells me something.”

I rolled the glass between my palms, watching the amber liquid catch the light. “What about Clover?”

“Your daughter’s not stupid. She sees more than you think.” Beast’s voice softened slightly. “Kids adapt. Especially kids like Clover who’ve already weathered hard times.”

“And if Yulia doesn’t feel the same?” The question that had been haunting me for what felt like forever finally had a voice.

Beast shrugged. “Then you respect that and move on. But at least you’ll know.” He fixed me with his steady gaze. “The question you need to ask yourself is whether what you might gain is worth the risk.”

I downed the whiskey in one burning swallow, welcoming the heat that spread through my chest. “And if she pulls away? Leaves?”

“That’s her choice. While marriage is a forever thing around here, your case is different. If Yulia wants to move on, then we’ll let her.” Beast’s words were firm but not unkind. “You can’t protect someone from their own decisions, Salvation. Not even someone you love.”

Love. The word hit me like a physical blow. Was that what this was? This constant awareness, this need to ensure her happiness, this ache to be closer to her?

“How did you know?” I asked quietly. “With Lyssa?”

A rare smile crossed Beast’s face at the mention of his wife. “I didn’t. Not for sure. I just knew I couldn’t imagine my life without her in it.” He set his empty glass on the desk. “Sometimes you just have to take the leap, brother. Despite the risk. Despite the fear.”

I stood, setting my glass beside his. “Thanks for the advice.”

Beast clapped me on the shoulder. “Don’t overthink it. That woman’s been waiting for you to see her -- really see her -- for a long time now.”

His words followed me as I left the office, threading through the crowded main room of the clubhouse. Had Yulia really been waiting? Had I been blind to what was right in front of me all these years?

Only one way to find out. But the thought of crossing that line, of potentially disrupting the careful balance we’d established, still made my heart race with something between anticipation and dread.

Tonight. I’ll talk to her tonight.

* * *

Yulia

I lingered in the kitchen doorway, my heart lodged somewhere in my throat as I watched Salvation pull ingredients from the refrigerator. Since my conversation with Whisper that afternoon, every nerve ending in my body seemed heightened, attuned to his presence in a way that made my skin prickle with awareness. The kitchen suddenly felt too small, too intimate -- a space where we’d coexisted for years without acknowledging the current that sometimes sparked between us. Tonight, that current felt like a live wire, dangerous and irresistible.

“You just going to stand there?” Salvation asked without turning around, his voice deeper than usual.

I stepped into the kitchen, forcing my feet to move naturally. “What are you making?”

“Chicken stir-fry.” He set a package of chicken breasts on the cutting board. “Figured it was quick. Been a long day.”

I nodded, though he wasn’t looking at me. The kitchen enveloped us in its familiar comfort -- the soft hum of the refrigerator, the warm yellow light above the stove, the lingering scent of this morning’s coffee. Through the open window, cool evening air carried the distant sound of motorcycles and the sweet scent of spring flowers. It should have felt normal. Routine. But nothing about tonight felt routine.

“I can help,” I said, moving to the sink to wash my hands. “What do you need?”

Salvation glanced at me, surprise flickering across his face. “You don’t have to --”

“I want to.” I dried my hands on a dish towel, summoning a confidence I didn’t entirely feel. “Just tell me what to do.”

He studied me for a moment, then nodded toward the vegetables on the counter. “You could chop those. Bell peppers, onion, broccoli.”

I took a knife from the block and set to work beside him, acutely conscious of how our arms nearly touched as we stood at the counter. The knife felt awkward in my hand -- I hadn’t done much cooking over the years, content to let Salvation handle that domain. But lately, I’d been trying more, finding excuses to spend time with him in these domestic moments.

“Like this?” I asked, showing him my attempt at dicing the bell pepper.

He glanced over, his gaze lingering on my hands. “Smaller pieces, if you can.” His fingers brushed mine as he repositioned the knife in my grip. “Like this.”

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