Page 130 of Heroes & Hitmen
The pieces suddenly click together in my brain. All the times he tried to bring Jordan up, all the times I shut him down and said I wasn’t ready to talk about it. Now, I see this was his way of bridging that gap. Of respecting my space, while ensuring we’d have an opportunity to patch things up in the future and have a new start.
Jordan meets my eyes, the vulnerability in her own raw and unguarded. “I’m so sorry, Miley. For everything. I know I don’t deserve–”
I shake my head, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. “I forgive you. I did a long time ago, I just...”
“I never meant to hurt you,” she interrupts, gripping onto my hands like a lifeline. “Alpha showed up right before you were supposed to get there. He said he was taking me to the ceremony, that I’d be paired with Elias, and I just… I was so scared, Miley. I just wanted out. I know it was selfish, but I panicked, and I…”
“I forgive you,” I say again, my gaze steady and burning with sincerity. “It might not have been the way we planned, but it worked out for both of us, and that’s all that matters now. I loveyou, Jordan. And I’ve missed you so much. I’m so glad you’re here.”
A watery laugh escapes her and she wipes her nose on her sleeve. “You sure? Because I have a history of screwing up and making things complicated.”
I grin, flicking a glance back inside the house where Ares waits. “Turns out, I thrive on complicated.”
We laugh softly, the sound full of relief and hope, and step inside hand in hand.
The next few hours blur into a haze of cupcakes, overlapping voices, and the kind of affection that leaves you buzzing long after it’s over. The Raines clan is a tidal wave– loud, messy, welcoming– and for the first time, I don’t feel like I’m standing on the outside looking in. Even Jordan, who’s always worn her attitude like armor, seems softer here, her shoulders loosening bit by bit. In this house, the past is just background noise. What matters is everything we’ve still got coming.
When the last person leaves and the front door clicks shut, the house exhales into stillness. The kitchen island is dusted with stray frosting smears, the sink a jumble of glasses and half-empty mugs. I stand in the middle of it all, breathing in the faint scents of vanilla, coffee, and cedar.
Ares comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist, his chest warm and solid against my back.
“You okay?” he murmurs, nuzzling into my hair.
I nod, but it takes a moment for the words to find me. “I never thought I’d have this,” I admit on an exhale. “The house, the family, the mate… any of it.”
His hold tightens, a quiet fierceness in the way he says, “You deserve it, Miles. Every goddamn bit.”
I close my eyes and, for once, let myself believe it.
Maybe fate is just another word for being in the right place with the right person at the right time.
Or maybe it’s pure luck, and mine finally showed up.
Either way, I’m not letting go.
The silence that follows as we clean up is its own kind of music– not the heavy, haunted quiet of my childhood, but something charged, like the air before the first snow falls. The house is still so new it doesn’t creak when I walk barefoot across the hardwood. There’s no sound of sirens outside, no hum of traffic. Just peace.
Ares is in the kitchen tackling the cupcake carnage, but I know he’s tuned in to me. Every time I shift my weight or tap my fingers on the banister, I can feel his attention sharpen.
I test it, dragging my nails down the rail in a slow, deliberate staccato as I step up onto the first stair.
It works.
He’s there almost instantly, silent but unmistakable, a dishtowel slung over one shoulder and his shirt nowhere in sight. The hallway light cuts across him, shadowing the valleys of his torso and making every line of muscle look sculpted on purpose. I want to memorize it– or take a picture so I can prove to myself tomorrow this isn’t a fever dream.
“You gonna haunt the staircase all night, or…?” he asks, one brow arching in mock impatience.
I turn to lean a hip against the rail and let my gaze roam over him with exaggerated slowness. “Just doing a perimeter check. Don’t want any mountain lions sneaking in to steal cupcakes.”
His eyes sweep over me, slow and hungry. “Is that what you’re calling yourself now? A mountain lion?”
I snort. “You wish you could handle a mountain lion.”
He steps in, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating off his body. “I’ve got a good track record with wild things. Especially ones that like cupcakes.”
He plants his hands on either side of the banister, caging me in without touching, giving me the choice. He cocks his head, that quiet challenge in his gaze.
I consider making him wait– just to prove I can– but tonight isn’t for games.
