Page 53 of Damascus & The Wildfire
“Fine. What’s your favorite movie?”
“The Boondock Saints.”
“Let’s watch that, then.”
I raised a brow at her. “It’s dark and violent.”
She rolled her eyes. “I can handle dark and violent. I might evenlikedark and violent.”
Her words hung between us. I was dark. I could be violent.
I brushed the thoughts away as she pressed play.
Over the next hour and a half, Kenna moved closer. Halfway through the movie, she leaned against me and fell asleep. With her head resting on my shoulder, I breathed in her scent—a sweet and earthy floral mix, like she’d bathed in rose petals. I wanted to wrap my arms around her, to pull her closer and never let go.
But I didn’t. She wasn’t ready. That much was clear. Her heart still belonged to another man—a dead man. A ghost.
After the movie, I carefully carried her to bed and pulled the sheets over her petite body. Seeing her red hair spread across her pillow, her eyes peacefully closed in sleep, stirred something deep inside me. I clicked my tongue, calling the dog to follow me out of the room, and softly closed her door.
I stood outside with Brisket for a moment, breathing in the night air. A fire of desire for her coursed through my chest. But there was more to it. I felt a connection to Kenna. A balance. Her fire melted my frost.
I looked to the stars and wondered. Could a woman like Kenna love me? Understand me? Accept the darkness and violence that walked hand in hand with my life choices?
And, more importantly, was I willing to risk everything—my friendship with Hatchet, the club’s unity—to find out?
Chapter Twenty
I followed the motions of the morning—filling the dog’s bowl, brewing my coffee, microwaving a leftover cinnamon roll—but my mind was miles away, tangled in thoughts of Merrick.
He put me at ease in a way that left me feeling safe and unguarded. He’d shown up with cake and comfort, stayed to watch a movie, and let me lean on him when my body ached. He’d carried me to bed, tucked me in, and left without asking for anything in return. It was more thought and care than I’d gotten from anyone in a long time.
But Merrick hadn’t shown interest in being more than a friend.
I sipped my coffee, staring out the kitchen window. My chest ached a little, disappointed that he hadn’t made a move. There had been moments that made my heart race. But he hadn’t acted on it. And he’d had plenty of chances.
He could have kissed me. He could have wrapped his arms around me on the couch while we watched the movie. He could have said something to let me know he wanted more.
But either he didn’t feel that way about me, or he held his ownreservations. Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. The truth was, we were just friends. And that had to be enough.
I bit into my cinnamon roll, letting the gooey sugar and warm dough crowd out my musings. I liked Merrick’s friendship. He listened. He showed up when I needed him. I liked the man he was—stoic, loyal, and unexpectedly tender.
My phone rang, the shrill tone breaking me out of my thoughts. Annoyance coursed through me as I saw who it was.
“Hey, Mom,” I said as cheerfully as I could muster.
“Kenna, dear. When are you coming home?”
No preamble. No “how are you?” Just demands.
“Texas is my home,” I reminded her. “I don’t know when I’ll come for a visit. Maybe Thanksgiving.”
My mother huffed at the inconvenience. “What about the annual picnic?”
I rolled my eyes. I despised the upscale barbecue event where she dragged me and my siblings around a ritzy country club, introducing us to her fake friends.
“I have a work event,” I lied. “A client needs me.”
“Oh? Who is this client?”
