Chapter 6: Soft Mornings and Heavy Promises
1057 Words
The sunlight crept in slow.
It slipped through half-closed blinds and washed the room in a dull gold that softened everything — the battered leather couch, the old motorcycle helmets on the shelf, the heavy black boots abandoned by the door. Even Murphy, all dark lines and worn denim, looked gentler with the sun resting on his jaw.
Aubrey woke tangled in the throw blanket that smelled like him — cedar, smoke, and something deep and earthy that made her chest ache. Her cheek was against his chest, her fingers curled into his worn T-shirt like she’d been holding onto him even in sleep.
He was still asleep.
Or pretending.
She lifted her head, trying not to disturb him, but the moment her weight shifted, a strong arm anchored tighter around her waist.
“I was warm,” came his groggy voice, low and deep and rumbling in his chest beneath her ear. “Where you think you’re goin’, baby?”
Aubrey blinked, disoriented, the haze of last night still thick in her throat. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t,” he said. “Been awake. Just didn’t wanna move and risk losing this.”
He said this like it meant something. Like holding her was sacred.
She didn’t know what to say to that.
Didn’t know how to tell him that she wanted to stay, wanted to burrow deeper into his chest and let the world keep spinning outside without her.
So instead, she said, “You snore.”
He cracked a lazy grin, eyes still closed. “You lie.”
“You absolutely snore.”
“Lies,” he repeated, and finally opened his eyes, blue as a loaded gun, softened by sleep and something that looked dangerously close to affection.
Aubrey pushed off his chest and sat up on the couch, brushing her messy hair away from her face. She was still in her clothes from last night — miniskirt, pastel pink cropped tee, and one of his oversized flannels draped around her shoulders like armor.
He let her go reluctantly, sitting up too, stretching with a grunt before pushing off the couch and standing in all his towering, shirtless glory.
Her eyes dipped low — the sharp lines of his hips, the tattoos that laced down his ribs, the bruises blooming fresh across one side.
“What happened to you?” she asked, nodding toward his side.
He looked down, shrugged. “You should see the other guy.”
Aubrey’s stomach twisted.
“You don’t have to pretend with me,” she said, voice quiet. “I know what kind of world you live in.”
Murphy’s gaze snapped to her, steady and unreadable.
“You saw a sliver of it last night,” he said. “That was nothin’.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
He stepped closer, barefoot and slow, until he was standing right in front of her.
“You afraid of me, Aubrey?”
She looked up at him, mouth dry. “No.”
“You should be.”
“Why?” she challenged. “Because you can be violent? So can I. Because you’ve killed people? You think I haven’t thought about it? Because you run with men who would burn this city down for fun?”
Murphy didn’t move.
She stood, stepped into his space.
“I’m not scared of the part of you that protects what’s yours,” she whispered. “I’m scared of what happens when you decide I’m not.”
Something flickered behind his eyes — something raw and dark and real.
“I already decided,” he said, his voice thick with promise. “You are.”
She didn’t say anything.
Didn’t need to.
Because something about the way he looked at her then — like she was more than just a pretty girl in tight skirts and smart-ass comebacks — made her believe him.
---
Breakfast was chaos.
She sat cross-legged on the counter, hair up in a claw clip, watching Murphy burn toast and nearly set the pan on fire trying to fry eggs. The man could break bones with his bare hands, but couldn’t scramble an egg to save his life.
She laughed when he dropped the spatula.
“Don’t laugh at me in my own kitchen, woman.”
“Can’t help it. I didn’t think it was possible for you to be bad at anything.”
“I’m not bad,” he grunted. “I’m just... uninspired.”
Aubrey tossed a marshmallow from the cereal bag at him. “That’s what we’re calling incompetence now?”
He caught it mid-air, popped it in his mouth, and grinned.
---
They ended up eating dry cereal and toast with way too much butter, legs bumping under the table. It felt... normal.
Too normal.
And it scared the hell out of her.
“You ever wonder,” she said, picking at her toast, “what it’d be like if we met somewhere different? Like... normal jobs. No bikers. No blood.”
Murphy leaned back in his chair, watching her.
“No,” he said simply.
“No?”
“I wouldn’t have noticed you in some normal-ass life,” he said. “But here? In this chaos? You shine like a fuckin’ flare.”
Aubrey stared at him, heart stammering like it didn’t know how to take that kind of honesty.
“You mean that?”
He reached across the table and tapped her bottom lip with his thumb, soft and slow. “I mean every damn word I say to you.”
Silence stretched.
A soft, aching kind of silence.
Aubrey stood slowly, came around the table, and slid onto his lap, knees straddling him, arms looped lazily around his neck.
“You’re not allowed to lie to me,” she whispered.
“Never.”
She leaned in, nose brushing his. “And I’m not gonna lie to you either.”
His hand splayed low on her back, grounding her. “You gonna tell me what that means?”
“It means I’m not running anymore,” she said. “But if you break this—” she paused, tapping his chest, “—you better be ready for war.”
He smiled then, slow and dark and proud. “Baby, I am war.”
- Writer
