Cruz:
It had been a week.
Seven days of Avery’s s**t finding space among mine—her boots next to mine by the door, her robe hanging beside my towel, her damn lavender shampoo turning my whole bathroom into some kind of spa. She took over in the quietest way possible, like she wasn’t claiming anything—just existing beside me.
And yet, every inch of the place felt more hers than mine now.
Not that I was complaining.
She was my sanctuary.
I pulled into the compound, dust still settling behind my tires. I headed for the med shack first, figuring she’d be hunched over one of the guys, patching up a scrape or stitching up a dumbass.
But the lights were off. Door locked.
Empty.
I ground my teeth and spun toward the clubhouse, boots heavy, jaw clenched.
I wasn’t mad.
Just—restless. Nervo
