Crimson Steel

Chapter Sixteen - The Distance Between Us

The door to Colt’s room creaked open as Avery stepped inside, her heels silent this time, her shoulders relaxed.

She didn’t slam anything.

Didn’t pace.

Didn’t fume.

She was calm.

Collected.

Still burning—but quiet in the way only someone who’d made a decision could be.

Colt wasn’t there. Not yet.

The room looked exactly the same—unmade bed, his cut thrown over the back of the chair, ashtray by the window half-full. His presence lingered like smoke, but it didn’t wrap around her this time. It didn’t own her.

She walked to the bathroom and turned on the shower.

Hot water.

Lavender soap.

No rush.

She let the heat soak into her skin, rinse away the tension. Her hands trembled, just slightly, from the weight of what she’d said outside. From how badly she wanted him to understand—really understand—that she wasn’t just another woman waiting for his attention.

But he still didn’t get it.

He kept saying she was different.

But his actions?

Still put her in the same damn corner.

Still made her do all the chasing.

Still waited for her to come.

Not this time.

When she stepped out of the shower, steam clinging to her skin, she didn’t rush to find him.

She changed into her silk sleep shorts and a thin tank, the kind of thing that would’ve made his control snap on another night.

But she wasn’t using it tonight.

Not for him.

She climbed into his bed—no longer their bed—and pulled the sheets up to her waist. She didn’t look toward the door. Didn’t wait for his voice. Didn’t ask where he was.

She just laid there, back straight, eyes on the ceiling.

In control of herself.

A few minutes later, she heard the door open. Heard Colt’s boots on the wood floor. Heard the familiar slide of his jacket coming off, the clink of his belt being dropped onto the dresser.

But she didn’t turn.

She didn’t greet him.

Didn’t flinch when he paused near the bed.

She stayed still.

A message louder than any fight they’d had.

I won't chase you.

I won’t prove myself to you again.

If I matter—

you come to me.

Colt stood there for a long time.

Then the mattress dipped behind her as he sat on the edge.

But still, she didn’t move.

And when he laid down beside her, not touching her, not breathing a word—Avery let the silence speak for both of them.

Because until he changed his actions…

His words meant nothing.

Three days passed.

And Avery didn't say a single word to Colt.

Not when he walked into the kitchen and found her already there with a cup of tea, laughing quietly with Frankie.

Not when they passed each other in the hallway, his eyes searching hers and hers carefully looking anywhere else.

Not when he returned late at night and found her in bed already asleep—back turned, limbs tucked in tight, her scent still lingering on his pillow like a memory she refused to make fresh again.

She wasn’t cruel about it.

She didn’t scream.

Didn’t pout.

Didn’t weaponize her silence.

She simply… withdrew.

Frankie noticed it the most.

“She’s got a new kind of armor now,” the woman muttered to Cal one afternoon, watching Avery help fold laundry for the club’s stash with those manicured, methodical hands. “Not the courtroom kind. The kind that says, I’ve been burned one too many times.”

And Cal, ever perceptive, said nothing.

He just watched as Avery asked Frankie about her garden like she had no war raging in her chest.

Colt noticed everything.

The way Avery stopped asking him anything.

The way she didn’t wait up for him anymore. Didn’t fill his bed with her presence, her perfume, her tension.

The fire he’d wanted so badly to control had gone cold—and not because it had burned out.

Because she had stopped feeding it.

And still, he said nothing.

Because Colt Mercer had spent a lifetime believing silence was strength. That holding back kept him in control.

But this?

This didn’t feel like control anymore.

It felt like loss.

By the fourth morning, Avery walked into the clubhouse in a navy silk wrap dress and black heels. Her makeup was flawless. Her smile was effortless.

She leaned into Frankie’s side with a light laugh and accepted a mug of coffee like she belonged here on her own terms now.

Not for Colt.

Not for the club.

But for herself.

And when she passed Colt in the hallway—his shirt half-unbuttoned, jaw tense, eyes tracking her every move—she didn’t blink.

She didn’t slow down.

And for the first time since she’d returned, he was the one left behind.

By the fifth day, Avery wasn’t pretending anymore.

She wasn’t trying to make Colt notice her silence.

She wasn’t hoping he’d finally walk through the damn door and say what needed to be said.

She simply… stopped expecting anything.

And that brought peace.

She ate her breakfast early, before the clubhouse turned rowdy. She spent her afternoons helping Frankie organize donation drop-offs—something she’d suggested herself after learning the club occasionally did quiet charity runs.

She laughed more.

Drank more tea.

Forgot the weight of Colt’s stare every time she walked past him.

Because she didn’t look anymore.

It was easier that way.

Cleaner.

And she was finally sleeping through the night.

Cal noticed it before anyone else.

He sat with Colt in the garage bay, both of them hunched over the stripped-down frame of an old Harley.

The silence stretched between them like rusted wire.

Finally, Cal broke it.

“You gonna keep watchin’ her like she’s a goddamn ghost, or are you gonna do something about it?”

Colt didn’t look up from the engine. “Ain’t my business anymore.”

Cal snorted. “Bullshit. You don’t let ghosts haunt you unless they matter.”

Colt set the wrench down hard.

“She made her choice.”

“Did she?” Cal asked, tone sharper now. “Because from where I’m standing, looks to me like she made a statement. Not a choice.”

Colt’s jaw locked. “She’s fine. She’s got Frankie. She’s smiling. Doesn’t need me screwing that up.”

“No,” Cal said, standing now. “She doesn’t need you storming in, owning her, marking her, or pulling her into your mess of a world without showing her something solid. What she needs—what she deserves—is a man who can get out of his own damn head and step up when it counts.”

Colt didn’t speak.

Cal stepped closer, lowering his voice.

“She’s not like the rest of them, Colt. She’s never been. You know that. So stop treating her like she’s just taking a break from chasing you. She’s done chasing.”

Colt swallowed hard.

“She doesn’t look for you anymore,” Cal added quietly. “And that… should scare the hell out of you.”

Then Cal walked out of the garage, leaving Colt alone with the sound of wind through the bay doors and the weight of his own inaction.

Inside, Avery sat at the back table with Frankie, organizing a box of clothes to donate.

She was laughing again—light and easy, real in a way that didn’t cost her anything anymore.

And for the first time in days, Colt stood just out of sight… watching.

Not like a man in control.

But like a man finally realizing he was losing something that could never be replaced.

The late afternoon sun filtered through the clubhouse windows, warm and gold and gentle as it hit the old wooden floors. Dust floated lazily in the light, like time itself had decided to slow down.

Avery sat at the long table by the back wall, legs curled under her, barefoot, relaxed—her heels kicked off somewhere she didn’t care to remember.

Frankie sat across from her, their coffee mugs between them, a folded box of baby clothes donated from the neighborhood tucked under the table.

They weren’t talking about Colt. Or the club. Or anything heavy.

They were talking about shoes.

And Avery was smiling.

Not the smile she used when she was trying to prove she was fine.

But the soft, real one that crept in without effort. The kind that reached her eyes.

“I used to be a flats girl,” she confessed, swirling the last sip of coffee in her cup. “All practicality, all clean lines. Until I walked into a courtroom in these four-inch red pumps, and the defense attorney looked at my feet instead of my face. He lost control of his entire opening statement.”

Frankie cackled. “So you wore ‘em every time after that?”

“Every. Damn. Time,” Avery said with a smug tilt of her lips. “They’re battle armor.”

“Mine was a leather miniskirt and boots so high I had to sit down every ten minutes,” Frankie said, grinning at the memory. “But I swear every man in the room got a little dumber when I walked by.”

Avery laughed then, the kind that came from her chest. Easy. Open.

It was the first time in years she wasn’t guarding her voice. Or her heart.

There were no whispers in the background today. No lingering stares. No heavy boots circling her like she was prey.

Not because the club had changed.

But because she had.

Avery had stopped bracing for judgment.

Stopped performing for Colt’s attention.

Stopped trying to defend her place in a world that wasn’t hers.

And in that letting go, something unthinkable happened.

She found peace.

Not the fragile kind that crumbles when tested.

The real kind.

The earned kind.

The kind that hums deep in your chest and tells you that you don’t need to fight anymore—because you’re already whole.

Frankie reached over, gave her hand a squeeze.

“You look lighter.”

“I feel lighter,” Avery said. Then smirked. “Might be because I’m not wearing heels.”

Frankie gave her a look. “Nah. This is something else.”

Avery didn’t answer. Just smiled again, softer this time.

She didn’t need to explain it.

Not to Frankie.

Not to anyone.

For the first time in years… Avery wasn't waiting to be chosen.

She’d already chosen herself.

The clubhouse had quieted. Most of the guys were off doing runs, the music had faded, and for once, there was no chaos humming beneath the walls.

Avery sat alone now, out on the back deck, the sun kissing the horizon, turning the sky soft shades of lavender and rose.

A mug of lukewarm coffee rested between her palms.

And for the first time in what felt like a lifetime—

She didn’t feel watched.

She wasn’t calculating every step.

She wasn’t waiting for someone to notice her.

She wasn’t carrying the weight of unspoken feelings or unanswered questions.

She just was.

And it was peaceful.

Avery let out a slow breath and leaned back in the chair, eyes fluttering closed.

For so long, Colt had lived in the back of her mind—quiet, sharp, dangerous. He’d always been there, lurking beneath her thoughts like some unfinished sentence. A ghost in leather and smoke and sharp glances that stole her breath when she was seventeen.

She used to wonder what it would be like to be chosen by him.

To be the one he looked at and didn’t look away from.

Back in high school, she may have had a perfect GPA and a head full of dreams, but deep down?

She begged for his attention.

Silently. Desperately.

And he never really gave it. Not the way she needed.

But now?

Now… he didn’t live there anymore.

He didn’t haunt her.

He didn’t own her.

He was just a part of her past—a chapter closed, not torn out. And without him occupying every thought, there was space.

Space to breathe.

To feel.

To be.

Avery smiled faintly to herself, eyes still closed.

She wasn’t broken.

She wasn’t waiting.

She wasn’t even bitter.

She was free.

And damn, it felt good.