The Morning After the Night Before
1990 Words
Chapter 12: The Morning After the Night Before
Maya wakes up slowly. The way you wake up when your body has decided that sleep is more important than consciousness. One sense at a time. First sound — someone breathing nearby, slow and even. Then touch — a blanket pulled up to her chin, a pillow that smells like cedar and something male. Then sight.
Knox's ceiling.
Different from her ceiling. No water stains shaped like bunnies. No cracks spidering across the plaster. Just bare wood beams and a single light fixture that looks like it was installed in the seventies.
She turns her head. He's still on the floor.
Knox is lying on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes, the other resting on his stomach. His chest rises and falls in that deep rhythm of someone who's actually sleeping. Not pretending. Not guarding. Just… asleep.
He looks younger like this. The hard lines of his face are softer. The scar above his eyebrow is just a scar, not a warning. His lips are slightly parted. His hair is a mess.
Maya watches him for a minute. Maybe two. She tells herself she's just waiting for him to wake up so they can start the day. That's a lie, and she knows it.
She's watching him because he's beautiful. And because last night, when she was scared and shaking and ready to fall apart, he gave her his room and took the floor without hesitation. No strings. No expectations. Just you're not alone.
People like that don't exist in her world. Or they didn't. Until now.
His phone buzzes on the nightstand. Knox wakes up instantly — the way soldiers wake up, the way people who've learned to survive wake up. His hand shoots out, grabs the phone, squints at the screen.
"Jesse," he mutters. "Bar's fine. Go back to sleep." He types something, drops the phone, and lies back down. Then he turns his head and looks at her.
She's still watching him. No point pretending otherwise.
"Morning," he says. His voice is rough. Sleep-rough. It does something to her stomach.
"Morning."
"You sleep okay?"
"Yeah." She's surprised to find it's true. "You?"
"The floor is terrible."
"Then why didn't you take the bed?"
"Because I'm not a monster, Maya. And because you needed it more than me."
She sits up. The blanket falls to her waist. She's still wearing yesterday's clothes — jeans, a tank top, Jesse's borrowed band tee over everything. She must look like a disaster. She doesn't care.
Knox sits up too. Runs a hand through his hair. The motion pulls his t-shirt tight across his shoulders. She looks away. Looks at the photos on the wall instead. Bikes. Brothers. A woman with gray hair and Knox's eyes.
"Your mom?" she asks, pointing.
"Yeah."
"She's beautiful."
"She was." Past tense. Maya's heart pinches. "Cancer. Five years ago. Right after I took over the club."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. She lived long enough to see me not be an idiot. That's all she wanted." He stands up. Stretches. His back c***ks. "Come on. I'll make coffee."
They walk across the gravel lot together. The morning is cold and bright. Frost on the grass. Steam rising from the bar's kitchen exhaust. The world looks normal. Safe. Like last night didn't happen.
But it did.
Inside, Jesse is already behind the bar, looking hungover and annoyed. "You two are disgusting," he says by way of greeting.
"We literally slept on separate surfaces," Maya says.
"Separate surfaces in the same room. That's called intimacy, sweetheart. Look it up."
Knox ignores him. Pours two cups of coffee. Hands one to Maya. Their fingers brush. Jesse makes a gagging noise.
Tank comes in from the shop, wiping grease off his hands. He looks at Maya, at Knox, at the way they're standing close enough to share air. His expression doesn't change, but he nods. Approval, maybe. Or acceptance.
Ghost is already in his corner booth. Pale eyes tracking everything. He's holding a piece of paper.
"Ghost has something," Knox says.
Ghost slides the paper across the table. Knox picks it up. Reads. His face goes hard.
"What is it?" Maya asks.
"Cole's staying at a motel about twenty miles from here. He checked in under a fake name, but Ghost has contacts." Knox folds the paper and tucks it into his pocket. "He's not alone. He brought three of his guys."
"Three?"
"Four, counting himself. Small crew. But small doesn't mean safe."
Maya's coffee tastes like ash. "Do you think he's working with Derek?"
"Don't know yet." Knox looks at Jesse. "I need you to run a name. Derek — Maya's ex. Last name?"
She hesitates. Then: "Holloway. Derek Holloway."
Jesse nods and pulls out his phone. "I've got a guy who owes me a favor. Give me an hour."
The bar opens. Customers trickle in. Maya works the counter, pours coffee, serves eggs, pretends her world isn't collapsing. But every time the door opens, she flinches. Every time someone looks at her too long, her hand goes to her pocket where her phone sits like a bomb.
Around eleven, Jesse pulls her aside. "Your ex," he says quietly. "He's not just some dude with a grudge. He's got connections. Private investigator on retainer. And he made some calls yesterday to numbers in Montana."
Maya's blood runs cold. "To Cole?"
"Maybe. The trail goes cold after that. But it's possible."
"So Derek hired Cole to find me."
"Or Cole found you on his own and Derek is just... watching." Jesse's face is grim. "Either way, you're in the crosshairs."
She looks across the bar. Knox is talking to Tank, gesturing, planning. His eyes keep drifting to her. Checking. Making sure she's still there.
"I need to tell him," she says.
"Tell him what?"
"Everything. About Derek. About the text. About the phone." She takes a breath. "I've been holding back because I thought I could handle it myself. But I can't."
Jesse puts a hand on her shoulder. Squeezes. "Welcome to the family, Maya. We don't do 'alone' here."
She walks to Knox. Taps his arm. He turns.
"We need to talk," she says. "Privately."
He looks at her face. Sees something there. Nods.
"Office. Now."
They walk together. The door closes. The lock clicks.
And Maya finally tells him everything.
End of Chapter 12
- Writer
