He turns and brushes a few strands of hair off my face. “Creed has a plan. Trust in him, and you’ll be safe while you’re here. I promise.”
Highway pulls me in closer, his arms wrap around me, and I drift off to sleep in the safety of his arms.
ChapterSixteen
Highway
Dawn barely breaks, the world outside still clinging to the night. Lyric is nestled beside me, and I absently run my hand up and down her back. She stirs and looks around the room.
“What time is it?”
“Dawn.” I point at the window above our heads. “You can see the sun’s rays streaking across the sky.”
“Why are you awake?”
“Creed will want to see us all. There’s work to be done, and I’ve slept enough.”
Lyric moves and places her chin on my chest, a frown creasing her pretty face. “Does that mean you’ll be busy all day?”
“Probably, but I’ll check in on you from time to time.”
A smile transforms her face into a thing of beauty. “I’d like that.”
“What are you going to do today?”
“Help Dad in the infirmary with the women. He’s still not sure about keeping them here, and I need to reassure him that here is the safest place for them.”
Lyric turns over and sits up, putting her feet on the floor.
“You could sleep in,” I offer.
“With so many people in the clubhouse, I think I should go help with breakfast.”
I move to sit beside her, and my heart warms that she’s thinking about the MC and not herself.
“We’ll catch up later?”
“Yeah.”
Leaning in, I close the distance between us. Our lips meet, a soft, gentle touch at first, tentative and tender. The kiss deepens,her lips parting slightly as our breaths mingle. It’s not perfect—there’s the undeniable reality of morning breath—but it doesn’t matter. The intimacy of the moment, the connection we share, overshadows any imperfections.
Lyric’s hand comes to rest on my cheek, her fingers warm and soft. I respond in kind, my hand finding the small of her back, pulling her closer. The kiss is unhurried, a slow exploration. It’s a kiss that speaks of comfort, love, and thousands of shared mornings to come.
When we finally pull back, her eyes are bright, and she’s smiling in a way that makes my heart race.
“Coffee?” she suggests, her voice still a little drowsy.
“Yeah,” I reply, grinning. “Coffee sounds good.”
In this simple moment, I realize that love isn’t about perfection. It’s about sharing all the little things—the good and the bad—and still feeling like the luckiest person in the world.
***
After a shower, I walk downstairs and along the corridor to check on Lyric’s dad, who is already in the infirmary.
“Mr. Fullerton,” I greet, pushing open the door with a creak. He looks up, his eyes are sharp, and they track to me, searching, measuring. “Are you okay?”
Something flickers in his eyes, but he nods. “The girls are doing better, especially Mia. The things they endured.” He shakes his head. “They should speak with a counselor.”
