chapter 4

"You look like you haven't slept in days," Sandy said, sliding onto the stool beside Valentina during their break. "That room at Mack's keeping you up?"

"Something like that." Valentina sipped her coffee, willing the caffeine to kick in.

Truth was, Duke's visit three nights ago had left her restless, memories surfacing like bodies in a lake. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his face—then, and now. The boy who'd loved her. The man who looked at her like she was both salvation and damnation.

"You should find a better place," Sandy suggested. "Mack's is fine for passing through, but not for staying."

"I'm working on it." Another lie. Valentina had no plans beyond surviving each day. The future was a luxury she couldn't afford to think about.

The door chimed, and Hank's booming voice cut through their conversation. "Ladies! Break's over. We got customers."

Valentina looked up to see Duke entering with Axel and two other Riot Kings she didn't recognize. As usual, heads turned. The club had that effect—a mix of fear and fascination that parted crowds.

"I'll take them," Sandy offered, seeing Valentina's expression.

"No, it's fine." She stood, straightening her apron. "I need to face him sometime."

Sandy squeezed her arm. "Just holler if you need backup."

Duke's crew took their usual booth. Valentina approached with her pad, not making eye contact.

"What can I get you?"

"Four coffees," Axel said. "And whatever pie you got today."

She nodded, turning to leave, but Duke's voice stopped her.

"Actually, I'll take a full breakfast. Eggs over easy, bacon crisp, toast barely browned." He paused. "Just how I like it."

The familiar order—his standard from years ago—made her stomach clench. "Anything else?"

"Yeah." His eyes locked on hers. "An explanation."

Valentina felt the other men watching. "Kitchen's backed up. Food might take a while."

She walked away, feeling Duke's eyes on her back like a physical touch. When she returned with their coffees, the men were deep in conversation that stopped abruptly.

"Cherry or apple?" she asked, nodding toward the pies in the display case.

"Cherry," Axel said. "And make it quick. We got business."

Valentina served them, keeping her interactions minimal. As they finished, dark clouds gathered outside, the sky turning an ominous gray-green.

"Storm's coming," Hank called from the register. "Closing early. Radio says it's gonna be a bad one."

Customers began leaving as rain pelted the windows. Valentina started cleaning up, hoping to finish before the worst hit.

Duke's crew departed, but she noticed Duke himself lingering at the counter, watching the storm intensify.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" she asked, wiping down the surface between them.

"My garage is two blocks away. I'll wait it out."

Hank approached, keys jangling. "Val, can you lock up? I gotta get home to my wife. She hates being alone in storms."

Before she could answer, he'd thrust the keys into her hand and headed for the door. "Just double-check the storage room inventory before you go. List is on the clipboard."

The door slammed behind him, leaving her alone with Duke and the howling wind outside.

"Looks like it's just us," he said, a dangerous edge to his voice.

"I have work to do." She moved toward the back, hoping he'd leave.

Instead, he followed her into the narrow hallway leading to the storage room. "We need to talk, Valentine."

"There's nothing to talk about." She pushed open the storage room door, flicking on the light. "What happened between us was a lifetime ago."

"Then why are you back?"

She sighed, turning to face him. "Because I had nowhere else to go. Happy?"

His expression darkened. "What happened to your perfect husband and your perfect life?"

"It wasn't perfect." The words came out before she could stop them. "Nothing ever is."

Duke stepped closer, filling the doorway. "Did he hurt you?"

"No." Technically true. Physical pain would have been easier than what James had done.

"Then what?"

"Why do you care?" She turned away, running her finger down the inventory list, pretending to count boxes.

"Because you show up after ten years, looking like a ghost of yourself, and expect me to just ignore it?" His voice rose. "You ran when things got real once before. I want to know what you're running from now."

The accusation hit like a slap. "I ran? That's rich, coming from you."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means you let me go!" The words burst from her. "You walked away that night at the water tower. You didn't fight for me, Duke. Not once."

A crash of thunder shook the building. The lights flickered once, twice, then plunged them into darkness.

"Damn it." Valentina fumbled in her pocket for her phone, only to remember she'd left it at the counter.

A moment later, Duke's phone flashlight illuminated the small space. His face, half in shadow, looked carved from stone.

"You think I didn't fight for you?" His voice was dangerously quiet. "I came to your house the next morning. Your mother said you'd already left for the airport. I drove there—broke every speed limit. Your flight had already boarded."

Valentina stared at him. "I never knew that."

"Because you didn't want to." He moved closer, backing her against the metal shelves. "I called you for weeks. Your number changed. I wrote letters. They came back unopened."

"My mother—"

"Was following your instructions," he finished. "Don't lie to me, Valentine. Not now. Not after everything."

Rain pounded the roof, a distant rumble of thunder punctuating his words. The flashlight cast strange shadows on the walls, making the small room feel even smaller.

"I was scared," she whispered.

"Of what?"

"Of loving you too much. Of giving up my dreams for you. Of staying in this town forever."

His laugh was bitter. "So instead you married a man you didn't love and lived a life that made you miserable. Great choice."

"I thought I loved him." She wrapped her arms around herself. "I was wrong."

Duke's free hand slammed into the shelf beside her head, making her jump. "And what about me? Did you love me? Or was I just your small-town rebellion?"

"That's not fair."

"Life isn't fair." He threw her own words back at her. "You taught me that."

They stood in tense silence, the storm raging outside mirroring the one between them. The storage room door suddenly slammed shut with a gust of wind.

Duke tried the handle. "Locked."

"What? It can't be." Valentina pushed him aside, rattling the door uselessly. "Hank said these doors automatically lock from the outside. Fire code violation, but he never fixed it."

Duke leaned against the shelves. "Looks like we're stuck until someone comes."

"Great." Valentina slid down to sit on the floor, as far from Duke as the small room allowed. "Just great."

They sat in silence, the only light from Duke's phone gradually dimming to conserve battery.

"You still haven't told me why you came back," he said finally.

Valentina closed her eyes. What was the point in hiding anymore? "I caught my husband in bed with my sister."

The silence that followed was heavy. When Duke spoke, his voice had lost its edge. "Jesus, Valentine."

"Yeah." She laughed hollowly. "Turns out perfect lives aren't so perfect after all."

"What did you do?"

"Nothing. I just... left. Packed a bag and drove away." She wrapped her arms tighter around herself. "Pathetic, right? I didn't even confront them."

Duke was quiet for a long moment. "No. Not pathetic. Smart. You got out."

"I ran. Again." She looked up at him in the dimness. "That's what I do, remember? When things get real, I run."

He moved then, sliding down to sit beside her, their shoulders not quite touching. "We all run from something, Valentine. The trick is knowing when to stop."

The closeness of him—his warmth, his scent, the solid presence of his body—made her heart race. After weeks of feeling nothing but numb emptiness, the rush of sensation was overwhelming.

"I don't know if I can," she whispered.

"Can what?"

"Stop running." She turned to look at him, finding his face inches from hers. "I don't know who I am anymore, Duke. I spent ten years becoming someone else, and now that person is gone."

His eyes, dark in the dim light, searched hers. "You're still in there, Valentine. The girl who rode on the back of my bike with her arms around my waist. The girl who wasn't afraid of anything."

"She was afraid of one thing." Valentina's voice caught. "Loving you too much."

Duke's breath hitched. His hand rose, hovering near her cheek as it had in her room days ago—not quite touching, but close enough that she could feel the heat of his skin.

"And now?" he asked, his voice rough.

"Now I'm afraid of everything." The confession tore from her throat. "Of feeling. Of not feeling. Of being alone. Of being with someone."

His fingers finally made contact, brushing a strand of hair from her face. The touch sent electricity down her spine.

"I'm not him," Duke said quietly. "I would never betray you like that."

"No," she agreed. "You'd just let me walk away again."

His hand stilled. "Is that what you think?"

"It's what I know." She pulled back slightly. "We're different people now, Duke. Too much has happened. Too much time has passed."

"And yet here we are." His gaze dropped to her lips. "Still fighting the same battle."

The air between them thickened, charged with a decade of unresolved feelings. Valentina felt herself leaning in, drawn by a gravity she couldn't fight.

Duke's phone chose that moment to die, plunging them into complete darkness.

"Shit," he muttered, and she felt him shift away.

The darkness was oddly freeing. Without sight, other senses heightened—the sound of rain on the roof, the scent of his leather jacket, the warmth of his body beside hers.

"Duke?" she whispered.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry. For leaving the way I did."

His sigh was barely audible. "I'm sorry too. For letting you go."

In the pitch black, his hand found hers. Rough, calloused fingers interlaced with hers—so different from James's smooth, manicured hands. Duke's touch felt like coming home and jumping off a cliff all at once.

They sat like that, hand in hand in the darkness, neither speaking, as the storm raged on.