Page 211 of Rogue Riders Duet

Luc

Only the ones who look good in pink.

Goddammit.

My face goes hot, and I tug the hood tighter like that’s going to protect me from the sheer Luc-ness of that reply, but before I can even think of a comeback, another message comes in.

Luc

Come over. She’s staying with me, and we have plenty of guest rooms. You and your dad can crash here. We’ll talk and sort shit out.

Then a follow-up, with a location pin. Bonneville, France.

I stare at the map for a second, processing.

Then look over at my dad. “Okay. She’s at Luc’s place in France, more or less where we just came from. He says she’s in one of the guest rooms. And, uh… he invited us to stay too.”

Dad shrugs. “It’d be nice to grab a shower in a real bathroom and sleep on something that doesn’t feel like a wooden plank.” He stretches and yawns. “But it’s late. Let’s stay here tonight. I’ll drive back in the morning.”

“Yeah. That’s fair.”

I shoot Luc another text.

Thanks. We’ll drive out tomorrow, we’re already in Italy. Guest room sounds good.

His reply is immediate.

Luc

However long you want to stay, Pretty Boy.

I’ve got space for you, and other things, if you’re good.

I stare at the text, then the hoodie sleeves half-covering my hands, and exhale slowly.

What the fuck is my life right now?

SEVEN

I didn’t think I’d ever find myself here.

In front of Luc Delacroix’s door, with my knuckles hovering, too scared to knock. My forehead is pressed to it, and I’m breathing in the scent of pine and something faintly floral drifting from the garden.

How the hell do I come back from this?

There’s no apology big enough, no words good enough to carve out the regret lodged in my chest, but I still have to say it, even if she never forgives me or lets me close again. I let my shame drown the one good thing I’ve had in years.

Fuck.

Taking a shaky breath, I straighten and lift my hand again. My heart is a fucking hammer, and my fingers tremble. I’ve never been this scared in my life, not at the gate, not mid-run, not even that time I hit the ground going sixty-five and woke up not feeling my legs, because this is Alaina. My baby girl.

And if I knock on this door, and she tells me I’m too late, if she looks at me with that same broken look in her eyes, I don’t know what happens to the rest of me.

But if I don’t knock?

Then I’m just proving her right.

So, I pull in one more breath, full of nerves, dread, and the ghost of her mouth on mine, and knock. Once, twice, and wait.