Page 237 of Rogue Riders Duet

I close my eyes and see it again, Luc, sitting on the bed, Mason in his lap, holding him like they were about to kiss.

Maybe he was comforting him, but it looked a lot like what Luc did to me. That night in Austria when I shattered on the gym floor and he gathered me up like he wanted my broken pieces. He made me feel like I was something special, that what I had with Luc was this rare, wild thing, but maybe I’m just another person he holds when they fall apart.

The ugly, insecure part of me claws to the surface, whispering that I’m easy to leave, easy to replace. But then—thank God—my brain fights back. The sane part.

Luc showed up for you, even after everything. Even after you lied to him, pushed him away, and hurt him. He stayed. He still stays.

And who the hell am I to talk?

After what happened with Finn, and with the way Mason has been taking up space in my chest, under my skin, since long before I admitted it.

I stare at the ceiling and whisper the only thing that makes sense right now.

“Fuck.”

I can’t stay here, not in this bed, and sure as fuck not alone in my head. So, I get up slowly, pulling on a pair of sweatpants over my boxers and leaving Luc’s oversized shirt on. It still smells like him, lavender, and sun-warmed skin. I pad through the hallway, careful not to wake anyone, since the house is so quiet it hums.

When I’m in front of Luc’s door, I don’t knock so I won’t wake him, just open the door and peek in. His room is dim, but I can see him splayed out on top of the covers, wearing only his boxers. His hair is a mess, and his legs are everywhere. He looks like sin and sleep, and my heart trips over itself.

There’s no one else in the bed. No Mason. Not even Toulouse.

It’s just Luc.

Relief floods through me harder than I want to admit as I shut the door gently behind me and cross the room. He doesn’t stir as I sit beside him, lean in, and then slide down slowly until I’m curled next to him, close enough to steal his heat.

He startles at the shift, his body tensing just for a moment before his eyes blink open and lock on mine.

“Petite?” His voice is a low rumble, thick with sleep. “Est-ce que ça va?” I look at him questioningly, and he switches to English, his voice clearer now. “Are you okay?”

I shake my head. “I had a bad dream.”

“I’m sorry,” he says instantly, reaching out, his knuckles gliding down my cheek, soft as breath.

“Can I stay?” I whisper.

“Of course you can.” He pulls me to him, mindful of my fingers, his arms wrapping around me. “What did you dream about?”

“I don’t know. It’s just… everything.”

He exhales. “Yeah. It’s a lot right now.”

I nod.

“Do you think you can sleep again?”

“No. But it’s fine. You can go back to sleep, I just… I want to be here with you.”

“You know what?” He pulls back with a little gleam in his eyes. “Let’s get out of here.”

I blink up at him. “What?”

He tilts his head and presses a kiss to my lips before sitting up and rolling off the bed. Grabbing a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, he tugs them on and turns to me, hand outstretched. “Come on.”

I stare at his hand before sliding my good one into his, and he pulls me to my feet.

“Where are we going?” I whisper as we sneak barefoot through the house.

“I have a surprise for you. I was gonna take you tomorrow night, but I think now’s perfect.”