I get up, step over Leo’s scattered blocks, and open the door.
Duke.
He fills the doorframe. His body and his presence have always filled every room he walks into, and our time apart hasn’t changed that.
He’s six-foot-one, and his white T-shirt pulls tight across his shoulders under the leather cut. Hellborn Kings on the back, Treasurer on the front. Black ink covering both arms from wrist to bicep. Brown hair is swept off his forehead, and it’s a little longer than he used to wear it. Beard trimmed close along his perfectly defined jaw.
He looks exactly the same. He looks better. I hate that.
And those eyes.
Clear, pale, knock-the-air-out-of-you blue.
The same blue Leo has.
My son is ten feet behind me, sitting on a blanket, stuffing fruit snacks into his mouth. His father is standing in the doorway. Neither of them has any idea.
Duke meets my eyes. “Violet.”
“How did you know I was here?”
He doesn’t answer that. Of course he doesn’t. This is Ash Valley. This is Hellborn Kings territory. He probably knew where I was before I unpacked the car.
“Have you eaten today?”
The question catches me off guard. “What?”
“Food, Violet. Have you eaten?”
I have eaten, but not much. I had half a granola bar at six a.m. But Duke doesn’t need to know that.
“I’m fine.”
His mouth does a thing. A small, controlled movement. Biting down on every response he wants to give and swallowing them whole. He looks past me into the living room.
Camilla’s house is small. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, and a kitchen that opens to the living room, with no wall between them. The baby is just weeks old. Bottles are drying on a towel on the counter, a basket of laundry is on the recliner that hasn’t been folded in days, and my suitcase is open against the far wall with Leo’s clothes spilling out of it.
“Hey, Duke.” Camilla shifts the baby to her other arm. “You want to come in?”
He steps inside. The room shrinks.
Leo looks up. He stares at Duke with huge blue eyes and holds up a fistful of fruit snacks.
“Hi,” Leo says. “Want fruit snacks?”
Duke crouches. Leather creaks. He’s enormous next to my son, this man built for bar fights and desert highways, and he takes a single fruit snack from Leo’s open palm. “Thanks, buddy.”
Leo grins. The same grin Duke used to give me across the pillow at four a.m. when neither of us could sleep and he’d say dry, stupid things until I laughed so hard my stomach ached.
I have to look away.
“Camilla.” Duke stands. “How’s the baby?”
“Perfect. Fat and cranky, like his dad.” She tips her head toward the kitchen. “Coffee’s on if you want some.”
“I’m good.” He turns to me. “You said you’re leaving in a few days?”
Ugh. I don’t want to tell him what’s really going on. “Plans changed.”