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He goes silent.

“I just don't want to be alone tonight.”

There.

I've said it.

And I hate how vulnerable it makes me feel.

His face softens.

“Sweetheart.”

“Someone tried to kill you. I nearly died. Then somebody followed us here.”

My fingers tighten around the blanket.

“I know the doors are locked. I know your brothers are watching everything. But when I close my eyes, I keep remembering that floor.”

He puts the pillow down.

Crosses the room.

Then sits beside me.

“You should've told me.”

“I just did.”

His mouth twitches.

“Yeah. You did.”

“Will you stay?”

He brushes my hair back from my face.

“Try getting rid of me.”

I breathe out.

Torch switches off the overhead light, leaving a small lamp glowing beside the bed.

He settles against the pillows and holds out an arm.

I move closer.

Carefully.

As though there's a correct procedure for cuddling an outlaw biker and I've somehow missed the orientation session.

He arranges the blanket over us.

“Comfortable?”

“Your arm weighs approximately six hundred pounds.”

“Want me to move it?”