Page 9 of Bolt's Flame

“Are you okay, honey?” Dad’s voice broke through my thoughts, pulling me back to the present. His eyes were full of concern, lines of worry etched deep into his face.

“I’m fine,” I lied, forcing a small smile. I didn’t want him to worry any more than he already was. “Just... adjusting.”

He nodded, but I could tell he didn’t believe me. “If you need anything, you tell me, alright? I’ll take care of it.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything more. The truth was, I didn’t know what I needed. Everything felt so uncertain, so fragile, like one wrong move could shatter whatever thin layer of safety I was clinging to.

I glanced around the room, taking in the scene. The surrounding party—club members and their women drinking, laughing, completely at ease in a way I couldn’t even imagine being. The smell of old wood, beer, and smoke filled the air, mixing with the pounding music that seemed to shake the very walls.

And then, almost against my will, my eyes found him.

Bolt.

The man who had come with my dad that night, the man who had seemed to be judging me.

He was sitting across the room, a blonde woman on his lap, her arms draped around his neck like she owned him. Herfingers running through his auburn hair, to his beard and down his chest. She was beautiful, confident, everything I wasn’t and could never be. And yet, for some reason, I couldn’t stop looking at him.

He wasn’t like the other men here, or at least I didn’t think so. There was something different about him, something that made me notice him even when I didn’t want to. He was rough around the edges, covered in tattoos that looked more like paintings, and his expressive amber eyes reflected something I couldn’t quite put my finger on, like life had tricked him somehow in the past and he wasn’t about to forget it. But there was something else there, something that made me feel...connectedto this brooding biker.

I quickly looked away, my cheeks heating up in embarrassment. What was I doing, staring at him like that? He was with someone else, someone who fit into this world in a way I never would. I had no business thinking about him, no business wondering what he was like or what he was thinking.

But even as I tried to focus on the conversation happening around me, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was watching me, too. I dared another quick glance in his direction and caught him looking right at me.

My breath caught in my throat, and for a moment, it was like the rest of the room faded away. It was just the two of us, locked in some strange, unspoken connection that I didn’t understand and his eyes reflecting the same thought.

He, too, didn’t understand whatever this was.

Then, just as quickly, I looked away, my heart pounding in my chest. What was wrong with me? I was supposed to be focusing on getting my life back together, not getting distracted by a man I barely knew. Especially not a man like Bolt. For heaven’s sake, the man had a woman draped all over him.

But I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t help the way my thoughts kept drifting back to him, the way his presence seemed to pull me in even from across the room. There was something about him that made me feel seen in a way I hadn’t felt in years.

What was he seeing?

“Fiona?” Dad’s voice snapped me back to reality, and I turned to look at him, trying to hide the turmoil churning inside me.

“Yeah, Dad?”

“You want to head to bed? You don’t have to stay down here if it’s too much.”

“Yeah, don’t wear yourself out,” Boots agreed. He had been my dad’s friend for as long as I could remember. Big, kind, and solid, just like my dad.

I hesitated, glancing around the room again. Part of me wanted to retreat to the small bedroom Dad and Brenda had set up for me, to hide away from everything and everyone. But another part of me—the part that was tired of being afraid—wanted to stay. Wanted to prove to myself that I could handle this, that I could be a part of this world, even if it was just for a little while.

“I’m okay,” I said, surprising myself with how steady my voice sounded. “I’ll stay a little longer.”

Dad looked like he wanted to argue, but then he nodded. “Alright. But don’t overdo it.”

“I won’t,” I promised, giving him a weak smile.

As Dad turned back to his conversation, I found myself sneaking another glance at Bolt. He wasn’t looking at me anymore—his attention back on the woman on his lap—but I could still feel that strange pull, that connection that made my heart race and my stomach flutter.

I needed to get a grip. I needed to focus on what really mattered—getting through this, getting away from James forgood, and figuring out how to put my life back together. But no matter how hard I tried; I couldn’t shake the feeling that Bolt was going to be a part of that somehow. The feeling was just there, sitting in my stomach, heavy like a bowling ball.

Which seemed so implausible since my trust in men was a big fat zero.

So, I forced myself to look away, to focus on the people around me, on the conversation that I wasn’t really a part of. And I tried, with everything I had, to ignore the way my eyes kept tugging me back to him.

CHAPTER SIX