Page 64 of Monk

The first thing I noticed was the warmth.

John’s body was wrapped around mine like a shield, one arm draped possessively across my waist, his chest pressed against my back, his breath warm against the nape of my neck. For a moment—just one perfect, stolen moment—I let myself sink into it. Let myself pretend that this was normal. That waking up in his arms was something I could have every morning. That the world outside this room didn’t exist. But then reality crashed back in.

Tatum.My eyes flew open, and I carefully turned my head to look at the digital clock on the nightstand.

5:47 AM. My heart lurched. I needed to get home. Needed to be there before Tatum woke up and realized I’d been gone all night. She was with my father—safe, I knew that—but she was also six years old and perceptive as hell. If she woke up and I wasn’t there, she’d ask questions. Questions I wasn’t ready to answer.

I closed my eyes and took a slow, steadying breath.

One problem at a time. First, I needed to get out of this bed without waking John.

Carefully—so carefully—I began to ease myself out from under his arm. He stirred slightly, his grip tightening for a moment, and I froze. My heart pounded in my chest as I waited,barely breathing. But then his arm relaxed, and he shifted onto his back with a low, sleepy groan.

I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just watched him in the dim pre-dawn light filtering through the blinds. God, he was beautiful. Even in sleep, there was something raw and dangerous about him—the hard lines of his jaw, the tattoos snaking up his arms and across his chest, the scars that told stories I was only beginning to understand. But there was also something vulnerable. Something that made my chest ache. The way his face softened in sleep. The way his hand reached out slightly, as if searching for me even in unconsciousness.

I wanted to stay. Wanted to curl back into his arms and let the world outside disappear. But I couldn’t. Because I had a daughter who needed me. A daughter who came first.

Always.

I slipped out of bed as quietly as I could, my bare feet silent against the cold floor. My clothes were scattered across the room—my blouse and blazer near the door, my skirt crumpled at the foot of the bed, my bra dangling from the back of a chair. I gathered them quickly, my hands shaking slightly as I dressed in the darkness. My body ached in places I’d forgotten could ache. Every movement was a reminder of last night—of his hands on my skin, his mouth on mine, the way he’d claimed me over and over again until I couldn’t remember where I ended and he began. I pulled on my skirt and buttoned my blouse with trembling fingers, my eyes flicking back to the bed as I slid my arms into the blazer.

John was still asleep, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

I found my heels near the door and slipped them on, wincing at the soft click they made against the floor. I remembered dropping my briefcase in the parking lot. I could only hope thatone of the brothers picked it up and left it in the gathering room. I took one last look at him, my throat tight.

I’m not running. I’m just... going home. To my daughter.But even as I thought it, I felt the familiar weight of guilt settling over me. Because wasn’t that what I’d done seven years ago? Run?

I shook my head and turned toward the door, my hand closing around the handle. I couldn’t think about that now. Couldn’t let myself spiral. I had to get home. Had to get to Tatum. I opened the door as quietly as I could and slipped out into the hallway, closing it softly behind me.

The clubhouse felt different in the early morning—too quiet, too still, like all the noise and heat of the night before had been packed away, leaving only the bones of the place behind. The faint hum from the refrigerator in the kitchen seemed unnaturally loud in the silence, and every step I took down the hallway sounded sharper than it should have, the click of my heels against the concrete making me wince. I wanted out. Not because I regretted being there, not exactly, but because staying even one minute longer felt dangerous in a way I didn’t have the energy to name.

The gathering room was empty, scattered with the remains of last night—bottles, glasses, the stale heaviness of too little sleep and too many emotions still clinging to the air. My briefcase sat on one of the tables, and the sight of it grounded me a little. It looked ordinary. Professional. Solid. A piece of my real life waiting for me in the middle of a world that still didn’t feel fully real.

I grabbed it and held it close against my chest, as if that alone could steady me.

Almost there,I told myself.Just a few more steps.

My hand had barely touched the front door when the voice behind me cut through the silence.

“Running away again?”

I gasped and spun around so fast my pulse jumped into my throat. For one disorienting second, all I knew was surprise—hot, sharp, immediate. Then I saw Blackjack standing near the hallway, arms crossed, face half-shadowed and unreadable.

I pressed a hand to my chest. “Jesus Christ,” I hissed. “You scared the hell out of me.”

He didn’t smile. Didn’t apologize. Just watched me.

And that was somehow worse.

There was something unnerving about being looked at like that, as if he could see more than I was saying, more than I wanted anyone to see. My grip tightened on the briefcase. I could feel my temper rising, quick and defensive, because anger was easier than letting anyone notice I was shaken.

“Didn’t answer my question,” he said. “You running?”

“No,” I snapped. “I’m going home. To my daughter.”

The words came out harder than I intended, but I didn’t take them back. Tatum’s name steadied me the second it left my mouth, grounding me in something cleaner than the confusion twisting through me. It reminded me who I was outside this place, outside John, outside the ache of old history and the weakness of wanting things I had no business wanting. Whatever had happened last night, whatever part of me still felt shaken open by it, none of that changed the most important truth of my life.

I was her mother.