Extreme Devotion Bonus Chapter
HINDLEY
The rain came softly at first but grew heavier with every passing moment. I lay on my side, watching droplets race down the glass, their trails illuminated by the streetlight outside my house.
Rory’s arm draped over my waist, his body warm and solid behind me. His breathing was deep, steady. Every exhale stirred the tiny hairs on the back of my neck.
He wasn’t asleep—I could feel it. The quiet tension in his muscles told me his mind was miles away, lost in whatever world still kept him awake when the rest of Austin slept.
“Can’t sleep?” I whispered.
His hand flexed against my stomach. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t.”
He pressed a soft kiss to my shoulder, his lips brushing over my skin. “You always say that.”
“Because it’s true.”
Rory chuckled, the sound low and rough, making parts of me want him again. “You’re too nice to me, you know that?”
I rolled over, facing him. Even in the dim light, I could see the exhaustion etched around his eyes—the same eyes that used to hide behind cocky grins and clever sarcasm. Now, they held something raw. Something real.
“I’m not being nice,” I said softly. “Just honest.”
He leaned in, his forehead resting against mine. “That’s worse.”
“Why?”
“Because it makes me want to tell you everything.”
My chest tightened. Rory rarely talked about his childhood and the path that led to his demise over a year ago. The actions that led him to seek out a new sports agent and attorney.
“Then tell me,” I said.
He drew in a deep breath and let it out slow. His thumb traced idle circles on my hip. “You ever feel like you’re fighting against the person you used to be?”
I smiled. “Every day.”
“Yeah?”
“Of course. The trauma I’ve been through still haunts me. But you make me feel like I can be more than that.”
He caught my hand, turning it so he could press a kiss into my palm. “You already are.”
Silence filled the room. Outside, the rain softened again, a quiet rhythm against the glass.
“After my spiral down into booze and drugs,” Rory began, his voice low, “I didn’t think I’d ever compete again. My sponsors dropped me like I didn’t exist.” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You know what it’s like when everything that defines you disappears?”
I nodded, because I did.
“I drank too much. Fought with everyone who tried to help. Even Jack and Kara.”
“That was a hard time for you I’m sure,” I said, trying to open him up.
“It was. I’d lost my way, lost sight of what I truly wanted.”
“And what was that?”
“At the time is was fame, endorsements…money.”
“And now?” I asked.
He nuzzled my neck. “You.”
“You have me.”
He grinned, that perfect sideways smirk that always undid me. “You didn’t exactly make it easy, Counselor.”
“Someone had to challenge you.”
“Yeah,” he murmured, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from my face. “And you did. Still do.”
We lay there, eyes locked, the world shrinking to the space between us. Every breath, every heartbeat, every pulse of rain felt like a song written just for this moment.
Rory reached up and touched the small scar on my arm—the one I hated, the one I always tried to hide.
“Don’t,” I whispered.
“Don’t what?”
“Look at me like that.”
“Like what?” he asked.
“Like you see more than you should.”
He smiled softly. “That’s the point, Hindley. I do.”
My throat tightened. “You scare me sometimes.”
“Why?”
“Because you make me want things I don’t trust myself to have.”
He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he kissed me—slowly, deeply, with the kind of tenderness that stripped away every defense I’d ever built. His lips moved against mine like he was memorizing me, like he already knew this was what healing felt like.
I melted into him, fingers curling in his T-shirt. The kiss deepened, not hurried or desperate, but steady and true, just what I needed tonight.
When we finally broke apart, I rested my head against his chest, listening to the quiet thud of his heartbeat.
“Every time you touch me,” I whispered, “it feels like the world stops spinning.”
His hand slid up my back, warm and sure. “Maybe that’s what we both needed—just to stop for a while.”
“Is that what this is?”
He smiled against my hair. “It’s whatever you want it to be.”
RORY
I’d never been good at stillness. Even asleep, my body twitched like it was waiting for the next drop, the next risk, the next fall.
But lying here with Hindley in my arms… it was the first time in years I didn’t feel like I had to keep moving to stay alive.
Her breathing slowed, her fingers tracing lazy lines across my ribs. Each touch felt like forgiveness I hadn’t earned.
“You know what’s crazy?” I asked quietly.
“What?” she murmured.
“When I was a kid I’d jump off of rooftops, drive cars too fast, take drugs that were dangerous to everyone around, and still none of it ever scared me as much as this.”
She lifted her head, eyes sleepy but searching. “This?”
“Yeah. You.”
She smiled, that small, knowing smile that always gutted me. “You’re not supposed to say that.”
“I don’t do ‘supposed to’ very well.”
“No, you don’t.”
Her laughter was soft, real, and it cracked something open in me.
I brushed a kiss across her forehead. “You make me want to be better.”
“You already are.”
I shook my head. “Not yet.”
She propped herself up on her elbow, studying me like she was memorizing every line of my face. “Then let me help.”
The way she said it—gentle, certain—hit deeper than any declaration of love. Hindley didn’t rescue people. She didn’t fix them. She simply believed in them until they remembered how to believe in themselves.
“I don’t deserve you,” I whispered.
She leaned down, her lips barely brushing mine. “You don’t get to decide that.”
And just like that, she stole my breath again.
I pulled her closer, feeling the soft press of her body against mine. Our hearts fell into the same rhythm, like two halves finally becoming whole.
The kiss that followed wasn’t about heat—it was about gratitude. About second chances. About every word we were both too scared to say out loud.
When we finally stopped, her forehead rested against mine. “You know what I think?” she whispered.
“What?”
“I think maybe this is what risk looks like when it’s real.”
I smiled. “Falling without a net?”
“Exactly.”
Her fingers traced the tattoo on my side, the one that told my story better than any headline ever could. I was a Skater Boy. Her Skater Boy. I hoped.
The world outside faded—just the rain, our heat beats, the hum of something new between us.
“I used to think love was supposed to be easy,” she said softly.
“And now?”
“Now I think the best things aren’t supposed to be easy. They’re supposed to mean something.”
I couldn’t speak, so I kissed her instead—slow and sure, the way you kiss someone when you know they might be the last person who’ll ever understand you this completely.
HINDLEY
Hours passed, but neither of us moved. Somewhere between conversation and silence, I realized I wasn’t scared anymore. Not of him. Not of us. Not even of what came next.
I’d spent my whole life running from risk—building walls, collecting rules, hiding behind logic. But Rory was different. He wasn’t chaos. He was clarity disguised as danger.
I reached up and touched his cheek. “You ever wonder what would’ve happened if we’d met before your fall from grace?”
He smiled faintly. “Yeah. You would’ve hated me.”
“I doubt that.”
“Oh, you would’ve,” he said, chuckling. “I was an arrogant, invincible prick.”
“You still are,” I teased.
“Yeah,” he said, kissing me softly. “But now I’ve got you to keep me grounded.”
The clock ticked somewhere in the distance. Rain still fell against the window.
He shifted, brushing his thumb across my lips. “You know, every time I hit a half-pipe, there’s this moment—just before I drop in—when everything goes quiet. Like the world’s holding its breath.”
I nodded. “I know that feeling.”
He smiled. “That’s what this feels like with you. Every single time.”
I swallowed hard. “Then don’t let go.”
“Never,” he said.
And he didn’t.
LATER
After making love once more, the rain finally stopped and the world felt clean again.
We sat curled together on the couch, under an oversized blanket, sharing the pizza we’d ordered earlier. Rory stole the last slice and grinned when I swatted at him.
“Occupational hazard,” he said. “Athletes burn more calories.”
I raised a brow. “Nice excuse.”
He leaned in, brushing sauce from my lip with his thumb. “It worked, didn’t it?”
I laughed, the sound echoing softly in the quiet.
For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t thinking about tomorrow—or my past, or the walls I’d spent years building around the hurt and pain.
Tonight, there was just him. And me.
And the risk I was finally ready to take.