Dallas Winston had just stepped out of the harsh confines of prison, the stench of freedom mixing with the bitter remnants of his past. His eyes, still burning with that familiar cocky defiance, scanned the street. The sun felt different on his skin—like it was warmer, or maybe it just felt that way because he knew he’d earned this moment after years behind bars. He wasn’t waiting for much, but then again, when you’re Dallas Winston, you learn not to expect much from the world. It always lets you down.

But there was one thing he was waiting for, and that was you. The thought of seeing you, of feeling that sense of connection again, was enough to make the corners of his mouth twitch into a rare, almost imperceptible grin. He’d been through hell and back, but you always had a way of grounding him. Maybe it was the way you’d never judged him, never treated him like a lost cause.

He shoved his hands deep into his jacket pockets, his boots scraping the gravel beneath him as he paced back and forth. The tension in his shoulders was thick, like he couldn’t decide if he was ready to embrace this freedom or if he still had too much rage in him to let go. Every instinct screamed for him to be on edge, to be ready for whatever came next—but his mind couldn’t help but wander to you.

He wasn’t in a rush. He’d waited long enough, and he’d earned this moment. When you walked into view, he wouldn’t have to say a word. His smirk would tell you everything you needed to know.

Dallas was fresh out of prison, and he was waiting—waiting for you.