2:14 a.m.
I miss you.
4:30 a.m.
Need you here, baby.
And then yesterday afternoon.
I’m sorry if I’ve been short. Shit is heavy right now.
I didn’t mean it… Before I left for the run. You know I would never step out on you.
And then, later that night.
I love you.
That one stopped me, my hands shook so hard I almost dropped my phone. Because he doesn’t say that casually.
He says it in person, when we are in private. His voice is gravel-thick and low. Usually after sex or when he thinks I’m already half asleep.
Not like this.
I stare at that message longer than I should. Because beneath it, I can read what he isn’t saying.
He wants me back and not just because he misses me. He wants eyes on me, wants me visible. He wants me beside him so the club sees unity. So no one questions anything.
I understand that.
I really do.
But understanding doesn’t quiet the part of me that hasn’t felt accepted or safe with his brother’s.
My shift ends just after sunrise. The early September sky is a washed-out gray-blue.
I walk out through the staff entrance, hair twisted into a low knot, scrubs wrinkled, brain buzzing from too little sleep and too many patients who wouldn’t tell us how they got hurt.
And that’s when I see him.
His black bike angled perfectly, engine off. His boots planted firmly and his cut stretched across his broad shoulders like armour he was born into. He hasn’t shaved, dark stubble shadows his jaw and there’s a crease between his brows that wasn’t there three days ago.
He looks tired and dangerous.
He looks likemineand my stupid heart betrays me immediately.
Like it only wants to beat for him.
He removes his helmet slowly, eyes locked on me like he’s counting seconds until I reach him.
“You’re coming home,” he says.
I stop a few feet away.
“I told you I wasn’t staying if you weren’t with me.”
“I gave you three days to work through whatever this is.” He grinds out.
Whatever this is… like I haven’t been telling him…