His chin rests on top of my head. His warmth wraps around me, blocking the wind, and I press my face into his chest and breathe.
"She wanted a baby." I say it into his shirt. "She wanted a family and he kept saying not yet. I could see how it was slowly killing her, Rookie. It was… so sad. Now she blew up her life… for what? I’m sure they could have worked something out. But, from what I can tell, she cheated and betrayed the club. There’s no excuse for that."
His arms tighten. "I know."
We stand there. The parking lot is empty. The Backroads sign glows behind us, and the mountains are black shapes against a blacker sky.
"Saylor." He says my name into my hair. "I need you to know something."
I pull back enough to look at him. His expression is open in a way I haven't seen before. Not guarded, not controlled. Bare.
"You're mine." He says it without flinching. "And I'm yours. And I'm not saying that because of what happened with Sarah and Porter or because I'm scared of losing you. I'm saying it because I should've fucking said it ages ago. Not only that, but I’m in love with you, Saylor."
My eyes sting. The cold air bites at the moisture and I blink it away.
"I don't know your real name." I say it with a laugh caught somewhere in my throat. "And you're telling me I'm yours, and that you love me."
The corner of his mouth lifts. "You'll get my name. I promise. But I need you to know what you are to me first."
His thumbs brush across my cheekbones. My cold skin burns under his touch.
"You're not a secret. You're not a situation I'm handling. You're the woman I want beside me, and I'll say that in front of Ruger and Bloodhound and every brother at the table if you need me to."
I grip the front of his jacket with both fists. "I don't need you to say it in front of them."
He raises an eyebrow.
"I needed you to say it to me." I press my forehead against his chin. "And you did, and in case it isn’t obvious, I love you too, Rookie."
He kisses me. Cold lips, warm breath. Deliberate and certain.
My fingers slide up his chest and curl into the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer.
His mouth opens against mine and the cold parking lot disappears.
He groans into my mouth, low enough to vibrate through my ribs, and his arms wrap around my waist, lifting me until my boots leave the ground.
I grip the collar of his cut with both fists and kiss him like I've been holding my breath for months and his mouth is the only air I need.
When we pull apart, I'm shaking, and it’s not from the cold.
"Come on." He opens the passenger door of his truck. "I'll drive you to your mom's."
Backroads closes earlier during the weeknights, so by the time I’m in Mom's kitchen, it’s around eleven-thirty.
She's in her robe, a mug of tea in her grip, the TV playing a Hallmark movie she's already seen twice.
She doesn't ask why I'm here this late. She makes me a mug and sits beside me on the couch and waits.
The Hallmark movie plays. A woman in a small town falls for a man who builds things. The conflict is mild. The resolution is guaranteed.
The snow is fake but the warmth is real.
I curl my feet beneath me on the couch. "I'm happy, Mom."
She sets her tea down and looks at me.
Really looks, the way she looked at me the morning I told her about the letter.