"I can handle them," I say firmly. "I've been handling them for years."
"Handling them and standing up to them aren't the same thing."
"I know." I kiss him softly. "But I'm different now. You helped me see that. And I need to do this—need to face them, get my stuff, and walk away for good. It's the last piece of my old life that I need to let go of."
Gunnar's quiet for a moment.
Then he nods.
"Okay. But if anything happens—anything at all—you call me."
"And what are you going to do? Hobble over there and glare at them?"
"I'll send reinforcements."
"Hakon and Ulfarereinforcements."
"Then I'll send more reinforcements." He pulls me closer, presses his forehead to mine. "I don't like this. I don't like you walking into that house without me there to protect you."
"I don't need protecting. Not from them." I smile against his lips. "But I love that you want to."
"Always."
A knock on the door interrupts us.
"Yo, Ingrid!" Hakon's voice. "Van's loaded with empty boxes. You ready?"
"Coming!" I call back.
One more kiss—longer this time, deeper—and then I pull away.
"I'll be back in a few hours."
"I'll be here. Looking at rental listings."
"Find us something good."
"I'll try. Though I'm starting to think every apartment within ten minutes of the clubhouse is either a dump or costs more than my bike."
"Keep looking. Our dream home is out there somewhere."
"Dream home, huh?" He grins. "Thought we were just looking for a rental."
"Dreams can start small."
I slip out the door before he can respond.
But I hear him laughing as I go.
And that sound—that warm, happy sound—carries me all the way to the van.
Hakon's behind the wheel.
Ulf's riding shotgun.
I climb into the back seat, nerves already jangling.
"Thanks for doing this," I say as Hakon pulls out of the compound. "I know you guys have better things to do than help me move boxes."
