Gunnar's waiting outside.
Because of course he is.
He's leaning against the wall by the entrance, trying to look casual, but I can see the tension in his shoulders.
The worry in his eyes.
He straightens when the van stops.
Moves toward us as fast as his healing body will allow.
"Hey." He opens my door, helps me out. "How'd it go?"
"It went."
"That bad?"
"Trisha grabbed me. I shoved her. Angela threw a mimosa at my head." I pause. "So yeah. That bad."
His jaw tightens.
"She grabbed you?"
"I handled it."
"She handled it," Hakon confirms, coming around the van with a box. "Your girl's got a mean right shove. Trisha hit the wall hard."
"Good." Gunnar's arm slides around me, pulls me close. "Anyone who puts their hands on you?—"
"Gets shoved into a wall. I know. I did it." I lean into him, breathe him in. "Can we just... go inside? I don't want to think about them anymore."
"Yeah. Of course." He presses a kiss to my temple. "Hakon, Ulf—just leave the boxes. I'll figure out where to put them later."
"You sure?" Ulf asks. "We can?—"
"You've done enough. Thank you. Both of you."
They nod, clap Gunnar on the shoulder, and head inside.
We stay in the parking lot for a moment.
Just holding each other.
"I'm proud of you," Gunnar says quietly.
"For shoving Trisha?"
"For standing up for yourself. For walking away. For being brave enough to close that door." He pulls back, looks at me. "That couldn't have been easy."
"It wasn't. But it was necessary." I manage a small smile. "I'm officially homeless now. All my worldly possessions are in the back of that van."
"Not homeless. You live here. With me."
"In your tiny room at the clubhouse."
"Our tiny room at the clubhouse." He grins. "Until we find something better. Speaking of which—I found three new listings while you were gone. All within ten minutes. All under budget."
"Really?"
