His response is immediate:
Your place? Or mine? Wherever you're comfortable.
I shoot him a text back:
Yours. I'll be there in twenty minutes.
Within a few moments, I have a response:
I'll be waiting.
I stand, wipe my eyes. "Thank you. Both of you."
"That's what family's for," Geirolf says.
Astrid pulls me into another hug. "You've got this. And if you need us, we're here. Always."
"I know."
I head for the door, then pause.
"Astrid? Does Dad know? About you knowing?"
She grins. "Honey, the entire family knows. Mom told everyone at breakfast this morning. You and Gunnar are the worst-kept secret in club history."
Despite everything—the fear, the uncertainty, the danger ahead—I laugh.
"Of course we are."
"Go." She shoos me toward the door. "Go be with him. Be happy. You deserve it."
The drive back to the clubhouse feels different this time.
Not like running toward something I'll regret.
But like running toward something that might finally be right.
Gunnar's waiting for me in the parking lot, leaning against his bike, still in his cut fromkirkja.
When he sees my car, his entire face lights up.
He crosses to me before I'm even fully out, pulls me into his arms.
"Hey," he murmurs against my hair.
"Hey."
"You okay? Your text sounded?—"
"I'm okay. Better now." I pull back to look at him. "Astrid told me. About last night. The little girl."
His jaw tightens. "I couldn't leave her."
"I know. And I'm glad you didn't. You're—" My voice catches. "You're a good man, Gunnar. The best man I know."
Something in his expression softens.
"Come on." He takes my hand. "Let's go inside. We need to talk."
