"You've really thought about this."
"I have." I take a breath. "I know it's a lot. And I know it might bring up stuff for both of us. But I think it could help people. I think it could help me, too. Turning what happened into something meaningful."
Will is silent for so long that I start to worry I've overstepped. But when he speaks, his voice is warm.
"I think it's a brilliant idea." He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "And I think you're exactly the right person to do it."
"You mean it?"
"I do." He pulls me closer, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "We'll figure out the logistics together. Talk to the brothers, see who wants to be involved. Maybe reach out to that therapist you mentioned, see if she'd be willing to consult."
"Dr. Reyes. I was thinking the same thing."
"Look at us. Planning the future."
I smile against his chest. "Is that okay? The future?"
"More than okay." His arms tighten around me. "I've been waiting a long time for someone to plan a future with."
We lie there in the moonlight, the sheets pooled around us. Not the end of a journey, but the beginning of a new one. A life I chose, with a man I trust, in a town that's starting to feel like home.
"Will?"
"Hmm?"
"I'm happy." The words are simple, but they mean everything. "Not healing, not coping, not getting by. Actually happy."
He shifts so he can look at me, his expression serious. "I know."
"You believe me?"
"I believe you." He kisses me softly. "I've been watching you for weeks, waiting to see if it was real. And it is. You're not performing anymore, Gemma. You're living."
Tears prick my eyes, but for once, they're not from pain. "I didn't think I'd ever feel this way again. I thought Craig took that from me forever."
"He tried." Will's thumb brushes away the tear that escapes down my cheek. "But you're stronger than he ever gave you credit for. Stronger than you gave yourself credit for."
I kiss him, pouring everything I can't say into it. Gratitude and desire and hope and love, woven together so tightly I can't separate them anymore. Don't want to.
When we finally pull apart, I rest my forehead against his.
"Thank you," I whisper. "For everything."
"You did the hard work. I just held the door open."
"That's not nothing."
"No," he agrees. "It's not."
15
WILL
Six Months Later
It's a Tuesday night, and Ironside is packed. Tuesdays used to be our quiet nights, the ones where I could catch up on paperwork while Cole restocked the bar and the regulars nursed their drinks in comfortable silence. But things are different now. Everything is different now.
The Brotherhood is gathered in force, taking up the big corner booth and spilling out onto the surrounding tables. Tate is arguing with Shaw about something on his phone, probably some piece of surveillance tech that Shaw thinks is overkill and Tate thinks is essential. A couple of the prospects are at the pool table, trash-talking each other between shots. Cole is behind the bar, mixing drinks and laughing at something one of the regulars said.
