Four days of becoming part of something I never imagined.
The morning sun filters through thin curtains as I sip coffee in the clubhouse kitchen. It's early—most of the MC members are still asleep—but I've always been an early riser. The quiet gives me time to think, to process the whirlwind my life has become.
James is recovering well. Yesterday, Dice and Maddie helped move him from the makeshift infirmary to one of the upstairs rooms, a significant milestone in his recovery. He can walk short distances now, though the pain still limits him. The infection we feared never materialized, thanks to aggressive antibiotics and careful wound care.
I should feel professionally satisfied. My patient is healing. But my feelings are far from professional, and that terrifies me.
"Morning, sunshine," Maddie's voice breaks into my thoughts as she enters the kitchen. Despite the early hour, she looks fully alert, dressed in jeans and a tank top that reveals intricate tattoos along her arms.
"Morning," I reply, sliding a mug her way. "Coffee's fresh."
"You're a saint," she says, pouring herself a cup. "Sleep okay?"
I nod. "Better than expected."
In truth, I've grown comfortable in the small room they've given me. It's sparse but clean, with a decent bed and a smallbathroom attached. More importantly, it's become mine in a way—a safe space in this unfamiliar world.
"James was asking for you last night," Maddie says casually, though her eyes are watchful over her coffee mug. "After you'd already gone to bed."
"Oh?" I try to keep my voice neutral. "Did he need something for pain?"
She smirks. "I don't think it was medical attention he was looking for."
Heat rises to my cheeks, and I focus intently on my coffee. Maddie laughs, the sound warm and genuine.
"You know, for someone who cut a man open and stitched him back together during a prison riot, you blush awfully easy."
"Occupational hazard," I mutter. "Medical training doesn't prepare you for... whatever this is."
"This," she says, gesturing vaguely with her mug, "is life. Messy, unexpected, occasionally wonderful life."
Over the past days, Maddie and I have developed an unlikely friendship. Despite our different backgrounds, there's something about her direct nature that I find refreshing. She doesn't pretend or posture. What you see is what you get.
"Speaking of life," I say, deciding to broach the subject that's been weighing on me, "I need to figure out what mine looks like now."
Maddie's expression sobers. "You mean after all this?"
"Yeah. I can't hide in an outlaw motorcycle clubhouse forever."
"Why not?" she counters. "Worked for me."
I raise an eyebrow. "You live here?"
"Not exactly. But all this grows on you."
"I'm a nurse," I remind her. "With a license, an apartment, student loans, a mother who worries. I had a life before all this."
"And you can have a life after," she says simply. "Just might look different than you planned."
Before I can respond, other club members begin filtering into the kitchen. The quiet moment dissolves as the day officially begins.
Breakfast at the Outlaw Order clubhouse is a surprisingly domestic affair. One of the older members, Blade, makes pancakes while others set the table. I've learned that meals are communal here. Everyone eats together, everyone contributes somehow. It's oddly familial for a group of leather-clad outlaws.
I find myself helping, setting out plates, pouring juice. It's become part of my routine, as natural as checking James's bandages or taking his temperature.
"How's our patient today?" asks Amy, one of the members' girlfriends, as she helps me carry food to the table. She's become a friend over the past days, showing me around, explaining club dynamics.
"Better," I say. "Moving around more. The wound is healing well."
