"Good. Dice has been worried sick, though he'd never admit it."
I glance across the room where Dice stands talking with another member. Despite his tough exterior, I've seen the deep concern he has for his brother—the way he checks in constantly, how he watches James when he thinks no one's looking.
"They're close," I observe.
"More than close," Amy says. "Those two against the world, from what I hear. Until Dice found the club, anyway." She smiles. "And now you're part of the story too."
Her words catch me off guard. Am I part of the story? Or just a temporary character who exits once the crisis passes?
Breakfast unfolds with the casual chaos I've come to expect. Multiple conversations happening at once, good-natured arguments, inside jokes I'm slowly beginning to understand. I find myself seated between Amy and another club girlfriend, Kelly, who keeps me laughing with stories about her first days around the MC.
I look around the table, at these people who were strangers a week ago. They've welcomed me without question, made space for me in their world. I've learned their names, their relationships, bits of their stories. They're not the criminals I imagined from TV shows or movies. They're people—complex, loyal, sometimes dangerous, but fundamentally human.
A plate appears in front of James's empty chair. "Someone should take this up to him," Blade says, glancing around.
"I'll go," I volunteer, perhaps too quickly. Several knowing looks are exchanged around the table, but no one comments as I take the plate and head upstairs.
I promised James yesterday I'd visit after lunch but seeing him at breakfast seems like a natural excuse. As I climb the stairs, I rehearse casual conversation in my head, trying to ignore the flutter in my stomach.
At his door, I pause, balancing the plate in one hand as I knock with the other. There's movement inside, then the door swings open.
James stands before me, shirtless, his muscled torso on full display except for the bandage covering his wound. His skin glistens slightly with sweat, as if he's been exercising despite my explicit instructions not to. His dark hair is tousled, his expression brightening when he sees me.
"Rebecca," he says, my name sounding different in his voice than anyone else's.
I try to respond, but words fail me. My eyes trace the tattoos decorating his chest and arms, the defined muscles of his abdomen, the trail of dark hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans. I've seen him without a shirt before, of course. I've treated his wound, changed his bandages, but this is different. There's nothing clinical about the way I'm looking at him now.
"Breakfast," I finally manage, lifting the plate slightly. "I thought you might be hungry."
"Starving," he says, stepping back. "Come in."
I enter his room, similar to mine but larger, with a small sitting area in addition to the bed. He's made it his own already—clothes neatly folded, a few books on the nightstand, the window cracked open to let in fresh air.
"You've been exercising," I say, setting the plate on a small table. "That's not advisable yet."
He shrugs, one hand covering the bandage protectively. "Just some light stretching. Going crazy lying around all day."
"You'll go even crazier if you tear those stitches again," I counter, but there's no heat in my voice. I understand his restlessness all too well.
He gestures to the couch. "Join me?"
I sit, leaving space between us. He settles on the other end, still favoring his injured side.
"Thank you," he says, nodding to the food. "For this, and... everything else."
"Just doing my job," I say automatically, then wince. It's the same line I've been using since the prison, and we both know it stopped being true days ago.
"Are you leaving?" he asks abruptly.
The question catches me off guard. "What?"
"Are you leaving?" he repeats, his eyes intent on mine. "Because I need to know if I should ask you to stay."
My heart stutters in my chest. "Why would you ask me that right from the start?"
"Because I need to know," he says simply. "I want you to stay, Rebecca. I'm sure you could find your place here."
The directness of his statement leaves me momentarily speechless. "Are you really staying?" I finally ask. "I thought you wouldn't do well with following the orders of an MC."
