Even though everyone here is excited I came back—hell, more excited than I deserve—being here feels wrong. The clubhouse looks the same except now, the tables are cluttered with toys, bikes line up out front, and people are shouting across the room, bantering back and forth. Nothing changed, except me. I’ve been here a week, and every damn hour I’m moodier, quieter, and snapping at people who don’t deserve it. Of course,none of these idiots will quit asking me why, but I can’t explain it to them whenIdon’t even understand it.
There’s one person who can make this better… Hope. I need to text her and tell her why I pulled a disappearing act. Why hasn’t she reached out?
Paige plants herself in front of me while I’m elbow-deep in the box of donated toys I’ve been reorganizing for no good reason.
“Okay, grumpy,” she says, hands on her hips. “You gonna tell me why you’re stomping around here like someone stole your bike?”
“Not in the mood,” I mutter, digging harder into the box.
She snorts. “Yeah, no shit. You’ve been acting like a storm cloud for days. Which means…” She leans closer. “It’s either about the club… or a woman.”
I whip my head up. “Drop it.”
“Ha!” She points at me. “Knew it. Only a woman could make you act like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum.”
“Shut up, Paige,” I snap, sharper than I mean to.
She freezes, and her eyes widen in surprise. Before I can apologize, Dad’s voice booms across the room.
“Paige, go help the prospects load up the first round.”
She rolls her eyes and then points at me before turning on her heel. “This isn’t over.”
Grunting, I throw the Barbie I’m holding into the box. Paige will make good on that promise. She’ll hound me until I break. I glance up and notice that Dad is watching me from across the room. He jerks his chin toward the back hallway, signaling for me to meet him. I sigh, drag a hand over my face, and follow him.
Dad stops outside his office door, unlocks it, and ushers me in. He gestures for me to sit while he leans up against his desk.
He crosses his arms. “Son, talk.”
I stare at the floor. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Bullshit.”
My jaw ticks, but I refuse to respond.
“You came home with a chip on your shoulder. This is more than grieving for your mom,” Dad says, his voice low but firm. “I’m getting real tired of watching you drown in it. Start talking.”
I swallow, throat tight. “It’s nothing,” I start. “Just me being an idiot?—”
“Try again.”
My hands clench into fists because I’m not ready to discuss Hope. Saying it out loud makes it real, and if I let myself talk about her, I’m scared I won’t hold it together. Dad waits, and I finally break.
“It’s this woman,” I say, the words rough and scraping. “Hope.”
Dad nods once, encouraging without pushing.
“I met her at a coffee shop.” I laugh humorlessly. “Damn creep wouldn’t leave her alone, so I stepped in.”
“Atta boy.”
“But that’s not the part that messed me up.” I shake my head. “It was her. The second she looked at me, I felt like someone slammed a fist into my chest. I couldn’t breathe.”
Dad gives a slow, knowing smirk. “Sounds about right. The same reaction I had when I met your mother.”
“I spent the afternoon with her in that café, then I left because Vegas was waiting on me. I didn’t know if I’d ever see her again, but something drew me back to Spring Valley. I never thought she’d be sitting there when I walked back into the coffee shop a couple days later. She asked me to stay with her. Then…” My voice fades, softens. “She invited me to Thanksgiving with her family.”
Dad whistles under his breath. “Big step.”
