He almost smiles. It’s shaky, like he hasn’t had a reason for hope in a while. “That’s my girl.”
“Was I ever not?”
He leans in and kisses me, soft and quick, like a promise. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine for just a moment.
“No,” he says quietly. “You were always mine.”
19
BONES
The guest suite at the clubhouse looks exactly the same as it did in December.
Same queen bed with the MC-branded comforter. Same dresser. Same window overlooking the parking lot where my bike sits next to a dozen others.
Same room where I first had Emma. Where everything changed.
I’m lying on my back, staring at the ceiling, Emma next to me in the only position she can sleep in right now—flat on her back with her leg cradled in a bunch of pillows. Early morning light filters through the blinds, painting stripes across the wall. It’s barely six AM but I’ve been awake for hours—couldn’t sleep with my brain spinning through everything I found last night.
Carolina Properties Group. Shell company. Three layers deep before you hit anything real. But I found it. Found the connection to Summit Development that they thought they’d buried.
My laptop is still open on the dresser, screen dark but ready. Files downloaded, trails mapped, evidence compiled. It’s all there, just waiting to be presented to Stone and the others.
I feel whole again. Useful. Like I’m finally contributing in the way I’m supposed to.
For over six months I’ve been swinging a hammer, building houses, doing honest work. And there’s nothing wrong with that. But this—tracking digital footprints, unraveling shell companies, finding the threads no one else can see—this is who I am. This is what I’m built for.
Emma shifts against me, her hand sliding across my chest. “You’re awake.”
“I am. Sorry if I woke you.”
“You didn’t.” She props herself up on her elbows, wincing slightly as she adjusts her booted leg. I quickly move to help her. “Did you sleep at all?”
“A few hours.” I stuff a bunch of pillows behind her head so she’s sitting a little now.
“Liar.” She pokes my ribs. “You’ve been up all night, haven’t you?”
“Maybe.”
“Definitely.” She looks around the room, a smile tugging at her lips. “This room looks familiar.”
“Should. We christened it pretty thoroughly last time you were here.”
Her laugh is soft, still sleep-rough. “I remember. Pretty sure the whole clubhouse remembers.”
“Yeah, well.” I relax next to her, careful of her ankle. “You weren’t exactly quiet.”
“Neither were you.”
“Wasn’t trying to be.”
She traces patterns on my chest, her fingers following the lines of my tattoos. Theswanover my heart. The feathers scattered across my ribs.
“I’m kind of mad,” she says after a moment.
“About?”
“About this stupid boot getting in the way of us doing all of that again.” She gestures at her surgical boot. “We could have had fun, Bones. Lots of dirty fun.”
