“Like someone you think was born a woman who wants to be called them and they.”
“Jesus, sometimes you sound like such a neanderthal. If they say they’re non-binary, they’re non-binary. There’s no, ‘you think they are a woman, but.’ They’re non-binary. It’s neither male nor female as you would describe them. If I’m being generous, I think what you’re trying to say is you think they’re AFAB. Assigned female at birth. But here’s another tip for free, caveman. Stop trying to guess what’s in someone’s pants…unless… wait, are you and the person?—?”
“Stop. You’re getting ahead of yourself.”
There are three loud clangs in a row that I know are her hitting the side of the pot with the wooden spoon. “I don’t know, River. That didn’t sound like a negative.”
“Stop busting my balls and give me tips to make sure Wren’s comfortable, sis. They’re new in town. Staying with the club for a while.”
“Wren, huh? I like it. First, respect their pronouns, even if they aren’t present. It’s shitty to use them to their face but not use them when talking to others. Nothing about their choices is your business. They don’t owe you any explanation about their decisions or surgeries they may or may not have had. If they were AFAB, theymightneed access to sanitary products. If they are on testosterone or estrogen, they might need access to the pharmacy. Maybe offer to walk them into town so they can make their own choices discretely.”
“Shit,” I mutter.
“What’s wrong?”
“We can’t let them out of our sight, for now.”
My sister groans, and I can almost hear the need to strangle me in her tone. “For fuck’s sake, River. You’re a motorcycle club. Unless someone is gonna kill them dead on sight, have some of your men watch the front and back doors so Wren can shop in peace.”
“Got it.”
There’s another pause. “River. You’re a good person. Just treat them like you would a good human being. I don’t know why Wren has ended up in your care, but I can’t imagine any of it is good.”
“Thanks, sis.”
“Anytime. And River?”
“Yeah?”
“Bring them over for dinner. I think I want to meet the person who’s got your panties in a knot.”
And with that, my sister ends the call.
It takes another ten minutes to finish clearing a path to the road down the rear lane, so Quinn doesn’t have to trudge to the dumpster.
Once I head back in, Quinn offers me a coffee and a plate of croissants hot out of the oven. “For the yard work,” she says. “How’s Wren?”
“Doing okay, I guess.” But as I approach the stairs up to the apartment, I hear Grudge’s frustrated voice filter down.
“What do you mean, you only found two thirds of the money?”
I’m sure he doesn’t mean that the way it sounds, because if Wren really has gotten usany ofour money back, I’ll be grateful. But right now, he sounds like a demanding prick, especially in light of Wren’s contributions yesterday.
I kick my boots off in the hallway before jogging up the stairs and nudging the door into the apartment further open.
Wren looks tiny, their hands wrapped tightly around a mug of coffee that Lucy probably made.
Lucy looks like shit. Her blonde curls are a mess. Likely didn’t sleep well given what happened at her parents’ home yesterday. Having to fight to survive is a position I’ve found myself in many times and it doesn’t get any easier.
“Grudge,” I say, grabbing his shoulder and shoving him back out of Wren’s space. I know he’s pissed about the money, but the guy is intimidating as fuck to those who don’t know him. “I know the two of you, and know you aren’t assholes, but right now, you got Wren pinned into the corner because you’re blocking each end of the kitchen island. Sit your asses down and stop being unreasonable.” I shove Grudge to the stool.
“Oh, shit,” Lucy says. “Catfish is right, I’m sorry, Wren.”
My eyes remain on Wren. “You need a minute?” I ask.
They shake their head, but the look in their eyes is one of terror, not indifference, no matter how they try to play it. “I’m fine. Just tired. Here’s a flash drive with all the information.” They place it down on the kitchen island.
That must have been the tail end of the conversation I heard. “That thing you said you were working on, it paid off? You got two thirds of the money back?”
