She tapes the gauze down carefully and then glances up. “Blade’s in a mood too. Something about a stripped bolt. It’s like a soap opera around here.”
“Sounds about right.”
She smooths the tape and sits back. “There. Try not to bleed on anything else today.”
“No promises.”
She stretches her shoulders. “If this kid gets any heavier I’m gonna need a crane.”
I glance at her stomach. “You’re doing great.”
She smiles. “I know. I’m still going to complain.”
A comfortable quiet settles between us before she adds casually, “Brooke went to her first therapy appointment last week.”
My fingers tighten on my knee before I can stop them. “Yeah?” I keep my voice even.
“Yeah. She was nervous, but she went, and she said it helped. She’s back at work too, trying to get back into her routine.”
I nod once. “That’s good.”
“It is,” Bri agrees, then adds, “She’s coming over tonight for dinner. Family night. Bella’s already planning way too much food.”
The words hit heavier than they should, and I shift in the chair. “I don’t know if I should come…”
Bri slowly turns her head and levels me with a look that could stop traffic.
I exhale. “Alright. I’ll be there.”
Her mouth curves into a satisfied smirk as she starts packing the kit away. “Good. She’s doing better, Rev. Still shaken, but better.”
“That matters.”
She pauses and looks back at me. “It does. And so do the people who show up for her.”
Point taken.
She stands. “Try not to maim yourself for the rest of the day.”
“No promises.”
She heads toward the door, then glances back. “Six.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll be there.”
The door closes behind her, leaving the noise of the shop humming through the wall as I stare down at the fresh wrap on my hand. Showing up tonight suddenly feels like the hardest thing to do.
By the time I get home, the cut on my hand is tight under the wrap and my nerves feel stretched too damn thin. I toss my keys onto the counter harder than necessary and head straight for the shower, letting the water beat down over my shoulders while I scrub my hands twice, then a third time, like I can rinse the day off if I work hard enough. It doesn’t work. My jaw stays tight and my thoughts keep circling. Brooke’s coming over. She’s already back at work. She went to therapy. She’s doing better. Bri said all that like it should settle something in me, but it doesn’t.
I dress without thinking too hard about it, grab my wallet and keys, and head out before I can second-guess myself, telling myself it’s just dinner, just family night, nothing heavy and nothing loaded, even though my chest doesn’t buy that lie for a second. When I pull up, her car is already in the driveway.
My grip tightens on the steering wheel before I force myself to unclench my fingers because Brooke’s never late to anything, and I sit there for half a beat longer than I should before shutting the engine off and getting off of my bike.
Voices drift out when I knock then open the door, laughter bouncing through the house. Bri’s laugh rings out, cutting over Blade saying something dry that gets everyone wound up again. Normal. Loud. Warm.
Brooke’s voice slides into the mix a second later, and I step inside to find her standing near the counter, leaning her hip against it while she balances Jax in one arm. Her hair is hanging loose and falling in soft curls down her back and around her shoulders instead of pinned and polished the way she usually wears it. No blazer and no heels, just jeans and a long-sleeve tee with the sleeves pushed up like she forgot to care how she looks.
It hits me sideways. My first thought is that something’s wrong and she’s stopped trying or that the attack took more out of her than anyone’s admitting, and my stomach knots up. Then she laughs, not the controlled one she keeps tucked behind her professionalism, but easy and loose, her head tipping back a little as her hand brushes Bella’s arm when she finishes whatever story she’s telling.
