I gesture to the bed, and he sits on the edge while I remain standing. James stares at his hands for a long moment before finally looking up.
"I'm sorry, Holly. For what I said. For... everything."
"You've been sorry before," I reply, not unkindly but not offering easy forgiveness either. "What makes this time different?"
He rubs his face, wincing when his fingers brush the bruises. "King just showed me something. Security footage from the night of the clubhouse attack."
"What kind of footage?"
"The Iron Eagles hit this place a week ago," James explains. "Full assault, automatic weapons, explosives, the works. They were trying to kill everyone inside."
"And?" I prompt, still not seeing the connection.
"King's woman was here. Luna. And other women. Children. A little girl named Anna. A boy, Eli." His voice catches. "The Eagles didn't care. They came to slaughter everyone, innocent or not."
I feel a chill run down my spine, imagining gunfire tearing through the clubhouse where we now stand. Imagining Luna,the kind-faced woman who brought me clothes and coffee, caught in the crossfire.
"Why did King show you this?" I ask.
"To make me understand what we're up against," James says, meeting my eyes directly. "To show me what Vulture is willing to do to anyone associated with the Savage Riders. Including us."
The gravity of our situation settles over me anew. This isn't just about James's debt or my night with Jacob. We're caught in a war that's been raging for years, between men who kill without hesitation.
"After watching that footage," James continues, "I realized I've been focusing on all the wrong things. Blaming the Riders for our situation when the real threat is the Eagles. And..." He pauses, swallowing hard. "And I've been blaming you for taking care of me all these years instead of being grateful."
I blink, stunned by this admission. In all our years together, James has never acknowledged the sacrifices I've made to keep us afloat.
"What happened to you?" I ask, only half joking. "Did King brainwash you or something?"
James gives a bitter laugh. "No. He just showed me reality. And then he said something I can't stop thinking about." He hesitates. "He said I was worse than their enemies because at least their enemies fight their own battles. I let my little sister fight mine."
It's exactly what I've felt for years but never articulated, even to myself.
"James—"
"No, let me finish," he interrupts, standing now, agitation evident in his movements. "You've been cleaning up my messessince Mom and Dad died. You gave up nursing school to work double shifts at that diner. You've paid off my debts, made excuses for me, protected me from consequences I deserved. And how have I repaid you? By gambling away every cent we had. By embarrassing you in front of these people. By calling you..." He can't even repeat the word.
"A whore," I finish for him, refusing to flinch from it.
He nods miserably. "I didn't mean it. I was angry and hungover and jealous."
"Jealous?" I repeat, confused.
"Of Steel. Of how he looks at you. Of how you've found something good in this nightmare while I just keep making things worse." He runs a hand through his hair. "I saw you together in the kitchen, and you looked... happy. Despite everything. And I hated that it wasn't because of me. That I've never made you happy like that."
This is a side of James I haven't seen in years. The self-aware, emotionally intelligent brother who existed before our parents' death sent him spiraling.
"I don't know what to say," I admit.
"You don't have to say anything. I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry. Really sorry, not just saying it to smooth things over." He takes a deep breath. "And I want to do better. I'm going to do better."
I've heard these promises before, but something feels different this time. There's a steadiness in his gaze, a determination that's been absent for too long.
"What does 'better' look like, exactly?" I ask cautiously.
"First, I'm going to pay back what I owe the Savage Riders. King said I can work it off by helping at their garage and doing runs.Real work, not just busy tasks." He straightens slightly. "And I'm going to stop gambling. Period. King promised to connect me with someone, a therapist who works with addiction. I talked to him on the phone while you were with Steel."
I'm stunned by this development. James has always refused therapy, claiming he could stop gambling anytime he wanted, that he didn't have a "real" problem.
