“Please,” he adds, softer now. Less ‘president’. Less ‘biker’. More of the man I used to curl into at night. “Just for a minute.”
My chest tightens. The pub feels too warm, too loud, too exposed. I feel my pulse in my fingertips, the familiar edge of panic creeping in. This wasn’t how I imagined seeing him again. I didn’t imagine it at all.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I say, even though that’s a lie and we both know it.
He exhales sharply through his nose. “There is. There’s a lot.”
I glance down at the scan picture, at the tiny shape that changed everything. The thing he wasn’t here for. The thing I carried alone while he disappeared into his club with his guilt and his silence.
“You don’t get to show up here,” I say, my voice shaking despite my best efforts, “and ask for a conversation like nothing happened.”
“I know.” His jaw tightens. “I just—” He stops again, like he’s fighting something inside himself. “I need to talk to you.”
I laugh then. It’s hollow, ugly, nothing like the laughter from seconds ago. “Funny,” I say quietly, “I needed you to talk to me too. But that was months ago, and you weren’t available.”
The sting flashes across his face, and for a second, I see it—the regret, the pain, the shame. It would’ve destroyed me once.
Now, it just exhausts me.
“I’m not doing this here,” I say, pushing my chair back. My legs tremble when I stand, but I force myself to stay upright. “Not in front of everyone.”
Relief flickers in his eyes. “So, you will talk to me?”
I hesitate.
Because the truth is, I don’t know if I’m strong enough to hear what he has to say.
“I’ll step outside,” I say finally. “Five minutes. That’s it.”
He nods instantly. “Whatever you want.”
As I walk past him—close enough to feel the heat of his body, close enough to smell leather and road and something that stillfeels like home—my chest aches so badly, I think it might split open.
I stop by the wall, resting my hip against it in a way I hope looks casual. He stops somewhere behind me, still too close. I can still smell him.
“I meant to come sooner,” he begins.
I scoff, the sound sharp. Lies. All of them.
He exhales, slow and heavy, then adds, “You look well.”
I laugh without humour. “Why are you here, Kade?” My voice comes out cold, even though I feel like I’m crumbling inside.
“How did the scan go?”
I turn to face him, and for the second time tonight, he steals the air from my lungs. He looks different, bigger somehow. His beard is trimmed neat, like he’s stopped dragging his hands through it fifty times a day.
“Twenty weeks,” I say bluntly. “So, you can work out the dates.”
His jaw tightens. “That’s not why I asked.”
“Isn’t it?” I fire back. “You mean you came all this way and you’re not even a little curious about the truth?”
“You’re upset,” he starts then rushes to add, “and you have every right to be.”
“I’m not fucking upset, Kade,” I snap. “I’m angry.”
He nods, shoving his hands into his pockets, eyes dropping to the pavement. “You should be. I fucked up.”
