“She’s never complained—”
“She’s never had a choice,” Glitch interrupted. “Your mother had no way to leave. Indira did.”
“Which is why she left,” Holden added. “Because she could.”
I stared around the table at my brothers. Colt telling me my father’s marriage was a disaster, Glitch pointing out my mother’smisery, Handful talking about respect. All of them weighing in on my family like they knew better than I did.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “My parents have been together for over forty years. That doesn’t happen if a woman is miserable. My mother chose to stay.”
“Did she choose,” Holden asked quietly, “or did she just not have any other options?”
I shook my head, rejecting the idea. “My father provides for her. She has everything she needs.”
“Except a voice,” Glitch said, not looking up from his laptop.
“Except respect,” Holden added quietly.
“The club comes first,” I said, falling back on the only truth I’d ever known.
“Does it?” Holden asked. “Right now, your personal drama is destroying the club. So which one actually comes first, Dutch?”
I stared around the table at these men who’d followed me into hell more times than I could count. Men who’d trusted me with their lives, their futures, their families’ security. And I’d let them down because I couldn’t handle one woman.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked.
“We want you to be the prez you’ve always been, before this Indira shit,” Holden said. “We want you to show up. Do your job. Handle club business like it matters.”
“And forget about Indira?”
“Move on from Indira,” Colt corrected. “There’s a difference.”
I looked around the table again, seeing the faces of men who’d stood by me for years. Good men who deserved better than a president who was falling apart over a woman. “You’re right,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
“What?” Holden leaned forward like he hadn’t heard correctly.
“You’re right. All of you.” I straightened in my chair, trying to summon the authority that had gotten me elected to thisposition in the first place. “I’ve been a shit prez for the past month. I’ve put my personal problems ahead of club business, and that’s not acceptable.”
The relief on their faces was obvious, but I wasn’t finished.
“But you’re wrong about one thing,” I continued. “I’m not moving on from Indira. I’m going to get her back.”
The room erupted in protests, but I held up my hand for silence.
“I’m going to get her back,” I repeated, “but I’m going to do it the right way. Without neglecting my responsibilities. Because you’re right—she deserves better than the man she left.”
“Dutch—” Holden started.
“Church is dismissed,” I said, banging the gavel before anyone could argue further.
As my brothers filed out, I could hear them muttering among themselves. They thought I was delusional. They thought I was setting myself up for more heartbreak. Maybe they were right. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d lost something I was never going to find again. If there was even a chance of getting Indira back, I had to try.
But first, I had to prove to myself that I could be the man she deserved. Clearly she’d found me lacking, and that was unacceptable. Dutch, President of the Venom Riders MC, ruled Millfield. I was going to get Indira back.
Three hours later, I was sitting on the floor of Indira’s apartment with my back against her kitchen cabinets, an empty bottle of Jack Daniels beside me. I’d used the key I’d gotten from her landlord—the same landlord I’d convinced to let me take over her lease two weeks ago, after he’d told me she’d terminated it.
The apartment still smelled like her. Jasmine from her shampoo, mixed with the faint scent of the expensive candles she liked to burn when she was stressed. I’d come here every fewdays since she left, tidying up, putting things back the way they were. The books were arranged by height on the shelves, just like she always did. The throw pillows were straight on the couch. I’d even swept up the broken glass from the picture frame and vase, though I’d kept the pieces in a box in the closet. Evidence of her rage, proof that she’d cared enough to destroy things.
I’d told myself I was maintaining it for when she came back. Keeping it ready, keeping it perfect. So she’d walk through the door and see that nothing had changed, that I’d kept her space waiting for her.
