I nodded and pulled on my helmet. In the rearview, she looked small—smaller than I remembered. Her hand was raised in a wave.
My chest felt hollow, but my head was finally quiet.
Chapter 10
?
— Indira —
“You seem more focused lately,” my boss said through my laptop screen, her face backlit by the fluorescent lights of the Chicago office I’d never see again. “More confident.”
I glanced at the dual monitors I’d set up in my corner of the corporate rental, at the campaign data that had caught what would have been a twenty-thousand-dollar mistake—the diabetes awareness messaging accidentally targeting the wrong zip codes. “Thanks, Lisa.”
“That catch alone saved us from losing the account. Whatever you’re doing, keep it up.” She leaned closer to her camera. “Which is why I’m making the remote arrangement permanent. And promoting you to senior account manager. With a substantial raise.”
I managed to keep my voice professional until the call ended. Then I sat back in my chair and let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.
Two and a half months in Nashville. A promotion. A life I was building with my own two hands.
If only Lisa knew that what I was doing was rebuilding my entire life from scratch.
My phone buzzed as I walked out of the apartment building. A text from Sarah, one of the friends I’d made at a networking event a few weeks after I’d arrived.
Wine bar 7 PM? Emma’s bringing her cute coworker again...
I smiled as I typed back:Can’t tonight, moving day tomorrow. Rain check?
Tomorrow I’d finally move into the Music Row apartment I’d fallen in love with back in September. The previous tenant’s lease hadn’t ended until December, so I’d spent the last two and a half months in a furnished corporate rental the real estate agent had found me—nicer than a hotel, but not mine. Tomorrow, I’d have a place that was actually mine.
The idea of my new friends trying to set me up would have sent me into a panic just a few weeks ago. Now it just felt... normal. I wasn’t ready to date seriously—might not be for a while—but the fact that I could even consider it felt like progress.
The truth was, I was happy. Actually, genuinely happy for the first time in longer than I cared to admit. The past few months had been about more than just recovering from Dutch; they’d been about remembering who I was before I’d started defining myself in relation to someone else.
I’d joined a book club. Started taking yoga classes. Volunteered at a literacy center on weekends. Small things that had nothing to do with Dutch or the MC world, everything to do with building a life that was entirely my own.
My phone rang as I was walking back to my car, and I glanced at the caller ID. My sister Priya. I’d been meaning to call her all week, but kept putting it off. Since leaving Millfield, I’d kept our communication to brief weekly texts—just enough to let her know I was alive and okay, not enough to invite questions I wasn’t ready to answer.
She’d understood, or at least she’d said she did. When I’d first reached out from Knoxville, I’d explained that I needed space to figure things out. Not just from Dutch, but from everyone. I needed to recenter myself, relearn who I was withoutthe weight of other people’s expectations—even loving ones. Priya had wanted me to come to San Diego, wanted to take care of me, but I’d asked her to give me time instead.
She’d agreed, with one condition: weekly texts so she knew I was safe. And she’d warned me that Dutch had been calling her, trying to find me. By not telling her where I was exactly, I’d protected us both—she couldn’t be pressured to tell him anything, couldn’t accidentally let something slip in anger. But that didn’t stop her from calling every now and then, just like now. Up until today, I’d let it go to voicemail and sent a text back.
But now, two and a half months later, I was finally ready to talk. Really talk.
I answered the call. “Hey, Pri.”
“Oh my God.” Her voice cracked. “You actually picked up. I’m hearing your actual voice.”
I laughed, surprised by how good it felt. “Yeah, I am. I’m sorry I’ve been so distant. I just—”
“Don’t apologize. You needed space, I get it.” She paused. “But please tell me you’re ready to actually talk now, because I have been dying here with your cryptic ‘I’m fine’ texts.”
“I’m ready.” I unlocked my car and slid into the driver’s seat. “I have so much to tell you.”
“Start from the beginning. Where the hell are you? Still in Knoxville?”
“Nashville, actually. I found an apartment in Music Row a while back—high ceilings, exposed brick, windows that flood the whole place with light. It’s exactly what I dreamed about when I was younger—urban, sophisticated, mine. I’m finally moving in tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” The excitement in her voice was palpable. “Indira, that’s amazing! But why the wait?”
