“Huh. That actually makes sense.”
“Plus, if I send a letter, she can choose whether or not to read it. She’s in control. She can throw it away if she wants. But at least she’ll know I tried to reach her without forcing myself into her space.”
“Okay,” Glitch said. “She’s working out of Nashville now—same company, just changed locations. Got promoted too. Senior account manager.”
My eyebrows rose. “Good for her.”
“She works from home, so I can get you her apartment address. But Dutch—are you sure about this?”
“I’m sure. If I send a letter, she has all the power.”
“And if she doesn’t respond?”
“I leave her alone. Forever. But I have to try, brother. I have to at least try to make this right.”
Glitch was quiet for a moment. “Alright. I’ll give you her address when you’re back.”
“Thanks, man. I owe you.”
“Yeah, you do. But Dutch, this better not be some bullshit attempt to manipulate her into coming back. Because if it is, I’m out.”
I paused, the weight of his words hitting me. “Out? As in...?”
“As in I’ll hand in my cut before I help you hurt her again.”
For a moment, I couldn’t speak. One of my brothers—one of my most trusted brothers—was threatening to leave the club over how I’d treated a woman. Six months ago, I would have been furious. Would have reminded him who was president, who gave the orders, who decided what was and wasn’t club business.
But when I thought about it, I wasn’t surprised. Glitch had always been different. Never touched the club girls. Treated women like they were actually people instead of entertainment. I’d never once heard him talk about a woman the way some of the brothers talked about their women—like property, like conquests, like something to be managed rather than loved.
Maybe that’s why he hadn’t tried too hard to find Indira when she first left. He’d known I wasn’t ready. Known I would have just made things worse.
“It’s not,” I said finally. “Even if it’s too late to matter.”
After hanging up, I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my phone. My chest felt tight. My mouth had gone dry.
A blank page. That’s what I needed to fill, and the thought of it made my hands shake.
By the time the sun came up, I had the beginnings of an idea.
?
Three days later, I was back in Millfield, sitting in my office at the clubhouse with a notepad covered in scratched-out sentences. My pen kept hovering over the page, fingers cramping from how hard I was gripping it. Writing had never been my strong suit, but this had to be perfect. Had to be honest without being manipulative, accountable without making excuses.
Glitch knocked on my door around noon, a piece of paper in his hand.
“Her address,” he said, settling into the chair across from my desk and sliding it over.
I took the paper and studied it for a moment. Nashville. She’d really started over.
“This letter. What if she throws it away without reading it?” Glitch asked. Same question he’d asked when I’d called him at 3 AM and told him I wanted to write a letter.
“Then I respect that and move on with my life.” I set the paper down. “That’s the point—she’s in control. Not me.”
Glitch leaned back in his chair. “Who are you and what did you do with my prez?”
“Funny.” But I knew what he meant. Before Indira had walked out, I would have seen rejection as a challenge, something to overcome rather than respect. Now... now I just wanted her to be happy, even if that happiness didn’t include me.
“You want me to read what you’ve got so far?” he asked, nodding toward the legal pad.
