“I’m serious,” I continued. “You screw that up, you’ll spend years trying to unfuck the damage. Ask me how I know.”
“We hear you, Dutch,” Holden said, but I could see the dismissiveness in his posture. They thought this was just me being reformed and preachy.
“You think you hear me. But you’re gonna ignore this shit, do whatever you want, and then one day you’re gonna be in my position—fighting to get back what you lost. And when that happens, I’m gonna tell you I told you so, dumbass.”
Colt laughed. “You planning on riding all the way to Nashville just to say ‘I told you so’ when we fuck up?”
“Nah. I’ll text it. Save on gas.”
The tension broke, and they laughed, but I’d said what I needed to say. They’d remember it later, even if they thought it was bullshit now.
“Church adjourned,” I said, banging the gavel one last time. “I’m leaving in an hour. Colt, you’re in charge while I’m gone.”
I didn’t give them time to respond, just headed to my room to pack. An hour later, I was on my bike, Millfield shrinking in my mirrors. Five days of highway and headspace ahead of me, of cheap motels and gas station coffee, of thinking about what I’d say when I finally saw her again.
The morning of the meeting, I found myself checking my appearance in every mirror, changing clothes three times, arriving at the coffee shop she’d chosen an hour early just to scope out the place. I wanted to know where the exits were, where she’d feel most comfortable, which table would give her a clear path to the door if she wanted to leave.
I was about to see Indira again. Not a glimpse across a crowded bar, but an actual conversation. A chance to show her in person that I’d become someone worth her time.
The thought terrified and exhilarated me in equal measure.
Because I knew this meeting would determine everything. Either she’d see that my changes were real and lasting, or she’d realize that some mistakes were too big to overcome.
Either way, I’d finally have my answer.
And for the first time in my life, I was more concerned with what she needed than what I wanted.
That had to count for something.
Chapter 17
?
— Indira —
Isaw him the moment I walked through the door.
He was sitting at a corner table with clear sight lines to both the entrance and the exit. He’d chosen a spot that gave me a direct path to the door if I wanted to leave, the kind of detail my Dutch would never have thought about. The kind of detail that meant he’d been thinking about my comfort, not his own.
He looked... different. Leaner. His hair was shorter, more deliberately styled, and he’d let his stubble grow out into something that suited him. The scar across his left eye, the one he’d gotten in a bar fight years before we met, seemed less harsh now, softened by whatever peace he’d found. Just like in Montana, he was wearing dark jeans and a simple black henley instead of his usual cut and boots—civilian clothes that made him look approachable rather than dangerous.
But it was more than the superficial changes. Even sitting still, I could tell he moved differently now. The arrogant confidence that used to radiate from him like heat had been replaced by something quieter, more self-possessed. He wasn’t scanning the room like he owned it. He was watching the door, waiting for me, and when our eyes met across the coffee shop, I saw something in his expression that I’d never seen before.
Hope.
My hands were shaking as I approached the table. Months of emails and phone calls hadn’t prepared me for this moment. Thelast time we’d been face to face, I’d been throwing his cologne bottle at the wall and screaming about what a lying, cheating bastard he was.
Now I was voluntarily walking toward him, and I wasn’t sure if that made me brave or stupid.
He stood as I approached, another small detail my Dutch wouldn’t have bothered with. “Indira.” His voice was rougher than I remembered, like he’d been holding his breath. “Thank you for meeting me.”
“Jacob.” I slid into the chair across from him, noting that he waited for me to sit before lowering himself back down. “You’re early.”
“I wanted to make sure you had a good table.” He said it simply, without expectation of praise. “Somewhere you’d feel comfortable.”
Something twisted in my chest. He’d ridden five days across the country and arrived early to pick out a table for me. The gesture was small, but it said everything about how much thought he’d put into this meeting.
“You look good,” he said quietly. “Happy.”
