He closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, they're shining with unshed tears. "I don't deserve you."
"That's not your decision to make." I go up on my toes and kiss him softly. "I love you. Not because of your name or what you do for a living. I love you because of who you are. And that person? He's the same whether he's called Dime or Grant."
His arms come around me, pulling me tight against his chest. "I need to explain," he says into my hair. "I need you to understand why I did this."
"Okay." I pull back just enough to look at him. "Then explain. Tell me everything."
We go back to the table, but this time he pulls his chair next to mine instead of sitting across from me. He needs to be close, and I understand that. Whatever he's about to tell me, it's important.
"My mom was a single mother," he starts, staring down at his bourbon. "My dad left before I was born, and she did her best to raise me on her own. But she struggled. With life, with money, with everything." He pauses. "And eventually, she started using."
My heart clenches. "Grant?—"
"It started with pills. Painkillers for an injury at work. Then it was other stuff. Harder stuff." His voice is flat, emotionless, like he's reciting facts instead of telling his own story. "I watched her choose drugs over me. Over food, over rent, over everything. By the time I was sixteen, I was basically raising myself."
"I'm so sorry."
"Don't be. She made her choices, and I've made peace with that." He finally looks at me. "But watching her go through that, watching her destroy herself and not being able to do anything about it, it fucked me up. I wanted to help people, wanted to make sure other kids didn't have to go through what I did."
"So you became a cop."
"Yeah. I became a cop." He takes another drink. "And I was good at it. Really good. Which is why when they needed someone to go undercover with a motorcycle club that was connected to drug trafficking, they asked me."
"How long have you been undercover?"
"Three years. Almost four now." He shakes his head. "I came into Saint's Outlaws as a prospect, worked my way up, earned their trust. And the whole time, I've been feeding information back to the police department."
I try to imagine living a lie for that long. Pretending to be someone else, watching every word, every action, for years. "That must have been exhausting."
"It was. It is." He looks at me. "But then I met you, and suddenly it got a lot more complicated."
"Why?"
"Because for the first time since I went undercover, I wanted to be the person I was pretending to be. I wanted to be Dime, the guy who works at a garage and rides a motorcycle and doesn't have to lie to the woman he loves."
Tears prick at my eyes. "You can still be that person."
"Can I? Because I don't know anymore, Allison. I don't know who I am. Grant or Dime. Cop or outlaw." His voice breaks. "I don't know which life is real."
I reach over and take his hand. "Which one do you love more?"
"What?"
"Which life do you love more? The cop life or the outlaw life?"
He's quiet for a long moment, and I can see the war happening behind his eyes. Finally, he says quietly, "The outlaw life."
It's barely a whisper, but I hear it clear as day. And from the look on his face, admitting it out loud is terrifying for him.
"I love being part of the club," he continues. "I love the brotherhood, the loyalty, the way we take care of our own. I love working at the garage and riding my bike and having people who would die for me just like I would die for them." He looks at me. "But I became a cop to help people, to make a difference, and I don't know how to reconcile those two things."
"You don't have to choose right now," I tell him. "You're still undercover. You still have a job to do. And when that job is over, when you've done what you set out to do, then you can figure out what comes next."
"What if the club hates me when they find out? What if they see this as a betrayal?"
"Then you deal with it. But you also remember that you went undercover to stop drugs from hurting people. To protect kids like you were. That's not a betrayal. That's being a good person."
He pulls me into his lap, burying his face in my neck. "How are you so calm about this?"
