CHAPTER ONE
Colter
“Do I want to know why there are four bras in the freezer?” Detroit asked. He had four steaks in his hand that he moved to a platter in the fridge to defrost.
“Three words,” I said, shooting him a smirk.
“Let me guess: Raff, Saint, and Syn.”
“Bingo.”
“Been a bit since the club was this insane,” Detroit said, shaking his head.
“You’re up and out early.”
“The kids and Everleigh all got a stomach bug. I’ve been forced into quarantine because, as she says, ‘One of us needs to not have their head in the toilet all day.’ And I’m bored as shit over there. Figured I’d hit the gym, but I stopped here to defrost some steaks.”
“Because no one in your house is eating and you hate cooking just for yourself?”
“You know me well.”
Detroit used to cook for the club multiple times a day. But becoming a husband and father had stolen a lot of his time.
In his absence, the diner in town had been getting a lot of business from us. And the prepared food section at the supermarket.
We’d each tried our hand at cooking. But, well, I’d spent most of my adulthood eating prepared meals or MREs in the military.
Raff spent most of his time on the road, eating fast food or gas station hot dogs.
Syn had been living in a damn storage locker for years with no way to cook.
And Saint, well, Saint had been in prison.
Though out of all of us, he was the only one who could cook a half-edible meal. I figured that might have to do with having to raise his much younger brother. He made a mean breakfast omelet and had a hand with the grill, but without anyone to make sides, those nights were just… meat.
“When’s the last time you guys had something halfway healthy to eat?” Detroit asked. He dug around through the dozen or so clamshell containers in the fridge in search of vegetables to make as a side.
“When’s the last time you cooked for us?” I shot back.
That got a huff of a laugh out of him.
“Well, I guess I’m hitting up the food store after the gym.”
“Ah, morning,” a woman’s voice said, making both of us turn to find her standing just inside the kitchen.
I remembered her from the night before. Pretty, blonde, petite. She’d been hanging on Syn’s every word. Her hair was dry and tangled in the harsh morning, and her red, hungover eyes had raccoon liner smudged beneath. She’d stolen one of Syn’s tees that she had knotted over her party dress. Her heels must have been stashed in her purse because she was wearing one of the sets of slides the club kept stocked for, well, exactly this purpose. Who wanted to do the walk of shame in icepick heels?
“Morning,” I said over the rim of my coffee cup. “Want some coffee?”
“Actually, ah, I’m… missing…”
She sighed, closing her eyes.
“Pink, purple, black, or beige?” Detroit asked, walking over to the freezer.
“Purple,” she admitted, shaking her head at herself. “Thanks,” she said, taking the bra from Detroit, folding it in half, and shoving it into her bag. “Why did we put them in there again?”
Detroit looked at me.
