Somewhat alone, Colter pressed a hand to my lower back. When I glanced up, it slid to my hip, giving me a squeeze I was pretty sure was meant to be reassuring. Like he knew I was struggling a bit about being back here.
Only, I didn’t think he grasped why.
He likely thought I was upset because of Roach and his men and my girls possibly trapped inside.
And therewasthat.
Beyond that, though, was something else. Something I couldn’t have anticipated feeling until right that moment. Because everything about my life that wasn’t learning to manage the complications of my body, was laser focused on getting my club back.
Only now, here, just a few yards away, there were some thoughts I hadn’t anticipated, some reservations I never could have seen coming.
Did I really want this anymore?
That was what it all boiled down to.
I mean, yes, I wanted Roach gone. I wanted my girls free, recovered, and healthy.
But did I want that life?
Did I want to run rackets and live in the middle of nowhere?
A year ago, that answer would have been an easy ‘hell yes.’
Things were different now.
I was different now.
And not just because my health had changed.
Getting booted from the club meant I had to go out into the world and live like a normal person for the first time in my life. My world growing up and into adulthood had been so narrow, so contained. Leaving the clubhouse was typically just for grocery shopping or blackmail schemes. I never experienced actually living near other people, being able to walk to stores, the convenience of a more city-type life.
And… I think I started to like it more than I realized.
“You okay?” Colter asked as my mind continued to race.
“Yeah,” I lied.
I sucked in a deep breath and stepped away from the comfort of his touch. Right toward the trees.
Then I looked out at the place that had been my whole life.
I expected that feeling of relief, nostalgia, ofhome. And while there was familiarity, nothing else came.
The clubhouse was the same unique structure it had always been. It was a long, low building made out of a mix of wood and metal shipping containers. Each section was painted different shades: red wood, gray, dark wood, green. It was something that shouldn’t have worked. Maybe it wouldn’t have anywhereelse. But butted up against all the greenery around it and in the shadow of the mountains, it did. It looked a little rundown, but warm, almost welcoming. If you didn’t know about the dozen assholes inside.
Colter moved up behind me, likely looking over my head to see what I was seeing.
Some part of me wanted to know what he was thinking. The other part was way too distracted by the hard lines of him behind me, of the warmth of him slipping in under my skin. Even with my father’s old leather jacket on, it felt chilly out there at night.
That was the only reason I didn’t move away.
The heat.
Nothing else.
Then his arm lifted, going over my shoulder to hold out his phone and snap a few pictures, though I couldn’t imagine they would turn out well without being able to use the flash.
I hoped he was distracted enough not to notice the way I kind of turned in toward his arm a little, feeling myself tucked into the cradle of it and his chest.
