Fair enough.I wiped my hands on a rag.“Fine.Beast called a vote last week.We’re opening another branch.”
She blinked.“Another charter?”
I nodded.“In Georgia.Ranger’s overseeing the transition.I’ll be splitting my time there once things settle.”
Her expression didn’t change right away, but I felt the shift -- a flicker of hesitation behind her calm.Then she asked, “And you’re telling me now because…”
“Because plans are only half an idea without you.”
The wind caught strands of her hair, tugging them across her face as she studied me.“Are you asking me to go with you?”
“If you want.”I reached out, brushing the hair from her cheek.“Or we stay here.Build what we’ve already started.No wrong move either way.”
She looked past me toward the yard, now bathed in the strange, silver light that follows rain.“When I was running, I thought if I could ever stop, I’d stay frozen forever.Like rest could only happen in one place.”Her gaze returned to mine.“Turns out movement isn’t always running away.Sometimes it’s choosing where to go next.”
I leaned in, close enough to feel her breath.“So what’s your choice?”
She tilted her head, thoughtful.“Wherever you are.”
The knot in my chest eased.“Guess I better start packing.”
That evening, the Kings gathered in the clubhouse.Even though it wasn’t the celebration we’d been planning, it was still nice to hang out with everyone.Country rock poured from the speakers, and people danced and laughed.It was nice, and a much-needed break.
Callie moved through the crowd easily now.She’d become part of the heartbeat of this place -- handing plates to Prospects, teasing Hawk about his overflowing inbox, laughing at something Beast muttered about club politics.Watching her surrounded by this rough, loud, loyal family stirred something deep in me.Pride.Gratitude.Maybe both.
When our eyes met across the crowd, she smiled, small and private, a signal just for me.I made my way through the throng until I reached her side.She slipped her hand into mine without breaking conversation, the simple gesture grounding me more than any patch or title ever had.
Later, when the bonfire burned low and the guitars gave way to quiet talk, she and I stepped away from the light, wandering down the gravel path toward the cabins.Gravel crunched under our boots, cicadas humming all around us.
“You think you’ll miss it?”she asked quietly, eyes on the fire still flickering behind us.
“The noise?”
“All of it.”
“Maybe.”I squeezed her hand.“But sometimes quiet’s just another song.”
We reached the porch, the familiar creak of boards greeting us as we climbed the steps.I opened the door, holding it for her, then followed her inside.The cabin smelled like home -- coffee, sawdust, her shampoo on the air.
She moved toward the table, where an envelope sat propped against the lamp.My handwriting marked her name across the front.
Her brow furrowed.“What’s this?”
“Consider it a formality.”
She unfolded the paper inside, reading silently.Her lips parted in surprise before curving into a smile.“Business registration.”
“You said you wanted something of your own.”I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.“You built half the garage’s new accounting system.Figured the detail shop could use an official owner.”
Her eyes lifted, gleaming in the firelight that slipped through the window.“You’re giving me part of the club’s business?”
“Not giving.It’s something you’ve earned.”
She crossed the room in two steps, paper forgotten on the table as her arms wrapped around my neck.The kiss that followed was slow, deliberate, threaded with emotion deeper than words.When she pulled back, her forehead rested against mine, laughter shaking through both of us.
“I guess it’s a good thing I never want to leave.”She reached up to trace my jaw.
* * *
