"He's my brother, Leah. Club brother, but brother all the same."
"I know."
"And you're my sister. Myonlyfamily left besides Vanna and Waylon. The person I—" He stops. Swallows. This is my brother Sergeant at Arms, the man who doesn't show emotion unless the world forces it out of him, and he's swallowing back something he doesn't want me to see. "You're the person I pulled out of a burning house. You're the reason I?—"
"Garrett."
"Let me finish." His voice is rough. "You're the reason I do everything. Every decision I've ever made. Every night I sat in a clubhouse instead of living a normal life. You. Because I chose you over Mom and Dad, and that means I choseforyou, and I've spent every day since trying to make sure that choice was worth it."
My eyes burn. I don't cry.
But the burn is there, hot and immediate, and I have to look away for a second to get myself together.
"It was worth it," I say quietly. "It's always been worth it."
He turns his head and looks at me. Really looks—the way he did on the porch weeks ago, the way that makes me feel four years old and completely safe and absolutely terrified all at the same time.
"If he hurts you?—"
"He won't."
"Leah. If he hurts you, I will have to choose between my sister and my brother, and I need you to know right now which way that goes."
"I know which way it goes. You don't have to say it."
"I'm saying it anyway."
I hold his gaze. He holds mine.
"He's a good man, Garrett. You've said it yourself. Multiple times."
"He is a good man. That doesn't mean he can't break your heart."
"Maybe. But that's my risk to take. Not yours."
He's quiet for a long time. His jaw works.
I can see him fighting it—the urge to protect, to control, to keep me behind the wall he's built between me and everything dangerous.
The same wall I've hated since he patched in.
Then he stands and holds out his hand.
I take it and he pulls me to my feet and into a hug—brief, hard, the kind of hug Garrett gives when he can't find words big enough for what he's feeling.
He smells like engine grease and leather and the soap he's used since we were kids, and I hold on for a second longer than usual because I need him to know that whatever happens with Coin, he's still my person.
He'll always be my person. Nothing changes that.
"I'm going to talk to him," he says into the top of my head.
"I figured."
"Don't interfere."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
He pulls back and looks at me.
