“Ready?” he asked.
“No,” I said, honest. “But let’s go anyway.”
We took the long path back to the truck, past names that belonged to people we’d fed and fought for and forgiven. The family plot wasn’t far from the clubhouse—a short drive, a lifetime away.
August didn’t have a stone yet. He still slept in the little back room where Hannah used to fold napkins and organize men, his breath thinner every day, his eyes always turned toward the door. He’d started talking to her like she was just in the next room. We all knew her absence was killing him and none of us knew how much longer he would hold out for.
On the ride back, Jackson kept his hand on my knee. Wind lifted the edge of my hair where the window was cracked. The city slipped by in fragments—bodegas, girls in school uniforms dragging their feet, a mechanic rolling out from under a car just in time to wave as we went by. Atlanta didn’t stop grieving on your schedule. It just kept moving around you, giving you something to push against so you didn’t float away.
The clubhouse came into view like a ship that had lost its figurehead. Same old sign, same ugly angel over the door with chipped wings, same bikes lined up like good soldiers. But the hum under the skin was off. We all knew who the heart of the place was.
Dalton stood on the porch, coffee in one hand, his other hand cupped around the rim like he could keep the heat from escaping. He looked like a man trying to hold three different roofs up with his shoulders. When he saw us, his mouth softened. He tipped his chin. No big show. Just,I see you. Tired blue eyes that always tried to hide the hurt.
Inside, the place smelled like coffee and lemon oil and a hundred meals Hannah had taught the surfaces to remember. Someone had tried to put things in order. The bulletin boardwas newly pinned and squared. The sink was empty, miracle of miracles. Her coffee cup still sat by the pot, a relic no one was willing to touch.
Maria’s voice floated from the hallway.
“—no, you’re not lifting that, Diego. Your job is to admire me and pass me things when I ask you to.”
Jackson smiled into his cup. “She’s nesting.”
“She’s always nesting,” I said.
We followed the sound and found her on a step stool, rearranging framed photos on the hallway wall like she was conducting a symphony. Diego hovered behind her with a dish towel over his shoulder and the expression of a man who would fistfight gravity if it looked at her wrong.
“You two look like sin and trouble,” Maria called the second we stepped in. “Hannah’s probably yelling at you from Heaven to take your shoes off before you track mud through her clean floors.”
Jackson smirked. “We’ll risk it.”
Maria clicked her tongue. “Disrespectful.”
She stepped down carefully and smoothed her skirt, surveying the wall. The hallway had been slowly transforming under her command. Fresh paint in warm tones. New curtains. Little touches Hannah would’ve approved of, even if she’d pretended not to.
“You’re redecorating again?” I asked.
“I am reclaiming,” Maria corrected. “There’s a difference. Grief likes to sit in corners. I’m moving the furniture so it has nowhere comfortable to stay.”
Diego kissed the top of her head. “She’s been on a rampage.”
“Organized rampage,” she snapped. “Willow’s Harbor deserves to feel alive. So does this place.”
Jackson nodded once. “Hannah would’ve liked that.”
“She would’ve micromanaged it,” Maria said. “But yes. Let me get this room finished. I’m going for a meadow theme. Then I will make us all some lunch.” Maria had been themeing each room. Oceans. Planets. And now meadows. The guests of Willow’s Harbor seemed to enjoy it, and it made her happy. So, we just let her do it.
Eventually, we all made our way to the kitchen. Dalton drifted in and took the opposite stool, hunch loosening a notch in the kitchen light. Mac followed a beat later, a clipboard tucked under his arm like he has been in the middle of something important.. He looked older—grief carving a new set of lines around his mouth, a new steadiness behind his eyes. He wasn’t trying to be August. He was trying to be the man the club needed now. Those aren’t the same thing. He was learning.
“You two coming to the run tonight?” Mac asked, flipping a page. “Short one. Just to… say goodbye.”
Jackson nodded. “Yeah.”
“We’ll be there,” I said.
Maria slid a plate in front of Jackson first because she liked him best, and then one in front of me because she loved me more. Diego handed out water bottles like a man on a mission.
“You eat?” he asked.
“Not yet.”
