I didn’t bother answering. Let them talk. Let them joke. None of it mattered.
That photo was taped above my rack before chow, so the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes wasn’t desert or dust or another day in the suck—it was Holly. Barefoot, sunlight in her hair, smiling like she was mine. Whenever we went out on patrol, I tucked it under the band of my Kevlar. Whether she knew it or not, she was with me everywhere we went. And, when things got fucked, she kept me going.
Chapter Twenty-Five
? Holly ?
Athens moved whether I kept up or not. Classes rolled forward, deadlines stacked, and the sidewalks around Sanford Stadium filled with red and black every weekend like the whole town had nothing else to live for. Some days it felt like I was living two lives—one on campus with professors who didn’t know my name, and one just an hour down the road with a family who knew every piece of me but suddenly felt farther away than ever.
Willow’s Harbor lived in the margins. Numbers scrawled beside bullet points in my notebook, grant deadlines crammed between exam dates in my planner. It was progress, sure, but it still felt like smoke and paper. Hannah swore it would stand on its own legs soon, that I’d see it, touch it. For now, all I had were scribbles, late-night calls, and the gnawing fear that the dream was running faster than I could keep up.
Friday afternoon, she proved me wrong.
We were at the clubhouse, Jewel babbling on Maria’s hip and Dalton lugging grocery bags like he was competing for Strongman of the Year. Hannah caught me by the elbow before I could escape to the kitchen.
“Come with me,” she ordered, and I followed her down a hallway I’d never bothered with because you don’t argue with Hannah Mills. She stopped outside one of the storage rooms and pushed the door open.
It wasn’t storage anymore.
The room had been remade into something small but soft—a twin bed with clean sheets, a dresser, a lamp casting warm light. A vase of plastic flowers sat stubbornly bright on the nightstand. It wasn’t much.
But it was safe.
It was intentional.
“What is this?” My voice came out thinner than I meant it to.
“Insurance,” Hannah said. “A place for anyone who needs to disappear for a while.” She stepped inside like she was giving me the tour of a palace. “August signed off on converting all the spare rooms. We’ll have half a dozen ready by the end of the month.”
My heart swelled. And then…tightened.
“In the clubhouse?” I asked quietly.
Hannah didn’t bristle. Didn’t snap. She just looked at me. Waiting for me to speak my mind.
I stepped farther into the room, running my fingers along the dresser edge. “It’s beautiful. It is. But…some women might not feel safe walking through a building full of men. Even good men. Even ours.” I swallowed. “If they’re running from someone who hurt them, the cuts, the noise, the bar…it might feel like another kind of threat.”
Maria came up behind me, Jewel balanced on her hip. She didn’t interrupt.
Hannah nodded slowly. “Good,” she said.
I blinked. “Good?”
“Good that you noticed.” Her mouth softened. “If you hadn’t said it, I’d have worried.”
“I’m grateful, I really am. I just don’t want this to feel like charity,” I continued, voice steadier now. “Or like they owe anyone here something just because the Saints gave them a bed.”
“They won’t,” Hannah said firmly. Then gentler, “But you’re right. We can do better.”
She moved toward the window, thinking. “There’s a side entrance we can convert. Separate lock. Separate access. No one needs to walk past the bar. We’ll set strict boundaries with the boys—not because they’re a problem, but because guests shouldn’t have to wonder.”
Maria nodded. “We can add signage that doesn’t scream ‘motorcycle club.’ Make the entrance feel neutral.”
“And we don’t advertise it as the clubhouse,” Hannah added. “We advertise Willow’s Harbor. This is just the first harbor.”
I let that settle.
“This isn’t the final version,” she said. “It’s the bridge. Until we secure the property you want.”
