Oktober
I sat at my small kitchen table, watching Mia stir honey into her tea.The steam curled up between us, catching the late afternoon light spilling through my apartment windows.Two weeks had passed since the fire, and the thin pink line across her forehead was all that remained visible of her injuries.She’d had to have some work done on her hair to trim away the burnt patches and to even it out, but she’d taken it in stride.I think it had pained me more than her simply because of the trauma her new haircut represented.My own burns still showed as patches of reddened skin along my forearms and across my back, all of which itched like a son of a bitch, as angry reminders of what we’d survived.When she caught me staring, she didn’t look away.That was one of the things I’d come to appreciate about her.She met my intensity with her own quiet strength instead of flinching.
“What are you thinking about?”she asked, lifting the mug to her lips to take a slow sip.
“How different you look here,” I said honestly, gesturing to my apartment.I’d moved into a two-bedroom unit on the second floor of one of the compound’s converted warehouses.Exposed brick walls I’d left mostly bare except for a few photographs of brothers in the club.And motorcycles.The kitchen was small but functional with space to expand, opening to a living area with a worn leather couch and a TV I rarely watched before she came.
She glanced around.“Different how?”
“Like you belong, even though nothing here is yours and I really thought you’d feel out of place.”I took a bite of the simple pasta she’d made, savoring the garlic and butter.Mia had insisted on cooking tonight, claiming she needed to feel useful after being “pampered like an invalid” for two weeks.
“Maybe I’m adaptable.”She twirled pasta onto her fork.“Or maybe I just feel at home with you.”
The words settled in my chest, warm and unexpected.In the two weeks since I’d brought her to the compound, I’d watched her carve out space for herself among my brothers and their women.They’d welcomed her without hesitation after everything we’d been through.We were already family.Mia was part of Kiss of Death no matter if she accepted my claim or not.She’d earned her way inside with our women, and I was Goddamned glad.No matter if she wanted me or not, my club would always see her as part of us.
“Tell me about your day with the old ladies,” I said, pushing my plate aside to focus on her.
Her face brightened.“Oh God, you should have been there.”She leaned forward, eyes dancing with merriment.“We were in the common room with Ada and Violet.Chains walked in looking for something, and suddenly one of Ellie’s black cats -- I haven’t figured out which one is which yet -- shot out from under the couch and went straight for his ankles.”
I groaned, already knowing where this was heading.“Tell me he didn’t --”
“He screamed, Oktober.Like, full-on squealed and jumped onto the coffee table.”She dissolved into laughter.“This mountain of a man, covered in tattoos, standing on a coffee table because of a six-pound cat.Poor Ellie tried to apologize, but she was laughing too hard.”
I couldn’t help but laugh with her.“Chains will never live this down.And no.Ellie was not sorry.She still gets a kick out of how superstitious Chains is with the cats.”
“I think I’ll get him one of those creepy sweaters with the tuxedo cat with the big scary eyes.”Yeah.My woman fit right in here.
We finished dinner and cleaned up, still talking like an old married couple.Normal things, everyday things that seemed miraculous after the hell we’d walked through together.We’d fallen into this pattern easily.Every day since we’d been home, she’d been surprised when someone turned up to help.She’d walked around on eggshells the first day, but I’d made myself such a thorn in her side demanding she get me things, she’d soon made the place hers.I think she’d been afraid to invade my space, but I wanted it to be her space too.
“Your burns look better,” she said softly.
I nodded, not turning around as I hung a dish towel on the rack after drying my hands.“Pain says they’re healing well.Some will scar.”
“Scars are just proof you survived something that tried to kill you.”
I turned then, finding her closer than expected.“Poetic,Kätzchen.”
“I read it somewhere.”She shrugged, taking the dish towel from my hands and hanging it carefully on the oven door handle.“Maybe on a motivational poster in my dentist’s office.”
I laughed, the sound still feeling foreign in my throat.Laughter had been scarce in the weeks following Noose’s memorial service.The wound was still raw for all of us, but Noose had been more than a brother.He’d been my friend.I caught myself looking for him sometimes, expecting to hear his voice or his distinctive walk down the hall.Each time the absence hit anew.
Mia seemed to read my thoughts, reaching for my hand and leading me to the couch.“Anyway,” she said with a grin, “I also read chicks dig scars.”
I slid her a cocky grin.“That so?”
She shrugged.“It’s what I read.Who can really tell?”
We sank down on the couch together, the TV murmuring in the background.She curled against my side, careful of the burns that still stretched across my shoulder blades.We’d been careful with each other since the hospital, treating each other like glass that might shatter.
I absently traced patterns on her arm, feeling the goose bumps rise beneath my fingertips.She nestled closer, her breath warm against my neck.We’d both needed space to heal both physically and otherwise.But we’d needed each other, too.Her presence had anchored me during the darkest moments after Noose’s funeral when rage and grief threatened to pull me under.
“Oktober?”Her voice was quiet.
I looked down to find her watching me, eyes serious in the blue light from the TV.“Ja, Kätzchen?”
She reached up, her fingers ghosting over my cheek.“I’m glad I’m here.With you.”
The careful distance we’d maintained crumbled as I leaned down, drawn by some invisible force.My lips brushed against hers with a tentative glide.She answered by pressing closer, her hand sliding around the back of my neck.
