I don’t interrupt. I just let him talk.
“My mama cried the entire three years I rode with them,” he says, voice lower now. “But I needed it.” He exhales slowly. “Michael’s Legion was built to protect Lander from rival clubs. No drugs. No deals. But when it came to protecting our town…”
His gaze darkens.
“We didn’t play nice.”
A quiet settles between us again, heavier now, deeper.
“Casper wasn’t sheriff back then, just a deputy. We didn’t speak for two years.” He pauses, then continues more quietly. “The last year I was in, I realized I was growing out of my anger. I wanted something else. My own bar. A peaceful life. Something my mother could be proud of.”
His eyes flick to mine.
“So when I had the chance, I risked my life to save the Prez and his family. When he asked how he could repay me, I told him to let me walk away.” A faint smile pulls at his mouth. “On the condition that I kept their secrets and showed up if they ever really needed me.”
“So you’re not completely free of them?” I ask.
“No,” he says. “But in six years, the only favors they’ve asked for are free drinks.”
“Oh.”
I glance down at my hands, my fingers curling slightly in my lap.
“I’m glad you got out,” I say quietly.
I hesitate for a second.
“I was wrong, you know…”
He looks at me, the edge in his eyes still there. “About what?”
I take a breath.
“When I said I hate all MC members.”
Something shifts in his expression, subtle but there.
I hold his gaze, even though it feels like I’m stepping into something I won’t be able to take back.
“Turns out… there’s at least one biker I don’t hate.”
A small pause.
“Actually… I think he might be a better man than most.”
A beat passes before he looks away, turning his attention back to the TV, but the moment doesn’t disappear with it. It lingers, stretched between us, something softer threading through it now.
The thought of him back then, younger, angrier, carrying all of that alone, makes something in my chest twist.
“They were wrong,” I say.
He looks at me, the edge in his eyes already fading. “Who?”
“Your bullies.” I swallow. “You’re not mental. There’s nothing wrong with you.”
He doesn’t answer, so I keep going, the words coming easier now that I’ve started.
“I think I’m starting to like your impulsiveness. The way you say exactly what you think.” I shrug lightly. “I hate when people lie to spare my feelings. And I know, deep down, you never would. You’d always be real. Even when it’s hard.”
