He was the one person I didn’t have to perform for. The one place I could fall apart without worrying about how it would affect someone else’s healing. With him, I got to just be—messy and complicated and sometimes not okay.
The front door opened twenty minutes later, and there he was. Still in his riding gear, helmet in hand, that little furrow between his eyebrows that meant he’d been thinking too hard.
“Hey.” He set down the helmet and crossed to the couch, dropping beside me. “You look wiped.”
“I am wiped.” I let my head fall against his shoulder. “Tell me about your day. I need to think about something other than other people’s problems.”
“Nothing exciting. Finalized the prospect assignments with Dutch, ran through communications protocols with Glitch, made Danny practice tire changes until he could do it blindfolded.” He wrapped an arm around me, pulling me closer. “How bad was yours?”
“Scale of one to ten? Solid seven.” I closed my eyes. “I had a hard one today. Someone who’s really struggling, and I had to do some safety planning. She’ll be okay, I think, but…”
“But it’s hard.”
“It’s hard,” I agreed. “Some days I wonder why I chose this career. Why I voluntarily sign up to sit with people’s darkest moments.”
“Because you’re good at it.” His voice was matter-of-fact, no flattery. “Because you actually help people. That woman you saw today—she walked in scared and walked out with a plan.”
“Is it enough?”
“It’s more than most people get.” He pressed a kiss to my hair. “And tomorrow, you’ll go back and do it again, because that’s who you are. You don’t give up on people.”
I turned my face into his chest, breathing in the leather and motor oil. “When did you get so insightful?”
“I’ve had years to observe your methods. Some of it was bound to rub off.”
We sat like that for a while, neither of us speaking. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was the kind of quiet that comes from knowing someone so well you don’t need words to fill the space.
“The run is in six days,” Holden said eventually. “I’ll be gone overnight, maybe two nights if we hit any delays.”
“I know.”
“I need you to know that I’ve planned for everything. Every possible scenario. I’m not taking any unnecessary risks.”
I pulled back to look at him. His blue eyes were serious, the way they got before a run. “Holden, I trust you. I’ve always trusted you.”
“Still, I need to say it.” He cupped my face in his hands. “I need you to know that coming home to you is the most important thing. More important than the shipment, more important than the club. You’re my priority, Bea. Always.”
“That’s not how your club works.”
“That’s howIwork.” He kissed me softly. “The club gets what it needs from me. But you come first. You have my heart, Bea.”
It should have been cheesy. Should have made me roll my eyes and make some joke about romance novel dialogue.Instead, I recognized it for what it was — the particular vulnerability of loving someone you could lose.
This was the thing about loving someone who rode out and might not ride back. You paid attention. You didn’t waste the quiet moments.
“I love you,” I said, because it was the only thing that mattered. “I love you, and I’ll be here when you get back. We’ll have dinner and watch terrible TV, and you’ll tell me about every mile of that boring road you’ve memorized.”
He smiled — a real one, not the controlled version he gave the brothers. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
He was still looking at me — that careful, intent look he got when he was memorizing something.
I kissed him first. Not the soft kind. I shifted onto his lap and felt his hands go to my waist — automatic, sure. He pulled me closer without hesitation.
“Come on,” I said against his mouth.
He didn’t need to be asked twice.
