Handful glanced up. “Group tonight?”
“Every Tuesday.”
He nodded, wiped down the bar. “You need someone to go with you?”
“Dutch is coming.”
“Good.” Handful slid a beer to the next brother without looking. “We’ll save you some food. Might even be warm by the time you get back.” The grin was there — quick, easy — but underneath it was something steadier than people gave him credit for.
Walking back out felt heavy. More than I expected, after a run that had gone clean. Maybe because it had gone clean — the stress with nowhere to go. The bottle wasn’t calling — it hadn’tfor a while — but the habit of reaching was still there, like a phantom limb.
The meeting was at the community center on Maple Street, same as always — folding chairs in a circle, bad coffee in the corner, Gillian already setting up.
Dutch took the chair next to mine. He didn’t say anything, just settled in and crossed his arms. He’d never been to group before. I knew why he was here — partly to have my back, partly to make sure I didn’t say anything I shouldn’t after two days on the road with no sleep. I didn’t mind. That’s what a president does.
“Would anyone like to share?” Gillian looked around the circle. Her eyes landed on me. “Holden?”
I took a breath.
“I went on a long ride this week. First one like that since Danny died.” I looked at my hands. “Same kind of roads. Same distance. I’ve been avoiding it for over a year — letting other people take the lead, finding reasons not to be in that position again. Because I was afraid I’d freeze up. Afraid someone else would get hurt.”
The room was quiet.
“What changed?” Gillian asked.
“I couldn’t avoid it forever.” I paused. “So I did it differently. Trusted the people around me instead of trying to control every detail myself.”
“How did it go?”
“Fine. No problems. Everyone came home.” I met Gillian’s eyes. “And I came here after instead of the bar.”
I felt Dutch shift beside me. Not a word. Just a slight nod that I caught at the edge of my vision.
Dutch drove us back. The truck was quiet for a while. “You did good in there,” he said eventually. “Kept it vague enough.”
“Had a good babysitter.”
He almost smiled. “Somebody’s got to make sure you don’t start telling civilians about shipping routes.”
“I was tired, not stupid.”
“Tired and stupid are closer together than you think.” He glanced over. “I’m proud of you, brother. Two days on the road and you walked into a bar full of whiskey and walked right back out again.”
The words hit harder than I expected. “Still feels like I’m white-knuckling it sometimes.”
“That’ll pass.” He pulled into the compound and cut the engine. “You heading inside for food?”
“Nah. I’m dead on my feet.” I rubbed my face with both hands. “Going to Lindsay’s tomorrow to fix her fence.”
“I’ll send a couple of prospects to help.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I’m sending them.” Not a question. He drummed his thumb on the steering wheel once. “Get some sleep first. You look like shit.”
I laughed. “You were on the same ride, Dutch.”
“Yeah, but I look like this all the time.”
