Stone stepped closer. “You joined the military because of her.”
It wasn’t a question.
Rook didn’t deny it.
Fish lifted his chin slightly. “Running doesn’t fix what broke you,” he said quietly. “Just teaches you how to hide it.”
Rook swallowed hard. The words hit too close. Too true.
Stone exhaled slowly. “And now she’s back.”
“Yeah,” Rook said, voice low. “And I don’t know what the hell to do with that.”
Grim pushed off the wall, stepping closer. “You still love her.”
Rook’s head snapped up, glare sharp enough to cut steel. “Don’t.”
Havoc shrugged, palms up. “Man, you’re the only one who thinks that’s a secret.”
Ledger nodded once, matter-of-fact. “Statistically speaking, your behavior aligns with unresolved romantic attachment.”
Grim groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Ledger, for the love of God…”
Stone cut them all off with a single word. “Enough.”
The room stilled instantly. Even the hum of the overhead bulb seemed to quiet.
Stone ignored the tension. “You don’t have to figure it out tonight,” he said. “But you do have to face it.”
Rook looked away.
He didn’t want to face it. Didn’t want to feel it. Didn’t want to admit that Avery Brooks still had the power to break him with a single look.
Stone stepped closer, hand firm on his shoulder. “We’ve got you. Whatever this turns into.”
Rook swallowed hard.
The Saints weren’t just a club. They were the bridge between the boy he’d been with Avery and the soldier he’d become without her. When the military chapter ended—when he lost the only family he’d managed to build after she left—the MC was the only place that made sense.
They filled the hollow places he didn’t talk about.
And now that she was back… every part of him felt dangerously close to cracking open again.
Chapter 7
Avery
A week later, Avery felt like she’d been scraped raw.
Her arms ached from scrubbing. Her eyes were puffy from crying. Her heart felt bruised in places she didn’t know still existed. But she forced herself out of bed; if she didn’t keep moving, she’d drown in everything she didn’t want to face.
She spent the morning cleaning until her stomach growled loud enough to echo. The pantry was empty except for a bag of flour that expired three years ago and a jar of cinnamon that smelled like dust. Tired of takeout, she grabbed her keys and headed to the front door.
She paused with her hand on the knob.
Something felt… off.
Not wrong. Not dangerous. Just… off. Like the air had shifted. Like the bakery was holding its breath.
