Page 89 of Catcher

I sit down. “Don’t thank me yet.”

Ruby studies me through the silence. The air between us feels different now, closer, heavier, not awkward anymore. Just charged with too many truths sitting out in the open.

She closes her eyes briefly. When she opens them again, there’s guilt sitting there so thick it twists something ugly in my chest. Silence stretches between us, broken only by rain against the glass and distant hospital noise in the hallway. “What happens now?”

I drag a hand over my jaw. “You’re coming back to the clubhouse.”

“Catcher.”

“Not gonna argue with you about this, babe.”

Her eyes narrow slightly. “You don’t get to bulldoze me at every turn and make decisions for me.”

“The hell I don’t,” I say, and it comes out wrecked around the edges.

Ruby says nothing.

“Ready to get out of here?”

Ruby sighs, conceding, for now. “Yeah.”

The drive back to the clubhouse happens just as daylight starts bleeding out of the sky. It’s that strange Louisiana hour when the sun hangs low and heavy behind dark storm clouds, casting streaks of orange and deep blue across wet pavement as the city shifts from daytime noise to nighttime chaos.

Ruby sits beside me in the truck, wearing a pair of borrowed sweats and an oversized hoodie that one of the women brought up to the hospital for her. The sleeves swallow her hands. Her curls are piled messily on top of her head, bruises visible along the side of her face. Seeing what they did to her keeps dragging violence right back to the surface inside me every time I look at her.

The windshield wipers drag rhythmically across the glass while the city glows around us in blurred streaks of color and wet concrete.

Ruby stays mostly quiet, tired and hurting, but now and then, I catch her glancing toward me as though she’s trying to read whatever’s happening inside my head. And if I’m honest with myself, I want her to know.

Ruby’s fingers twist together in her lap.

Outside, dusk settles heavier over the city with every block we pass, and the closer we get to the clubhouse, the more tension I feel rolling off her. It’s not exactly fear, but more like nerves, as if she understands that coming back here tonight changes something between us.

I park the truck, climb out, and stroll around to the passenger side. I open the door, unbuckle Ruby, and scoop her into my arms.

She lets out a tired breath against my shoulder. “Catcher, I can walk.”

I don’t respond, close the truck door, and head inside.

The clubhouse is loud, the kind of noise that comes from too many people packed into one space, carrying tension they’re trying not to show. Voices overlap near the bar, glasses clink, and the smell of whiskey, coffee, leather, cigarettes, and something cooking hangs thick in the air while brothers move in and out of rooms, handling lockdown business. The second I step through the front door with Ruby tucked against my chest, the conversation dips.

Ruby’s arm tightens around my neck when I start toward the stairs. She’s light, but I still move carefully because every bruise on her body feels burned into my own skin.

“Everybody’s staring,” she mutters quietly.

“Let them.”

Kiwi whistles low from somewhere near the bar. “Damn, mate. You move fast.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I grump.

Nova raises his whiskey glass slightly. “You’re one of us now, brother.”

Ruby hides her face briefly against my shoulder, embarrassed. I keep moving upstairs while Ruby huffs softly in irritation against my chest. “You can put me down now.”

“No.”

“You’re impossible.”