Page 23 of My Older Biker

The vulnerability in that admission makes my chest ache. "I won't."

"You don't know that."

"Yes I do." I cover his hand with both of mine. "I've spent a year thinking about this. A year watching you avoid me. A year being sure. You're the one who's been fighting it. Not me."

He's quiet for a long moment. Then he nods once. "Alright. Let's do this."

We get out together. Walk up the front path side by side. Dean's hand finds the small of my back. The touch is deliberate. Anyone looking at us would know immediately what we are to each other.

The front door opens before we reach it.

Dad stands in the doorway in jeans and a black t-shirt. No cut. His hair is damp from a recent shower but his eyes are bloodshot. He looks like he hasn't slept. Like he's been carrying something heavy for too many hours.

His eyes move from Dean's face to mine, then down to where Dean's hand rests on my back.

The muscle in his jaw jumps.

"Come in," he says. His voice is flat.

We follow him inside. The house smells like coffee and the lingering ghost of cigarette smoke even though Dad quit two years ago. I grew up in this house. Know the creak on the third floorboard. The loose handle on the bathroom sink. The way afternoon light falls through the kitchen window and makes patterns on the linoleum.

It feels foreign now. Like I'm trespassing.

Dad gestures to the couch. "Sit."

Dean sits. I sit beside him. Not touching but close enough that the space between us feels charged. Dad takes the armchair across from us. Leans forward with his elbows on his knees. His hands clasped.

He looks at Dean for a long time without speaking.

"I sent you to keep her safe," he finally says. "That was forty-eight hours ago."

"I know."

"And in forty-eight hours you went from keeping her safe to—" He stops. His jaw works. "To this."

"It wasn't that simple."

"No?" Dad's voice is dangerously quiet. "Then explain it to me. Make me understand how my best friend of decades ended up with my daughter in two days."

Dean doesn't flinch. "It wasn't two days. I've had feelings for Zoe for a year. Since she was nineteen. I didn't act on them. I stayed away from her. Avoided being in the same room as her. Turned down dinners at your place if I knew she'd be there. I managed it for a whole year, and it worked until Friday when you asked me to pick her up."

Dad's hands tighten. "So, this is my fault?"

"No. It's not anyone's fault. But you put us in close for the first time in a year and she—" Dean glances at me. "She made it clear she'd been feeling the same things I had. And I couldn't keep pretending anymore."

"You could've walked away."

"I tried. Multiple times. She didn't let me."

Dad looks at me. His eyes are hard. "Is that true?"

My throat is tight, but I keep my voice steady. "Yes. I pursued him. He said no. I kept pushing."

"Because he made himself available to be pushed."

"He kept his distance," I say. "What more do you want? He avoided me. He protected you from knowing about it. He did everything right until I forced the issue."

"You're twenty years old, Zoe. You don't get to force issues with men twice your age."