Page 27 of My Older Biker

We go inside together.

Dean heads for the kitchen. Pulls out eggs and bread without asking if I'm hungry. The domesticity of it—him knowing I need to eat even when I don't want to, him moving around his kitchen making breakfast for us—makes my throat tight all over again.

I sit at the table and watch him crack eggs into a pan. Watch him butter toast. Watch him move with the efficient grace of someone who's been taking care of himself for a long time and is just starting to learn how to take care of someone else too.

He brings two plates to the table. Scrambled eggs and toast. Simple. Perfect.

We eat in silence. His foot hooks around my ankle under the table. The touch is casual but grounding.

After, we clean up together. He washes. I dry. Our rhythm is already established even though we've only been doing this for two days.

When the kitchen is clean he pulls me against his chest. His heartbeat is steady under my ear.

"What are you thinking?" he asks.

"That my cat is still at my apartment and I haven't checked on him in two days."

Dean's chest rumbles with quiet laughter. "That's what you're thinking about?"

"Hamlet needs food. And his litter box is probably disgusting."

"We can go get him. Bring him here."

The casual way he says it—like of course my cat would come here, like of course this is where I live now—makes something settle in my chest.

"What if he doesn't like it here?" I ask.

"Then we'll figure it out. But he's part of the package. Where you go, he goes."

I tilt my head back to look at him. "You're really okay with this? Me basically moving in after three days?"

"You're already here. Might as well make it official."

"What about my lease?"

"We'll handle it. Break it or sublet it or keep it until it runs out. Whatever you need."

"And if my dad never comes around? If choosing me means losing him?"

Dean cups my face. His palms are rough against my skin. "Then I lose him. But I don't lose you. That's the choice I made and I'm not taking it back."

"Even if it hurts?"

"Even then."

I kiss him. Hard and desperate. Trying to convey everything I don't have words for.

When I pull back I say, "I need to tell you something."

"Okay."

"I was scared when you left last night. More scared than I've ever been. And when you came back bleeding I realized that this is what my life looks like now. Waiting. Wondering. Being terrified that you won't come home."

"I know."

"But I also realized something else." I press my hand flat against his chest. "I'd rather have you and be scared than not have you and be safe. That's probably not healthy. My therapist would probably have opinions about it. But it's true."

His arms tighten around me. "We're both a little fucked up then. Because I feel the same way about you."