Page 20 of Charging Dodge

Hulk nods, a slow, solemn movement that tells me he appreciates the gesture, even if he isn't ready to spill his guts right now. He watches me for a second, then pulls his gaze away, focusing on the house again.

“Thanks, Pres,” he murmurs. His voice is quieter now, stripped of the jagged edge it held before. “I'll keep that in mind.”

“Do that,” I reply. Stepping inside, the sudden warmth of the house hits me like a physical weight, and Adalynn's voice drifts through the opening. The rich scent of coffee fills the air, standing in sharp contrast to the cold, hard reality waiting just outside the door. I pause, taking a long breath to force the tight tension from my spine. These people need me to be their rock. If I crack, the entire foundation will crumble.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Adalynn

Three days have dragged by, and the tension in the house feels like a physical thing I can touch. Dodge is pacing from the kitchen to the porch and back again like he’s a live wire. Every time a bike engine revs out on the road or a door slams, he stops dead in his tracks, his muscles bunching up like he’s ready to fight.

I set my coffee mug down on the counter and walk over to him. He is staring out the window, his jaw locked so tight it looks painful.

“You're wearing a path into the rug,” I say, keeping my voice low.

He turns, but his eyes don't focus on me. He's somewhere else entirely. “I just don't like not knowing,” he mutters. “Rebel said they'd have info, but it's been radio silence since they caught the motherfucker.”

I reach out and put my hand on his arm. He's vibrating with pent-up energy. “You're killing yourself with the waiting. Come sit down.”

He looks at my hand like he's just now realizing I'm standing there. He lets out a long, suffering breath and nods, but he doesn't move toward the chairs. “I can't sit. If I sit, I'll start thinking about what they're dealing with out at that warehouse.”

I step into his space, forcing him to look at me instead of the perimeter. “You've got guys handling it. Good guys. You have to trust them.”

“I do trust them,” he says, frustration leaking into his tone. “It's the not being there that eats at me. I'm the one who's supposed to handle the threats.”

“You're the one who keeps this family together,” I counter. “And right now, that means staying here and being present. Not pacing around like you're expecting an attack.”

He finally lets out a shaky laugh and pulls me against his chest. His heart's hammering against my palms. "Even though you’ve been in my life for a short amount of time, you seem to always know what to say to pull me back, don't you?”

“Someone has to,” I tell him in a teasing tone, leaning my head against his shoulder. “You've been up for three days straight. Just let it go for an hour.”

He wraps his arms around me, holding on tight. “An hour,” he agrees, though his eyes still flicker toward the front door. “Just an hour.” I lead him to the recliner and push him into it, he’s so damn tired that his limbs go limp and he doesn’t fight me on it. Once his head sinks into the cushion and his eyes close, I kick his legs back and lean the recliner down. When a snore emits from his lips, I let out a breath of relief. I watch his chest rise and fall, the deep, ragged breaths finally evening out into sleep. It's the first real rest he's had in days. I don't move, afraid that even a shift in the air might wake him.

Miranda walks into the living room, her footsteps silent on the hardwood. She stops beside the recliner, looking down at her son with an expression that's soft but weary. She holds a thick wool blanket in her arms.

“You’re good for him,” she says quietly, her voice barely a whisper in the dim room. She holds the blanket out to me.

I take it, and drape it over my arm, contemplating on putting it on him. What if the weight of it wakes him? He needs to catch some shut-eye because as of now, he’s running on fumes. “He's just exhausted, Miranda. He's been running on nothing but adrenaline.”

She shakes her head, her gaze drifting back to Dodge's face. “It's not just the exhaustion. I haven't seen him drop his guard like this in years. He’s been carrying the weight of his club on his shoulders since he took the mantle, and he’s forgotten how to put it down.”

I gently unfold the blanket and tuck it around Dodge's shoulders, careful not to disturb him. “I'm going to make sure he learns how to rest,” I promise, meeting her eyes. “He doesn't have to carry it all by himself anymore.”

Miranda offers a small, sad smile. She clears her throat and informs me of something I already know. “He’s stubborn. He thinks asking for help is a weakness.”

“Then I'll just have to be more stubborn than he is,” I say.

She rests a hand on my arm, her touch firm and warm. “I think you’re exactly what he needs, Adalynn. Just promise me you won't let him push you away when things get loud in his head again.”

I look back at Dodge. “I’m not going anywhere. He’s stuck with me.”

Seeming satisfied, Miranda nods and heads back to the kitchen, leaving me to watch over him. The front door swings open as Hulk steps inside. Pressing a finger to my lips, I shush him instantly, making sure he doesn't speak and wake Dodge up.

Hulk glances at his president and shakes his head. He waves me in his direction then steps outside. Once I’m standing beside him, he tells me, “He does this from time-to-time. Especially when shit hits the fan.”

“What, doesn’t sleep?” I ask.

“He won't sleep even for a second, and he expects everyone else to maintain his pace,” Hulk complains, pouting his bottom lip in a way that makes me chuckle.