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Raven’s eyebrow goes up again. “He got stabbed by you.”

“Technically, yes.”

“And he’s still with you.”

“Also technically yes.”

Raven looks at Harper. Harper looks at Mama M. Mama M looks at all of us and sighs.

“Well,” Mama M says, “at least we know she’s got good aim.”

Harper chokes on her coffee. Raven’s smirk deepens into something almost approaching a smile.

“The stab wound was clean,” Harper admits, wiping her mouth. “I saw the scar when Walker was changing yesterday. Whoever stitched it up wasn’t half bad.”

“The club doctor did it,” I say. “Slipper.”

“Slipper’s a real doctor?” Harper’s eyes widen. “I thought he was just ... I don’t know, a guy with a first aid kit and a lot of confidence.”

“He’s thorough.” I think about his careful hands, his quiet observation, the way he touched me like he was memorizing something sacred. “Unusual but good at what he does.” I forget that he has been around for a lot longer than just the handful of years he was helping my father’s club. People all over the state know him.

“He’s a creep,” Raven says flatly.

“He’s gentle,” I counter. “There’s a difference.”

Raven tilts her head, considering. “Fine. You’ve got a point. Still weird though.”

The tension in the room eases a fraction. Not gone, Raven still hasn’t uncrossed her arms, and Harper’s posture remains alert, but the sharp edges have been blunted. Temporarily.

I eat. The eggs are good, better than anything I’ve had in months. Mama M watches me with the satisfied expression of a woman who believes food solves most problems and is rarely wrong about it.

“So,” Harper says, leaning forward. “Judge.”

I look up. “What about him?”

“You love him?”

The question lands like a grenade with the pin pulled. I freeze, fork halfway to my mouth, and every woman at the table watches me squirm.

“I...” I set the fork down. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s really not,” Raven says. “Either you do, or you don’t.”

“She’s stalling,” Harper observes. “That means she does and doesn’t want to admit it.”

“Or she does and is terrified of what that means,” Mama M adds quietly.

All three look at me.

I stare at my plate. The eggs blur. My chest aches with something I’ve been trying to bury since the first night in that dirty alley outside the Rusted Spur.

“I tried to kill him,” I whisper. “Twice. And both times, I couldn’t finish it. Not because I was afraid of failing. Because I was afraid of losing him.”

Silence.

Raven uncrosses her arms. It’s small, but it’s everything.

“Welcome to the club, sweetheart,” she says. “We’ve all dated men we should’ve killed.”