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“Hot Shot is almost finished with repairs on your bike,” Big G said, pulling the passenger door open as I approached. “He’ll drop her off at your place when she’s done.”

“You probably shouldn’t be riding a bike yet anyway,” Baby Doll said from the driver’s seat. “Give those painkillers a day or two to wear off first. It’s nice to see you properly clothed and back on your feet again, Prez.”

“All I need now is a drink and I’ll be good as new,” I said.

“Didn’t the doctor tell you to take it easy?” she protested.

I turned to look at her.

“When have I ever followed orders?”

She cocked her head with a half-shrug.

“Good point. I guess that means we’re heading to the clubhouse instead of taking you home where you should be resting.”

Big G climbed into the back of the van, sliding the door shut. He reached over my shoulder and deposited something in my palm with a metallic clink.

I glanced down to see my wedding ring on a silver chain, coiled there in my hand.

“Found it on the pavement after the crash,” he said. “I thought I’d keep it safe until you were out of the hospital. Didn’t want the nurses to lose it.”

I traced the slim gold band with one fingertip. Hattie didn’t wear hers anymore. But I didn’t have the guts to get rid of mine. Couldn’t bear how cold and empty I felt without it.

Hooking the chain around my neck again, I tucked the ring into the collar of my shirt. The cool metal settled against my skin, next to my heart. Where Hattie would always belong.

Didn’t matter if I signed those fucking divorce papers. Didn’t matter that we had been separated for over a decade, and there was no chance of mending what had been broken.

I made a vow all those years ago.

For better or worse.

In sickness and in health.

For rich or for poor.

Until death do us part.

And I didn’t take my oaths lightly.

Hattie is my wife. The love of my life. As long as there was breath in my body, that would never change. Paperwork be damned.

I thought about pulling out my phone, calling to see if Hattie was still in town. Had she fled back to Washington as soon as possible? I knew she had family in Brightwater—her sister, a handful of friends, and her mother, since that stubborn old broad would outlive me purely through spite alone.

Hattie and I could meet up for coffee and chat…

I shook my head, banishing the idea. Desperately grasping at any excuse to see her again would only cause more harm than good.

Ten minutes later, we arrived at the Blackjacks clubhouse. Years ago, it used to be a bustling train station for old-fashioned steam locomotives. Abandoned in the 1950s for anew, modernized train station, it fell into disrepair, neglected, crumbling, and covered in graffiti.

The Blackjacks scraped together nearly every penny we owned to rescue it from demolition. We spent every weekend for two years straight gutting the place, rebuilding it, and transforming it into our safe haven.

Now, we called it our home away from home.

At this hour of the day, just shy of 3pm, I counted six motorcycles in the parking lot, indicating over half the club was present. Seated on the curb was a young man in his twenties, with a buzzed haircut and baggy jeans, tossing pebbles across the pavement.

“What's that kid doing here?” I said.

“I told him we weren’t looking for a new Prospect,” Big G replied. “But he won’t give up.”