Page 28

The front door swishes open, the overhead chime giving an annoyingly cheerful ding . I set the paper down and glance up, my gaze landing on Remy in running pants, a sweat-soaked shirt and road-worn sneakers.

Not in the mood to deal with him . “Did you run all the way here?”

He stops short and stares at me. “What are you doing here?”

“Sully needed to run home.” I walk around to the front of the desk. “I said I’d watch the place for him.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Keep the riffraff out.”

He snorts and gives me a pointed look. “Too late.”

“Aren’t you clever.”

He rests his hands on his hips and blows out a breath.

“Can you not bust my nuts today? I’ve already had a shit morning.

” He points to his sneakers with both fingers.

“Molly’s pissed at me. Left behind a parting prank before heading back to school.

I’ve been finding wads of paper stuffed in the toes of my sneakers all week long. ”

Laughter explodes out of me. “I knew I liked that kid.”

“She hit literally every pair of shoes I own.” He laughs with me. “I had it coming, but still.”

“At least you admit it.”

“Yeah, to you .” He taps his chest. “As her big brother, I gotta maintain the illusion that I’m always right.”

That lands harder than it should, wiping the last traces of humor off my face.

Jezzie and I will never have a playful, play-pranks-on-each-other kind of relationship.

Cain and I sure won’t either. Hell, if we do, it won’t be something cute like paper in my shoes. Probably more like shards of glass in my coffee.

As if he senses the shift in my mood, Remy approaches slowly. “I forget to mention it last night, but I think we’re finally having that welcome home party for Griff. I spoke to Wrath, extended an invite to the whole club, but since I ran into you, I wanted to mention it.”

“Yeah, about time. He’s been home for a while, hasn’t he? He doing all right?”

He lifts his shoulders. “Better?—”

The front door swishes open again. A gust of cool morning air follows Jake as he hustles inside. His gaze goes straight for the front desk and lands on me. “Hey, Jiggy. Thanks for holding things down.”

“Not a problem.”

He nods to Remy, then strides over and offers a quick handshake. His other hand is clutching what looks like a breakfast sandwich wrapped in foil. “I got it from here.”

I give Jake a quick clap on the shoulder, say goodbye to Remy, collect my stuff and head out the front door.

Outside, I stand on the sidewalk and breathe in the morning.

Exhaust fumes, and fryer grease from the diner two blocks down drift in the breeze.

The strip of stores lining each side of the street looks like something from an antique postcard.

Swear it feels like a scene straight out of the 1950s.

Two- and three-story brick buildings with wide, plate glass windows house a mix of different shops and businesses. Almost looks frozen in time.

Next to Sully’s gym, there’s a florist. I should really get Margot something since I bounced so early this morning. I glance at my phone. I probably have time to run back to her place and still make it to church on time. Flowers would get trashed on the way there, though.

She doesn’t like flowers. Shit. How’d I forget? She deals with flowers all the time for work. They represent death more than romance to her.

I glance across the street. Steep Dreams . A colorful tea kettle is painted on the window along with lettering that announces they sell exotic, hard to find teas. Does Margot even like tea that much?

After the florist, there’s a women’s boutique with a display of long flowery dresses in the window. I should buy Margot a new dress and bra to replace the ones I destroyed on our woodland chase and fuck adventure. The memory turns the corners of my mouth up. We need a repeat of that. Soon.

She’s never going to let you near her again—in the woods or anywhere else—if you keep shutting her out every time something bothers you.

I glance at the dresses again and second-guess myself. She’s sensitive about her body. If I screw up the size, too big or too small, doesn’t matter—it’ll sting either way.

Hands in my pockets, I keep moving down the sidewalk, searching for something else. A laundromat catches my eye. Black-and-orange For Sale sign in the window. Not sure if it’s the machines or the whole damn business, but I stop anyway.

The place looks clean. Bright. Spotless white industrial floors. White walls with colorful posters of jellyfish. Machines aren’t brand new, but they’ve been upgraded within the last few years. Maintained by someone who gave a shit—nothing’s leaking, floor’s dry, coin boxes aren’t janky.

This is something I at least have experience with. I’m starting to feel like a bum not having a real job to go to like normal people. Maybe this is the answer. Club’s been wanting to have more of a presence out this way.

I pull the door open, and the bell overhead gives a half-hearted jingle. A guy in his sixties looks up from behind the counter and sets the newspaper in his hands down on the counter.

“Help you with something?” he asks. Friendly tone, but cautious eyes.

I nod toward the window. “The sign. What’s for sale? The building? The business?”

His brows lift. “Whole thing. Building, machines, couple steady commercial accounts—the gym next door, local salon, and a few restaurants.”

Well, shit. That’s better than our place downstate that mostly relies on walk-ins, hopes, and dreams to stay afloat.

“Got two solid employees I’d like to see keep their jobs,” he adds.

That might actually work. Club can’t spare too many guys anyway. “All right.”

I glance around again. Looks even better inside. “Place is in good shape.”

“My wife and I spent twenty-two years making sure of it.” He shifts his gaze to the window. “She passed and it’s too hard being here without her.”

Aw, fuck. “I’m so sorry.”

He nods stiffly. “Moving to Arizona. Can’t take the damn cold and snow anymore.”

“I hear that.” I walk around a bank of washers. “Machines look newer.”

“Swapped ’em out between two and four years ago. Didn’t think I’d be… well, anyway. Speed Queens. Solid and easy to fix. I kept the manuals, service logs. Got everything documented.”

“You do the maintenance?”

He nods. “Most of it. Called in help when I needed it. But I kept the place running.”

I rub the back of my neck, thoughts spinning. “How soon you looking to sell?”

“As soon as someone’s serious,” he says, studying me. “You serious?”

“Maybe,” I answer, then glance back at the sign. “I have to talk to...my people.”

He drops his gaze to my patches and lifts an eyebrow. “Your club?”

“Yeah. That a problem?”

“Not with me.”

We swap info. He reaches under the counter and pulls out a packet of papers—financials, equipment list, service logs, all neat and organized.

Looks like something I’ll be handing to Teller when I get to church.

Excited about the possible new business venture, I ask for a quick tour, and when we’re done duck out the back door into the same lot where I left my bike. It’s getting late.

I stuff the packet in my saddlebag, swing a leg over my bike and fire it up, the rumble grounding me.

The ride out of Johnsonville gives me too much time to think. Cold wind cuts through my flannel as I open up the throttle, heading for the clubhouse. No traffic, just the hum of my bike and the buzz in my skull.

I roll into the lot and, as I figured, only a few guys from downstate have made it here so far.

Z’s bike and his wife’s SUV are at the far end of the lot.

Must mean his family stayed here last night.

Fuck. Most of the guys probably stayed at the other clubhouse once they wrapped up the funeral after-party.

We’ve only held church down there a handful of times, though.

So, I’m in the right place. I park along the fence line.

My gaze drifts to the trail that cuts into the woods.

Instantly, I picture Margot here the night of the bonfire. She held her own with my brothers, didn’t flinch when the bunnies hassled her, and was so sweet to my brothers’ kids.

She fits so perfectly into my club. Even Wrath said she’s good ol’ lady material and it usually takes a while to win him over.

What the fuck am I doing? Sneaking out of her place like she’s some fling I want to forget, when she’s the only future I want? The only peace I’ve ever felt.

I pull my phone out, lean on my bike, and call her.