Page 49 of The Fates We Tame

“I don’t want to talk to any of them, but I don’t want them to go to the police or something to issue a missing person report,” she says.

“So, send them a message. Take a photograph of your wedding ring. Tell them it’s done and that you aren’t coming back to them. Tell them you know what they planned. Or saynothing at all. The police come looking and we’ll tell ‘em how fucking happy we are, right? I’ll call the center and we’ll let them know we left, you can reassure them there is no duress, and that we’ll be back to figure out outpatient treatment or something. Fuck, I’ll pay our team to come visit us in Asbury Park.”

Sophia shakes her head and looks down at the marriage certificate in her lap. “The center won’t do that.”

“Eyes on me,” I say. And I wait until she does before I say, “Good girl. They will for enough money.”

I reach for Sophia’s hand and link our fingers in a way that leaves her ring on full display. “Take the picture, Sparrow.”

She smiles and then does as I say.

“We have a family group chat. I’ll put it in there. They’re going to lose their shit.”

I turn in my seat and cup her cheek. “You see all those men waiting for us to pull out of our parking spot?”

She looks out to where King and the others are lined up behind us, waiting for us to go. “Yeah?”

“They’ve got our backs. No one is going to take my wife.”

Sophia smiles. “I like the way you say that.”

“Say what?”

“‘My wife.’ Like it means something.”

I run my knuckle down her cheek. “Because it does mean something. I’ve never had a wife before. Might be kind of fun to try and make her fall in love with me.”

“You keep saying things like that and it might happen. And then where would we be?”

I release her fingers and turn on the truck as I think about her question. Then the answer comes to me. “Happily married. That’s where we’d be.”

I wait as Sophia types her message, then turns off her phone.

“You good, Sparrow?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

When we pull into the clubhouse lot hours later, familiarity slides through me. It’s the same, but not. There have been many changes to the exterior in the past decade. But the nostalgia wraps me in a blanket labelledhome.

I park the truck and study the building. The Iron Outlaws logo sits on the wall, illuminated by three spotlights. There are already bikes parked, but there is a space reserved for the eight riders who came to join me today.

We’re obviously a close unit of senior officers.

I only wish I knew how to step back into this group and be a medic again.

I’m not even sure what my value is to the club right now, besides being a physically subpar warm body.

Sophia is asleep next to me, exhausted after a long and physically arduous day. She’s lost her family, gained a husband, left the facility that has been her safety for months—and she’s still living with the daily complexities of her injuries.

I place my palm on her knee and shake her gently. “Sophia, sweetheart.”

She gasps quietly, then yawns and looks around. “Where are we?”

“The Iron Outlaws clubhouse in Asbury Park like we talked about.”

“Is this where you live?” she asks. I can’t decide if there is disappointment in her tone.

“No. I have a house about ten minutes away from here, but I’m…”