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EPILOGUE TWO: ATOM

FIVE YEARS AGO

S weat trickles down my temples and the side of my neck as I check the hay to see if it’s ready for baling. I lift my Stetson and wipe my forehead with the blue and white bandana before stuffing it back in the rear pocket of my jeans.

“You gotta measure and monitor the moisture content for four days before baling,” my grandpa used to say when I was old enough to follow him around the Oakum Ridge Ranch that has been in my family for over a hundred years.

He also used to quote Marcus Aurelius.

A lot.

Accept the things to which fate binds you.

Used to say that one all the time. Through bad winters or wet summers. When the hay went moldy or a wild animal killed expensive cattle.

As I look towards the mountains, I consider the difference between fate and destiny.

Some people think they’re opposites.

Fate can’t be fucked with. It’s yours, predestined and predetermined before you’re even a twinkle in your old man’s eyes.

Destiny, on the other hand, is the sum of all the twists and turns and decisions you make in life.

But as I look out over land that will be mine one day, I don’t really care whether it was destiny or fate or free will that brought me here.

The truth is, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

I’m only twenty-five, but I already oversee the running of much of the ranch. And I’m a patched-in member of the Iron Outlaws Motorcycle Club that has a clubhouse on a small corner of the acres we own.

When I have more say in the long-term strategy for the ranch, I want to propose we combine the two more. We have land we can grow weed in without prying eyes. We can launder more money through the ranch in return for a fee. Grandpa isn’t a fan, and while I don’t wish for his demise, it’ll be easier to run this place the way I want when Pa is in charge.

The hay is bone dry, zero moisture, ready for baling, which means tomorrow will be hard work. But there’s something rewarding about earning an ice-cold beer at the end of the day. I feel the thud of horseshoes on the parched dirt that runs alongside the field before I see the horse.

Lemmy, the dark bay Holsteiner lives in our stables, but he isn’t ours. I take him out for a ride every now and then. But he’s a thing of beauty when he’s ridden by his owner.

And the strawberry-blonde hair that flies behind the rider can only mean one thing. She’s back.

Ember Deeks is home for the summer.

And I can tell that she missed Lemmy as much as he missed her. She named him after Lemmy Kilmister, the founder and lead singer of Butcher’s favorite band, Motorhead.

They practically fly together, moving in such seamless synchronicity that when they jump to clear a fallen tree stump, it’s a thing of beauty.

I raise my hand and watch as Ember brings Lemmy around and trots along the edge of the fence to the gate. Once there, she dismounts in a way that gives me a view of that perfect peach of an ass clad in tight denim. Even in her riding boots and a T-shirt, she’s a fucking picture.

And utterly off-limits. Her father, Butcher Deeks, is the president of the Iron Outlaws Colorado chapter. A man with little patience and an iron-clad promise that he’ll chop the hands off any biker who touches his now twenty-one-year-old daughter.

She ties off Lemmy to the gate post, then walks towards me, the late afternoon sunshine behind her casting a halo through her hair. She’s always been pretty. Tall and curvy with a captivating smile. But as she’s become a woman, she’s turned into a real beauty.

“Hudson Addams,” she says in that throaty rasp of hers. “I should have known I’d find you out in the pasture on a day like today.”

When we were kids, Butcher would bring her to the clubhouse with him so she could visit the horses. She loved them as much as I did, and we rode out here together every chance we got.

“It’s Atom now,” I say, trying to create distance with my words as she closes the gap between us. “You just get in?”

“First, I’ve known you as Hudson a lot longer than I’ve known you as Atom. Second, I’m not a biker, so I don’t need to call you by your biker road name. And third, yeah. It was nice to go to the Hamptons for a little while with Chloe after school finished, but to be honest, I was bored shitless.”

I smile at that. Ember has never really loved stereotypical girl things. She’s not a big shopper, has a face that’s free of make-up, revealing freckles that get stronger every summer, and loves nothing more than camping out down by the river.

“Thought you’d gone to the beach.”

She rolls her eyes. “I did. But the beach is boring if all you do is lie around in a bikini on towels and try to spot cute men. I read three books, swam every day, and endured more sand in private creases than any woman should ever have to.” Her nose crinkles in disgust.

I try not to think about how good her tits probably looked in that bikini. Even better than that fitted T-shirt she’s wearing right now, for sure, which is saying a lot because it reveals an inch of skin below its cropped hem. And the mention of private creases causes my cock to stir in my denim.

“Sounds fucking awful,” I say, sarcastically.

She pokes her tongue out. “I probably sound ungrateful.”

“You sound very you, Ember.”

“Plus, I missed this place.” She opens her arms wide and twirls in the pasture. “No sand. No pretense. Just good old fashioned clean air, wide open spaces, and only one good looking man.”

I raise an eyebrow in warning at her flirting and tip my chin in the direction of Lemmy as a distraction. “He missed you. I took him out a few times, but he doesn’t enjoy himself as much when it’s not you riding him.” I grab for my water bottle and take a large gulp.

Can’t decide if it’s this arid air or the woman standing in front of me making my mouth dry.

She flicks her hair over her shoulder, dramatically. “He has good taste. Wouldn’t you like me riding you, best, too?”

When I cough and splutter and choke on the water, she laughs, the sound of it fluttering through the air.

The laughter lights up her face, all the way to the corners of her eyes. “I love teasing you, Hudson.”

“Well, please don’t. If you do it in future, I might have a heart attack. And if I don’t die from that, your dad will make sure he puts an end to me. So, for both our sakes, don’t.” The final word comes out a little firmer than I intended it to.

She went away to college a girl, and she’s come home a woman.

A woman I could see myself building a life with. If she was anyone else’s daughter, I’d even fight for a chance to make it happen because we love so many of the same things. Have since we were kids growing up in the shadow of the club.

But I’m not the man for her. And in no world is she the woman for me.

It doesn’t matter how you define destiny and fate.

Ember Deeks can’t be mine.

No matter how badly I might want her to be.

I hate the hurt I put in her eyes. “Sorry, Ember. But I think we need some new ground rules.”

Her plump pink lip pouts. “What rules?”

“This.” I gesture between the two of us. “You know it can’t lead anywhere, right?”

She steps forward, takes both my hands in hers, and I let her. “Hear me out, Hudson. What if we tried? What if we talked to Dad together? We could ask your dad to help us. I’m not asking for forever, Hudson. I just…” She blows out a breath, then returns her gaze to mine. “We’ve danced around this for the last year when I’ve been home. You must know I like you, and I’m pretty sure you like me. I just want you to take me on a date. Away from here and the club and the world you’re part of. Take me dancing or take me to dinner. Even better, take me camping and we’ll cook steaks on an open fire and listen for the nightjars.”

I allow myself a moment to see the dream she’s creating. We’d ride out, sleep without a tent and perhaps even fall in love beneath the stars.

Then I take a hammer to it.

“We can’t, Ember.”

“We can. Dad might take some talking around, but we could ask some of the?—”

“I don’t think of you like that, Em. You’re just a friend. Sorry if I ever made you think otherwise.” I force the lie out.

Not sure I’ve ever seen a person deflate quite the way Ember does. Her shoulders drop, lines of confusion appear on the bridge of her nose.

“Oh, God. I’m sorry.” She backs away, then turns on the heel of her boot.

“Ember,” I shout when she reaches her horse. But she doesn’t turn back.

She mounts Lemmy, and whatever instruction she gives him makes him take off like he just heard lightning.

And I know how he feels. Because Ember Deeks just offered me her heart, and turning her down broke mine.