Bethany, six months later

Bethy yelled, lifting her voice so it echoed through the apartment as she reached down to pull her shoe on over her thick sock, “I gotta go to work. Heading to the studio, I’ll be back later.” Ty called something, the words lost in the closing of the door. Bethy was laughing as she walked out because, after almost sixteen years of living with him, she could safely assume it was a request for food. Pushing the button on her key fob, she climbed into her car and made her way through the streets of the neighborhood and out to the main road. Twenty minutes brought her to the darkened parking lot across the street from the studio.

She was already across the street and beside the door to the studio, reaching out to unlock it before she realized she hadn’t heard the alarm on her car beep. Turning, she saw the driver door was open by a few inches, the dome light shining. “Dang it.” Back at the car, she untwisted a kink in the seatbelt, letting it ratchet back into the frame of the car. Beeping her locks, she grinned and headed back into the building, locking the door behind her.

Cans on her ears, she was working at the mixing board when the lights went out. No flicker, no warning, just a hard cut of the electricity. Groaning as she pulled the headset off, she laid it on the console, working by feel to find the door, knowing there would be emergency lighting in the hallway. “Jesus, that was a good track, too.” She hadn’t saved her work yet, which meant everything she’d laid down was lost. “Gonna have to invest in a backup system. I can’t afford to lose work like this.”

She didn’t hear anything except the sound of her own voice. The building was eerily quiet without even the noise of the climate control system. No fans blowing, no equipment buzzing, just silent. Pair that with her being unable to see, and she felt strangely exposed, like someone was watching her. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, and she swung around, turning in place, drawing in breath to scream when her hand hit something unexpected. Something big, and solid, and warm. The scream never left her lungs, silenced when darkness descended.

***

Terror had become a state of being. The only difference from day to day, or sometimes minute to minute, was the intensity of that emotion. She tried to keep it locked down, pushed far away. But sometimes it crept in on her.

Bethy sat on the floor opposite the locked door, eyes closed, belly quivering with dread. She’d found if she didn’t look at him when he brought her food, she could hold onto her control a little. Even a little mattered, because he didn’t like tears. Once she looked at him, as soon as she saw his eyes, the fear would wake, curling around her throat and chest. Bethy would start to hyperventilate and would feel her heart beat in her ears. His eyes, flat and grey, as lifeless as if he were a mannequin, but somehow familiar. Nothing else about him seemed to pick at her memories, nothing except his eyes.

Creepy Guy, she called him in her head, having learned the first day that it didn’t pay to say anything aloud.

She knew she wasn’t the only captive. He was holding another woman, brought in five days after he’d put Bethany into this narrow cell. The room was just wide enough for the cot and a bucket, the metal door had a window in it, meaning she could watch him through it if she wanted. Most days, she didn’t want to. Seeing him meant trying to figure out why she was here, and that led her down dark paths. Paths filled with visions of her father, and Taylor. Of Uncle Ezra, and every terror-filled night of her childhood. Plus, if she could see him, the creepy guy, it meant he might see her. He left her alone most of the time, and as terrifying as the between times were, she was certain she didn’t want him thinking about her too much.

Bethy had heard the other woman screaming at him more than once, yelling unintelligible words with an angry, strident voice, usually after he’d been gone for a couple of days in a row. There didn’t seem to be any kind of schedule for his comings and goings. No rhyme or reason, each interval seemed erratic. He’d be here for two or three days in a row, then gone for two, then back here for a week solid.

The first time he brought in a grocery bag of food Bethany hadn’t known to ask for water. Hadn’t understood the why, because she didn’t have enough data to know this action prefaced him leaving for an extended period. He hadn’t put any water in the bag, so all she had was the one he’d given her for lunch that day. By the time he got back two days later, she was so thirsty and dehydrated she couldn’t stand. He’d opened a bottle and poured it down her throat, uncaring when she’d choked on the unrelenting stream.

After that, when he brought in a bag, she would ask. Polite, eyes to the floor, feeling like the kid in an old English play, asking for more. Her only objective staying alive. She forced herself to picture Michael’s face, imagine his voice telling her to stay strong, keeping him as her goal, a lodestone to lead her forwards. When I get out of here, I’m going to tell him how much I love him. Words she’d held back, never voicing them, because while he might suspect from her actions, she didn’t want him to be conflicted in any way. The Marshalls have given him a good home, and a good life. I’m so blessed they let me be part of it.

When the man brought in a third woman, Bethy had scrambled to the window as soon as she heard the voices. Every time it happened, she was hopeful of rescue. And every time, she was also fearful he would bring his own brand of friends back with him.

He stood the woman in the middle of the room for a long time, not letting her move. Every time the woman would lift her bound hands to try and take the bag off her head, he screamed at her, hitting himself in the face. Shouting, he’d walked the perimeter of the large space, alternately talking to the woman and ranting at no one. Aggressively attacking things in the room like the desk, he’d overturned it with a crash, and then came rattling and hammering on Bethy’s cell door while he screamed at her to get up and watch. Eventually, he seemed to exhaust the well of rage inside him and put the woman into the cell next to Bethy. The difference in sounds told her that the shouting woman was farther away, which meant he had at least three of these rooms.

When the lights went out, she crawled onto her cot and pulled the covers to her shoulders, curling into as small a ball as she could manage. So far, she couldn’t see any way out, and without knowing why he had kidnapped her, she couldn’t figure out if she had leverage at all. Not enough data. “Tomorrow.” She whispered the single word, her voice rasping with disuse. I love you, baby boy. “Tomorrow.”

***

The screaming woke her.

It had been seven days since the third woman was brought in, and the man had been uncharacteristically quiet most of that time. He would move a stool behind the desk and sit for hours, watching. Bethy had become adept at peering through a corner of her window with a single eye, keeping him in sight while feeling hidden. She knew it wasn’t true, but as long as he didn’t glance her way, she could pretend, at least.

Creepy Guy was the only person she’d seen in forever, and sometimes Bethy wondered if this was real. Hungry and thirsty, because he never left enough of anything for her, she felt faint a lot of the time. Maybe that’s why it all seemed surreal. The whole thing. From being in her studio one minute, to shoved into a tiny cell the next. Can this really be happening to me? People didn’t get kidnapped. That was a TV thing, done for drama, highlighted by eerie music. Here, other than the screaming woman, there were only limited noises and no music at all. Music, something she’d lived for since starting at the radio station the first day, was entirely absent. Now, yanked out of the lost space in her head, she lay on the thin mattress and listened, suddenly realizing all sound had stopped.

Bethy climbed out of bed, barely saving herself from falling headlong over the blanket in her rush to get to the window. Cheek pressed to the cold surface of the door, she strained to see something, anything. Moving in jerks and stumbles, the grey-eyed man came into view carrying something wrapped in rags, red liquid dripping in a stuttering stream to the floor. He was coming from the direction of the farthest room. The screaming woman’s room. The screaming woman who was quiet now, silent as the…Bethy shook her head, not willing to finish the thought.

***

Hands over her ears, Bethy sat with her back against the door, trying to hide from the window as best she could. Not that she expected the grey-eyed man to come for her. Not after what she’d heard.

He’d done something unexpected today.

Bethy had been seated against the back wall when her doorknob rattled. Then she heard the latch make a clicking sound. That snick of metal sliding against metal terrifying because she never knew what it preceded. Would it be food and water? The hook on a stick to carry her waste bucket out? The dismembered hand she’d watched him toying with for most of a day? Death on two legs? Lowering her chin, she’d closed her eyes and waited for the sounds that normally accompanied him opening the door. Waiting. Maybe today would be when he came for her, like he had the screaming woman.

But, nothing happened. For minutes she’d sat there waiting, and nothing happened.

Eyes flicking open, her gaze had landed on the door that stood slightly ajar. Traced up and down the narrowest sliver of light that eased in around the edges. Waited for something to happen. This isn’t right. Her door had always been locked from the outside. Always. Unless he was standing in the doorway with a bottle of water to throw at her, or shoving in a box of tasteless food. Always.

Noises had filtered in, tentative footsteps. No voices. The silence had been nearly suffocating.

When Bethy had stepped through the open door for the first time in nearly a month, she had seen two women. He’d come back a day ago with a fourth woman, locking her in the cell on the other side of Bethy’s. And now, it had looked as if they were being released. That didn’t make sense. Her mind had screamed at her, warning of a trick and she’d looked around, finally finding him perched on his stool in the shadows. Then the third woman had shocked her by knowing her name. “Bethy,” she’d whispered, and Bethy had nearly given herself whiplash turning to stare at her. Then the woman told her an impossible truth, something the woman had clearly believed, and fit the few facts Bethy had put together, that this had to be tied to Davy somehow.

“I’m Willa, Mason’s girlfriend. You’re his sister, Bethany.”

Jesus. Just remembering it gave her chills.

Things had happened fast, after that. He’d come close, talking to Willa like he knew her, and Bethy believed he did, because Willa had accused him of kidnapping her, comparing it to something in the past. She’d named the man, Luke Judge, and had put herself between where Bethy and the other woman stood and him as he approached. Protecting them. Davy’s girlfriend.

Then Judge had gone crazy. Crazier, she thought, pressing her palms tighter to the sides of her head. He’d ordered her and the other woman back into their cells. For a moment, Bethy had thought about rushing him. Then he had his hand on Willa’s throat, had lifted her to her toes, choking her. He’d have killed her. In the few seconds of indecision, Willa’s struggling had already gotten weaker, her hands gripping his wrists instead of fighting him. So, Bethy had stared at the other woman. Then they had both backed through the open doors, pushing them closed.

But he didn’t stop choking Willa, hadn’t stopped. Bethy thought he was going to kill her, no matter they’d all complied with his demands. Yelling, screaming like she hadn’t done since the first few days in her cell, Bethy had pounded on the glass. Little smears of blood attested to how hard she’d pounded, hoping to get his attention, hoping to make him stop. I tried to save her, Davy.

Then he took Willa into her cell, and it wasn’t long before the other noises started. The ones that had driven Bethy to cover her ears. She’d been sitting like this for hours. A lifetime.

The sound of a gunshot ripped through the air and Bethy screamed, crossing her arms over her head. “Oh, my God. She’s dead.” Bethy didn’t recognize her own voice. “She’s dead.” Holding her breath, she swallowed a scream, her head repeating the words she wouldn’t allow from her mouth. She’s dead. She’s dead. Davy’s girlfriend. She’s dead.

Nothing happened for a long time, minutes ticking past while she waited for Judge to come for her. He had already killed the second woman, Bethy believed that because the woman had never been quiet, not for this long at least. He’s coming for me. She’s dead, and he’s coming for me. She swallowed. I love you, Davy. Love you, Ty. She swallowed again, tears wet on her cheeks. I love you, Michael. My son. Please know I love you.

Shouting, yelling and screaming, her relief at recognizing Willa’s voice countered by Judge’s angry shouts which were so loud they sounded like he was right on top of her, and Bethy cowered on the floor. Then another gunshot. Hands pressed against her mouth, Bethy kept herself from screaming, repeating her litany of love. Davy, Ty, Michael, I love you. A noise, and for a moment she thought she’d blacked out. Derek, I love you. The door behind her pushed open, and she sprawled on her side, hands lifted to fend off the bullet she knew was coming.

Blinking, staring up, Bethy looked into the pale face of Willa standing over her, gun gripped loosely in one hand, a knife in the other.

***

“Hold up. Wait,” Bethy whispered to Willa, slowing their run, trying to accommodate the slower pace of the third woman, who had introduced herself as Mica. “Wait for Mica.”

“You know where we’re going?” Willa’s question was a whisper, too, and Bethy knew it was because her throat hurt. She was badly bruised; her neck bore dark circles where Judge had choked her. Shaking her head, Bethy didn’t give another answer. There was no way she could know. It was slow going because Willa was injured, and Mica was dealing with the aftereffects from the drugs he’d used to incapacitate her while Bethy was weakened after her weeks in captivity. And, even after running and walking through the woods for hours, they hadn’t come upon a road or even seen a building.

“Away. We’re going away. I grew up in the woods, but these aren’t Kentucky trees. I don’t know where we are. So for right now, we’re just going away.” She leaned sideways, pressed a palm to the bark of a tree and looked over her shoulder back up the trail, thinking for a moment she’d seen something move in the distance. “I wish we’d brought the weapons.” They hadn’t, though. Willa had been adamant, and after what she imagined the woman had been through, Bethy hadn’t pushed her. “Luke Judge was still locked up when we got out of there, but what if he gets out? We can’t take the risk. We gotta get as far away as we can.”

Willa looped her arm through Mica’s, pulling the woman to her side. Whispering, she said, “Luke Morgan. That’s his name, but people call him Judge.”

Bethy stopped, staring at Willa, hearing Davy’s voice as he told her, “Justice Morgan is a powerful man, but he ain’t nothing to us.” Slowly, she asked, “His last name’s Morgan?” She pulled in a breath. “Do you know his daddy’s name?”

Willa tipped her head to the side and chewed her lip. “John. John Morgan. People call him Shooter.”

Bethy bent double, sucking in a hard breath. My nephew was going to kill me.

“Can we go?” That was Mica, and her shaky voice pushed Bethy to get herself back under control. “My husband and son are in Chicago. I need to…I want to go home.”

“We will,” Willa reassured, her voice raw and hoarse. She soothed Mica with the slow caress of her palm up and down her back. “We will, right, Bethy?”

Nodding, Bethy fought against tears. From the few things Willa had said, she knew Luke…Judge had raped her. Raped her, and still she had fought him. Fought him and gained control of the gun she’d used to shoot him. Forced him to release her. She set us all free. “We are all gonna go home,” Bethy vowed. “Every one of us.”

“Willa.” A man’s voice called from behind them, and all three women screamed, Bethy jumping to put herself in front of Willa and Mica. In her fear, it was Luke she saw coming at her, hands out. He was followed by another man, and she again cursed Willa for not letting her bring the gun. “Willa, it’s Hoss, honey.” Bethy blinked, the man’s face gradually resolving into a stranger’s, with warm brown eyes instead of the cold grey ones seen in her nightmares.

“Hoss,” Willa cried, and then pushed past Bethy, running straight at the man. Bethy didn’t know him, didn’t know his face, but she knew he wasn’t Luke. He planted both feet and wrapped his arms around Willa when she hit his chest. Crying, she was sobbing and hiccupping, asking for Davy. She went strangely still when he said Davy was waiting back at the compound.

Mica stood next to Bethy, arm around her waist as she said in a relieved voice, “We’re safe, Bethy. Safe.”

“Who…how do you know them?” Even before she finished asking the question she knew. Between Davy and Watcher, she’d been introduced to enough bikers they were friends with to recognize the type. Hoss and, she squinted, trying to read the name on the second man’s vest, Gunny, had to be with Davy. A third man came into view, his red beard causing her breath to catch in her chest for a moment before realizing she didn’t recognize him. Tater, his vest said. “Davy came for you, Willa. Like you said he would.”

Hoss looked at her then, and said, “Bethany. We’re here for all of you.” He gestured behind her and Mica stepped forwards. “All of you. There’s more back,” he jerked a thumb over his shoulder, “there where y’all were. Watcher’s there, so’s Bones. You know them, right?”

Chin quivering, Bethy nodded, belief finally seeping into her belly. Safe.

On the plane headed back to Chicago and then Fort Wayne, Bethy sat beside Davy, recounting everything she could think of, wanting to purge it from her mind. As she narrated the past weeks, his tension was palpable, muscles all over his body tight. When she told him about Willa trying to protect them, and then in the end saving them all, his jaw moved as he ground his teeth, his jaw clenching repeatedly while he tried to hold onto his composure. Willa had retreated into herself after they got back to the compound. Bethy wondered if it was because Davy was there. Still, he made Willa feel safe enough that she could lean on him, quietly falling apart in his arms.

“She’s pretty amazing, Davy.” He nodded, eyes on a sleeping Willa, and in the intensity of his gaze Bethy saw how much he loved this woman. So much more than just a girlfriend, she thought, a little wistfully. She’s part of his family now. I love you, Michael. “I want to go home, Davy. When can I go back?”

He leaned close and pressed his lips to the side of her head, answering absently, “Soon.”

Still trying to make sense out of everything, Bethy mused, “What I don’t get is why he brought Carrie and Mica. If he had known who I was, it would make more sense. I’d understand me and Willa, because, well”—she pointed at herself—“sister and”—she held her hand out towards Willa—“girlfriend. But why the other two?”

That was when Davy upended her world, showing her that he’d been keeping secrets as big as hers were. “Mica’s been important to me for a long time. A long time. Since the day I met her.” He paused a breath, then said, “Carrie was my boy’s mother.”

Davy has a son. Like her, but not, because from the way he spoke, she knew that his son was in his life. Not like me. “What? Your...boy? You have a boy? Davis Mason, you have a son? I have a nephew?” She knew her voice was loud and saw Willa stirring but couldn’t stop, the pain in her chest fierce, consuming her.

“Well, yeah. I’ve been meaning to tell you—”

As if a child were disposable. A casual afterthought, when to Bethy it would have been a cherished being. “You’ve been…meaning to tell me? How long have you known about this boy?” The look on Davy’s face was unreadable for a minute. Then pain flashed across his features and in that instant Bethy wanted to pull all her words back. He hadn’t meant it that way, and the idea that she could believe he would had hurt him. Changing tactics, Bethy pulled on her DJ experience to drive the conversation in a different direction, picking humor as the only possible option. “Does the child have a name, or do you call him Boy? Like the cat you once named Kitty? Boy?”

Davy turned to Willa, murmuring to her, and Bethy saw this as a retreat she couldn’t allow. She’d driven a wedge without realizing and needed to fix it. Jamming her elbow into his ribs, knowing she couldn’t hurt him, she at least gained his attention.

“Well? Tell me now, it’s as good a time as any. I’m a captive audience.” Those were the wrong words to use, and she pulled in an involuntary breath that hitched, any words silenced in her throat. Davy seemed to realize what had happened, because he offered her the boy’s name in return.

“Chase, his name is Chase. I haven’t known about him that long. Carrie kept him a secret until Watcher found out about him and told me.” Watcher, who has a namesake and doesn’t know it, she thought, fighting tears again.

Forcing her lips into a smile, she murmured, “Chase Mason. How old is he?”

“He’s sixteen now.” That hit hard, because he and her Michael were nearly the same age. If she’d known about Chase, she could have spoiled and doted on him like she’d wanted to do Michael. Damn.

“Sixteen? I have a sixteen-year-old nephew? When did you find out?” Still trying to hide her emotions, she reached out and smacked Davy’s shoulder.

Davy asked, “You wanna meet him?”

Time for humor again, B.T. Without hesitating she said, “Well, duh. Aunt Bethy, I kinda like it. What does he think about having an aunt?”

His words were quiet when he admitted, “He doesn’t know about you. Things were fucked up with Sosa.”

The screaming woman. Bethy had seen the bundle loaded into the belly of the plane and knew what it was. Now I know why Luke…her brain stuttered, and she lost the thread of her thought, caught up in what to call her dead nephew. Luke. Morgan. Judge. None of them seemed real. Creepy Guy. Chase’s mom, killed by his cousin. How sad. “Poor guy, and now you’ll have to tell him his mother is dead.” She turned to look down the plane at Watcher, wishing she could tell him. “Some secrets are harder to keep than others.” Ty had told her that, and she hadn’t understood it at the time. Boy, I do now. “I always knew you were a keeper, Michael Otey. Glad you located him, and more than glad you got him to Davy. How long ago did you find him?”

Watcher grinned at her, and she recognized that look on his face. It was the one Tabby would have right before she would suggest something she knew would get both girls in trouble, but didn’t dare do alone. What in the world is he about to say? “Oh, hard to remember. About four years ago? Does that sound right, Mason?”

“Are you kidding me? You—” She whipped her head to look at Davy and realized Willa was grinning at her, glad beyond words to see the expression on the woman’s face. “—have known I had a nephew for four years? And you didn’t think to mention it at any point?” Hypocrite, she thought, remembering the pictures from Michael’s fifteenth birthday his adopted mother had e-mailed her two months before. You’re worse than a liar, Bethany.

***

Fury

He stared at the blank wall. Blank, mirrored, or decorated with priceless art, it wouldn’t have mattered, because Fury didn’t see anything. His vision had gone red, and he was holding onto his control with the barest of grips.

Shooter’s boy, Judge, had taken Bethany. Along with three other women, one name which made him flinch, because he’d known Carrie before she became a pawn in the Outriders’ schemes, back when she was a fresh-faced girl working at her grandmother’s produce stand along the highway. But the information that came closest to pitching him over the edge of his celebrated control was Bethany.

Put his hands on her. Memories of Bethy’s smile as she lay propped on his chest mocked him. “I like you.” His mind put his real name in her mouth instead of the fake one. “I like you, Gabriel Ledbetter.” He knew he’d never hear her say those words.

“Brother, she’s breathing. Mason’s woman is hurtin’, but she’ll be okay. Mason’s bringing his sister back here.” Slowly he swiveled his neck, resting his gaze on Gator, who flinched at whatever he saw on Fury’s face. “Jesus, brother. What the fuck is wrong? He’ll get back, and we’ll keep workin’ our deal. No sweat.”

“Bethy okay?” He wished he could haul those words back, but they were there lying on the air. Trying for damage control, he shifted the question to ask, “Are all the women save Sosa okay?”

“Yeah, they’re okay. They’re bringin’ Sosa’s corpse back.” Gator shrugged. “Myron’s figuring out what to do to deal with that pile of bullshit. They torched the compound, so there shouldn’t be any blowback. But for Mason to give his kid closure, they need to figure out how to deal.”

Fury reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He’d never stopped looking into Tabby’s death, and over the years had found a surprising bit of information that might help them now. He dialed, then put in his security code and waited. A moment later Myron picked up, “Yeah?”

“Clean line?” Might as well ask, since he didn’t understand the technology that’d been handed to him. A bridge between clubs, he knew this was supposed to be a secure way of communication, but using an app to call seemed risky.

“Yeah, talk to me.” Full confidence in his tone, Myron sold his assurance.

“About Sosa. Your problem with what to do.” Myron made a noise. “Got an idea for you to consider, that’s all. There’s a fuckton of wrecks in the mountains around Cynthiana where she lived. Get her in a car and sail it off a turn.” Memories of Tabby’s body edged into his mind, and he shoved them back. “She’ll be so mangled by the time it stops pinwheeling through the trees, it won’t even be questioned that she’s mutilated.”

“Copy that. Good idea.” A hesitation, then came the words he wanted, “Thanks, much appreciated.”

“No problem. You know when they’ll be getting in? Me and Gator and some of the boys are gonna round up Chase, get him home from y’alls clubhouse, and then we’ll lay in some supplies so Mason don’t gotta leave.” He stared at Gator who was looking puzzled. “Call it a goodwill offering. After an ordeal like this, he’s gonna need some space, and I’ll not be shoving my needs in his face. Having shit there will give him time to deal.”

“Better than decent idea, Fury,” the words came easier this time, and Fury smiled grimly. “I’ll call once I know.”

“Sounds good. Ride on, man,” he responded, hearing Myron’s return, “Shiny side,” just before he disconnected the call.

“Gets us in deeper, every good deed.” Since his men knew Fury was trying his damnedest to get them an entrance into the Rebel Wayfarers world, he knew that would be all the explanation Gator needed. He’d never know the satisfaction Fury would gain from selecting things certain to soothe Bethy. Favorite foods, the bath products he remembered her using. The idea of her wearing clothes he’d picked out sat easy in his belly. “Let’s roll.”

***

Bethany

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Bethany pulled on a shirt and then reached up to smooth her hair down, the scent of her shampoo a familiar comfort in this strange setting. “You might as well come on in,” she called, having heard heavy footsteps pause outside her door. A moment later the knob turned and she had a shiver of fear. Then the door opened and Davy’s face appeared. “Stop lurking.”

He grinned at her testy order then came through the doorway, leaving it open behind him. The mattress lurched and shifted, and she rocked against him when he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “You doin’ okay, honey?”

“Did you call Ty?” Davy wouldn’t talk to her about going home yet, and she understood his fears. Understood, and shared them, because right now she couldn’t imagine being alone. “Just because I’m not fighting you on staying here a couple of days doesn’t mean I won’t be going home. You know that, right?” It won’t always feel like this, so it’s best to set the ground rules now.

“I did, and he’s ready to rip me a new asshole. Man’s protective of you, girl.”

She grinned. “He’s a good friend.” The smile tried to fade, and she kept it plastered on her face, holding it in place while gritting her teeth. “I bet he was worried.”

“I fired your assistant.” Davy’s words shocked her and she twisted to stare up at him. “Asshole told everyone you were out scouting. Shit you do all the time. Ty never thought to check your room or we’d have known things weren’t right.” He paused, then swallowed hard. “You’re gonna have to give me a few days. Me and Ty got some things in common. You being the main one, and guilt about this shit is another.”

“Jesus, Davy. Do you know how long it took me to find that guy?” She leaned against his side, letting him take her weight, trusting him to hold on. “Thank you. He was kind of an asshole.” Davy’s frame shook, and she knew it was with suppressed laughter. “I like Chase.” His arm tightened around her shoulders and she nodded. “Yeah. I’m gonna be the best aunt in the history of aunthood.”

“A natural with him. I didn’t know you were so good with kids.” His words cut deeply, and she buried her face in his chest in an instinctive avoidance of the pain. “Honey, what’d I say?” Can’t pull anything past Davy. “Honey?”

Now would be the perfect time to tell him about Michael. In this moment, with so much going on around them, he’d never blame her for keeping a fifteen-year secret. Bethy bit her lips, holding the words inside. Michael’s mine, she thought, denying the words a voice. “Who bought me clothes? They’re nice.”

He had to know it was a diversionary tactic, but he gave it to her, chuckling as he responded, “Some of my friends volunteered. I can’t imagine them trolling the bra and panty section at the mall, but they did it for me.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “For you.”

“Well, whoever they are, tell them they have excellent taste in lingerie.”

He laughed aloud at that, still laughing when he told her, “Yeah, not gonna be tellin’ Fury that you like the panties he bought you.”

Eyes dipping closed at the glad sound of his laughter—maybe we’ll come out the other end unbroken after all—she smiled, slipping her arm around his waist and hugging him close. “Love you, Davy.”

“Love you, too, doll. More than you know.”