Gracie peeked her head into the guest room. "Hey, you."

Rich looked up from cutting the strip of drywall tape, and his gut tightened. He'd heard the doorbell ring earlier and expected someone else. "What's up?"

"Chuck's downstairs," she said.

"So?"

"So...he wants to come up and talk to you." She stepped into the room. "Will you see him?"

He shrugged. She'd never asked before.

"He probably wants to see the room," he said.

"Maybe." She stepped up to the pile of tools and held out her hand to him.

Instead of watching her struggle to step over the clutter, he spanned her waist with his hands and picked her up, helping her over the stepstool, cans of paint, and mud buckets. Barely on her feet again, she leaned into him. He kissed her and then said, "Can you grab me a drink?"

She frowned. He reached up and smoothed her brows.

"Water." He dipped his chin to look at her closer, making her aware that alcohol would always be a part of his life.

At the moment, he wasn't drinking. But, he wanted a drink. He needed a drink to deal with Chuck.

Most of all, he wanted to deal with Chuck alone and giving Gracie an errand got her out of the room.

"Sure." She kissed him quickly. "Sorry."

He helped her navigate over the supplies. Alone in the room, he closed the razor knife in his hand and picked up the strip of drywall paper, placing it on the wall between the seams.

A knock came behind him. "Need a hand?" asked Chuck.

"Nope. I'm good." He'd already spent too much time with the members of Notus.

"If I remember right, you suck at drywall." Chuck picked up the tub of sheetrock mud and opened the top. "It took you and Thad half the summer to repair the Bowers' garage when you stole Mr. B's truck and backed into the support pole."

He flattened his hand and smoothed out the seam. "We were fourteen years old. Didn't know fuck about repairing anything."

An uncomfortable silence fell between the two men. Rich cut the rest of the strips of paper tape, handing them to Chuck who pressed them on the wall. Once the mud dried, all he had to do was sand, paint, and put the molding back on. He'd be done in three days, tops.

"Remember Robert Brando?" asked Chuck.

Rich wiped his hand on his jeans. The name sounded familiar.

"Bobby Brando." Chuck hooked his hands under his armpits.

A flash of a sixty-nine Mustang came. He nodded. "His dad owned the corner store."

"Yeah. Bobby was a few years younger than us." Chuck exhaled heavily. "He works down at Port Loaders with us. His daughter's missing."

"What are you telling me for?" He walked across the room and wound up the cord for the Skilsaw. Finding missing persons was club business. He was no longer a member.

Because of the size of Notus and the reason for the exclusiveness, there was no out in the laws of the club. Back when they'd written the bylaws, leaving wasn't an option because their loyalty and long-standing friendship came first.

Unlike Komoon, who swore to take out any member who broke their sworn loyalty to the club.

"Wayne mentioned in our meeting after work that one of us should come over and ask you to ride out with us and search." Chuck put his foot up on the step stool and braced his forearm on his upraised knee. "Glen and Thad are out on the streets now, but we're all rallying in an hour."

"Good luck with that one." He became aware of Gracie standing at the door holding a glass of water.

He navigated the unorganized room and reached her, blocking her view. Chuck wasn't the man who put a smile on her face again this morning or the man who held her hand as she hesitated at the doorway searching for her purse, which she'd left in her room. Maybe they had something in the past, but it was over.

He'd make sure it was over.

He drank all the water and wiped his mouth off on his arm, then kissed her. "Thanks, honey."

"You're welcome." She peeked around his body and said, "Chuck? You want to stay for dinner?"

"Can't, sweetheart." Chuck came and stood by Rich's side. "We've got a new case."

She frowned. "How long has the person been missing?"

"This morning. There's still time to find her. We've got some leads, so we're jumping on it." Chuck leaned in.

Rich grabbed his shoulder and muttered, "Back off."

Gracie's gaze snapped to him. Rich sniffed in agitation. The kissing. The touching. All that shit he'd seen going on between Gracie and Chuck was going to end while he was here.

Chuck smacked him on the back. "Are you sure you don't want to ride with us?"

"No gas." He put his hand on Gracie's lower back.

Chuck's gaze went down, took in the situation, and nodded. Rich's chest tightened. He wanted to stay with Gracie. The limited time he had with her apparent every minute of the day.

"We'll put a few dollars in your tank." Chuck squeezed past them and stopped in the hallway. "Your call. Gracie's got my number if you change your mind."

With gas, he could leave town. It'd be enough to get him to Portland where he could get his head on straight without the influence of Gracie tempting him to stop counting the days, and figure out which direction he needed to go.

Once away, he could put his thumb in the air and get someone to stop and top off his tank to get him a few more miles down the road. Maybe even spot him a drink for his hard luck.

"You can go with them if you want." Gracie curled into his side and rubbed his stomach. "The room can wait."

His craving to drink intensified.

She stepped in front of him, tilted her head, and looked through her lashes at him. "Unless you want to stay and eat, get naked, eat, and get naked again..."

As tempting as the offer and how much he wanted to close the bedroom door behind them for the rest of his life, his problems multiplied having Gracie expecting him to stick around. That wasn't going to happen. It couldn't happen.

Gracie blacking out when she panics could be controlled because it came from fear. She'd learn ways to protect herself. After he left, she'd go back to carrying the pistol in her purse.

She hadn't crossed the line.

He was so far over the line, he should be in prison.

She grinned up at him, hopeful that he'd choose her. He kissed her and pulled back. "Give Chuck a call. I'm going to wash the sheetrock mud off my hands and head toward Wayne's house. Tell him if I don't arrive to come looking for me with a gallon of gas."

Gracie followed him to the hallway. "Rich?"

"Yeah?" He walked into the bathroom, leaving the door open. She followed him inside. He looked up into the mirror, anxious to get out and on his bike. Then, get a drink.

"You'll be careful, right?" Gracie caught her lower lip between her teeth. "Sometimes—depending on the situation—missing person cases can be dangerous."

"I'll be fine." He half-ass dried his hands on the towel and walked past her, grabbing his duffle out of the bedroom, and going downstairs.

He always stayed packed. All he needed was a change of clothes. He'd figure out what his next step would be once he had a few miles between him and everyone he cared about.

At the door, Gracie stopped him. He wanted outside before he changed his mind.

"Don't forget your helmet."

His gut hardened and he turned. The last time someone looked after him, Thalia had handed him a new helmet wrapped with a blue bow. He'd been twenty years old, and she had been excited that she'd bought him a birthday present with money she'd made at her first job.

Her murder had broken him.

A long time ago.

Gracie handed him that same black, half-shell helmet, now carrying more scars than he could remember the reasons how he'd gotten them.

He kissed her hard until she moaned and then gazed into her half-lidded eyes. What he wouldn't give to have her looking at him that way for the rest of his life.

Then, he remembered how he'd arrived in St. John's and why he'd stayed away. He remembered the drink waiting for him. He remembered the past.

She tilted her head. "Rich?"

He blinked. "I got to go."

She smiled tenderly at him and nodded. "I'll wait up for you."

He opened the door, stepped out, and stopped, turning back to her. "Gracie?"

"Yes?" She raised her brows.

His throat closed at her sweetness. He removed the can of chew from his pocket and used the time to put a pinch of tobacco behind his lip. He wanted to tell her to be safe, to trust those she let into her life, to take as much time as she needed to heal and never let anyone change her. She had a beautiful second chance, and she should never waste a day of her life.

"Lock up, honey." He put the helmet on his head and strode to his bike, not looking back.

He couldn't.

If he turned around, he'd never leave, and she didn't need any more hurt in her life.