Rich rode up to the townhouse by himself. Gracie stepped away from the window and hurried to the door. Her heartbeat matched the fast-paced idle of his motorcycle and continued as he shut off the Harley. Opening the door, she waited on the threshold watching him.

He wore yesterday's clothes and carried his duffle in one hand and his helmet in the other. The long, neglected hair and overgrown beard—totally him.

He appeared okay.

Seeing him with her own eyes should've settled her worry, but she was more concerned about what was going on below the surface. She needed to know why he never came home and what was so secret among the Notus members, revolving around Rich, that they excluded her.

He stopped in front of her. His intense gaze, clear and sober. A burst of hope filled her and she stepped back, letting him into the house. He hadn't been out drinking.

He walked inside, dropped his bag, and turned to her. She flipped the locks and watched his gaze go to her side where she normally carried her purse.

"You have my pistol," said Gracie.

He tilted his head to the side. "Say again?"

"Not the one I let you have, but the one I carried in my purse."

"I left both of them on the bed in the guest room," he said.

She studied him and because she couldn't settle down until she knew the truth, she hurried up the stairs and into his room. The plastic that usually covered the dresser was laying over most of the bed. She picked the edge up, and her pistols were placed exactly where he claimed. She tossed the plastic to the side.

In her frantic search, she must've looked in the dresser first, tossed the plastic to the bed, and hidden the guns herself.

Returning to the living room, she said, "Sorry. I thought you took the one I left in your room...that day, with you."

"Did you need the pistol?" He dropped his gaze to her waist. "You're not wearing your purse."

"I went to Wayne and Clara's house."

"Without the pistol?"

She nodded. "You didn't come home last night, and Clara said you were with the guys today, and I wasn't happy with the answers I received that you were 'being taken care of' so I drove over there to see you."

His gaze softened. "Honey..."

She waved her hand to stop him. "You're free to come and go, and do whatever you want. I was just concerned. I thought you were coming home after the search last night."

"Gracie..."

"I missed you. Okay." She inhaled deeply. "I don't know if you're feeling the same way as I am because you haven't talked to me. I feel stupid, but you can't expect me to live with you every single day and..." She patted her chest. "Share things with you that I never thought I'd talk to you about."

"Gracie—"

"We had sex. Lots of sex, Rich." She clamped her mouth shut as his lips parted.

Rich approached her. She stilled, the need to touch him and reassure herself that he was okay left her trembling.

"Honey, I could really use a kiss right now," he said, his gravelly voice rolling through her.

She raised up on her toes, leaning toward him. His hands landed on her waist, and he tenderly placed his lips on hers. She slipped her hands up and held on to his shirt, opening her mouth, needing him to lend her some of his strength.

He pulled back, kissed her lightly, and said, "It's been a rough twenty-four hours."

"What can I do?" She held on to him. "Do you want dinner?"

"Maybe later."

A spark of excitement filled her. That meant he planned on staying at the house.

"I need to talk to you." He raised his brows. "A lot of shit has happened."

"Of course." She led him to the couch.

He sat down and hooked his finger with hers. She shifted, planning on sitting on his lap, and he stopped her.

"I need you to sit beside me in case you need to move away from me."

She removed her hand, suddenly afraid of what he had to say. Instinct told her it was more about him, pushing her away, and having a way out of the situation.

"You're making me nervous," she said.

"Why?"

She rubbed her arms. "Do you have something bad to say?"

"In some ways." He looked around the room.

Understanding what he was looking for, she walked into the kitchen and returned with a red Solo cup.

"Thanks." He put the cup between his legs and pulled out his can of chew.

His chewing tobacco never bothered her. It was better than drinking, and if it gave him some calmness in his life or a distraction from drinking, she'd gladly make it convenient for him to get that peace.

"I'm staying in St. John's." He pushed the wad of tobacco deep underneath his lip. "I'll be riding with Notus Motorcycle Club again."

Her spine straightened. That was not what she'd expected to hear.

"Th-that's wonderful."

"Yeah..." He nodded. "I spent all night talking with the others. I told them what kept me away. Then, I went over to the Bowers and without telling them why I left their lives, told them I was staying."

"How was that?" She reached out to take his hand and pulled back before she made contact, afraid of doing anything to stop him from talking.

"Hard." He spit in the cup. "It was like walking back in time. Nothing has changed at the house. I practically lived there growing up, you know."

"Right," she whispered.

She'd been to the Bowers many times. There were reminders of Thalia everywhere you look. Her bedroom remained the same since the day she went missing. While she didn't have the honor of knowing Thalia, she felt connected to the young woman for what she went through with Roy Jenkins.

"Everything snowballed, and I was making decisions, reconnecting, and I should've talked to you first but..." He grimaced. "We've got something going on here, and it doesn't have anything to do with me riding under the Notus colors. Whether we're together or not, that part of my life is going forward."

"I will always be a part of Notus." She inhaled deeply and shook her head. "Not in the club, obviously, but my sister is with Wayne, and the rest of the guys are my friends. They're a part of my life, and I don't see that changing, so I'm always going to be around." She wrinkled her nose. "I don't understand what you're saying...exactly. If we're together or not?"

"I want to be with you." His gaze intensified. "You need to know about me, and when you've got all the information, it'll be you who makes the decision if you want me back."

"Of course, I'll want you." She laid her hand on his thigh and leaned closer. "I'm falling in love with you."

He frowned. "That might change."

"Then, tell me what it is that will change my mind."

He blew out his breath, set his cup on the coffee table, and stood. She shifted and pulled her feet onto the couch and grabbed the throw pillow, hugging the cushion to her stomach.

"I'm an alcoholic." He walked over to the window and turned around to face her.

He put distance between them, and she didn't like it. She remained quiet while he stated the obvious. She wasn't delusional about what comes with loving someone who had an addiction. She'd be the first to admit that knowing the other Notus members would be front and center on making sure Rich wouldn't drink and if he slipped, they'd be right here to make sure he got sober again had a lot to do with her comfort level and believing she could handle it if he picked up a bottle again.

Because she had her own trouble coping every day, she understood how he would struggle on a daily basis.

"I wasn't always a drinker." He leaned against the wall. "I grew up with a mom who drank every day. I never knew her when she was sober, and I hated it. Unfortunately, seeing someone drink and put you last on their list of things to care about does influence your feelings."

She hadn't heard that before.

He shoved his hands in his pockets. "I don't know where to fucking start."

She remained quiet. This was his story to tell.

"I guess I'll tell you about when Thalia was killed. You okay with that?" His concerned gaze settled on her.

"Yes." No.

She'd been there already. Roy Jenkins told her every little detail about the crimes he'd committed. Details that nobody knew about and would never know because she'd never speak about them. To anyone.

"I loved Thalia. Young love, true love, forever love...I don't know. I just knew at twenty years old, I loved her. It was a fucked-up time when she disappeared. The police questioned me because I was her boyfriend and a biker. I felt like they should've been searching harder for her rather than looking at me as a suspect." He sat down in the nearest chair and braced his elbows on his knees, keeping eye contact with Gracie. "I felt the others—who were the people that knew me the best—were also having their doubts."

"Oh, Rich." She shook her head. "They never doubted you."

He shrugged. "It's how I felt. I was young. Not old enough to deal with anything. I was scared shitless and didn't understand how to deal with the emotions. Didn't have control of my anger. Then, the police found Thalia and the truth came out about her murder. I can't even remember how the police quietly stopping calling me a suspect. It felt personal, you know? At the time, I just wanted everyone out looking for her."

Rich's head dropped between his arms. Her tongue stuck to the top of her dry mouth. She suspected he hadn't spoken Thalia's name in twenty-five years.

He raised his gaze. "I was angry. So, fucking mad. I couldn't handle how everyone was crying all the time or the stupid ass words people offered me as comfort by telling me Thalia was no longer suffering because she had suffered."

He was right. She swallowed hard. Thalia had gone through unspeakable things. She'd heard the confession from Thalia's killer, and she'd never be able to forget.

"I knew her better than anyone. She would've survived anything he'd done to her if he hadn't killed her." He closed his eyes an extra beat, and when he reopened them, they'd softened. "Like you. She would've survived because she was strong, like you."

Her chest constricted and her vision blurred. She swiped the tear at the corner of her eye. Thalia hadn't been given a chance because Jenkins was never caught before he killed her.

"Back then, I wanted to find the person responsible for killing her. I rode around town looking at everyone. I staked out where Thalia had worked, where she enjoyed walking, and hoped the murderer would return to those spots." He stood, his agitation filling the room. "I was lost to everything going on around me. One day meshed with the next. I found myself at the truck stop—there's a restaurant there, trucks coming and going all day and night."

She lifted her head. None of the others had described the time after Thalia's death the same way as Rich.

"This guy came out of the truck stop and walked a woman behind the building." His monotone voice sent chills down her spine. "The woman had on high heels and a short skirt—anyone looking could tell what she was hanging out there for. It was common knowledge in St. John's of what you could purchase there on a regular basis."

Her whole body vibrated, caught up in his story. She had to keep reminding herself that he had been twenty years old when all that had happened. She'd been twenty-seven years old when her father died, and when she'd found out that her mother hadn't run away but been murdered. At the time, she and Clara had been devastated as if someone had stolen everyone they'd loved. She couldn't imagine dealing with loss at such a young age as Rich, dealing with Thalia's murder.

"I killed him," blurted Rich.

Her head snapped up. He'd killed who?